“Ye’re distracted,” Lachlan chuckled at Broden. “Ye’re never distracted.”
“Aye, what ails ye, brother?” Grant grinned knowingly. “Anything to do with that lass?”
Broden growled and shot a glare at Grant, never wavering with the bow and arrow that he had leveled in the direction of a rather irritated, rain-drenched deer. Then again, everything was looking irritated and rain-drenched. The storm, refusing to let up, raged on and, though it was met with all manner of complaints, Broden had been forced to brave the elements with them for supplies. And, much as he hated relying on the others, the storm wasn’t about to give him the time he’d need to do it all himself.
Still baring his teeth at Grant, Broden loosed the arrow. He took no satisfaction in the soft impact of the arrow, the final breath of their prey, or the scent of blood that carried with it a promise of fresh meat. Threatening as the entire gesture was, however, Grant’s grin didn’t waver in the slightest.
With his brothers’ attention on him, he was unsure if they’d get any hunting done that day. While his attentions had been distracted due to a certain blonde lass, he wasn't going to let it distract him from the job at hand any further. His brothers, Lachlan, Grant, and Kade had joined on the hunting trip while Ronson—who had always had a preference for books and never been one for hunting or fighting—stayed back with Callum and Lyle. Broden frowned at the thought of Callum. This he didn’t mind, however; knowing that Callum wouldn’t be alone was enough for him to be willing to sacrifice the two extra sets of hands.
“A lass, eh?” Kade chuckled. “I thought ye smelled… sweeter.”
The others laughed.
Broden snarled and rushed forward, pinning Grant to the ground. “Enough! Ye canna keep anything to yerself, can ye? Canno’ keep yer dick in yer plaid, canna keep yerself focued,” he gave his brother a violent shake, “an’ ye canna keep yer mouth shut! I’ve had enough of yer distractions!”
He could feel Kade and Lachlan’s gazes on his back but he didn't care. He needed to protect them, and distractions could mean a failed outing…
Or worse.
Callum’s abduction and the horrors he’d faced afterwards were proof enough of what a simple distraction during an outing could mean.
Once again, Grant seemed unaffected by Broden’s anger, and his grin widened. “I doona think it’s me that’s got ye distracted, brother.”
Broden’s eyes widened at that. His grip weakened. Numbly, he stood and turned away.
The icy rain did little against the growing heat of his embarrassment.
“Perhaps ye should go get some rest,” Lachlan offered, his calm voice punctuated by a gentle grip on his shoulder.
“But…” he glanced back, first at Lachlan and then at the downed deer, “… there’s too much to be done.”
“And ye think us too daft to handle it ourselves?” he scoffed. “Just because ye usually choose to handle these things on yer own does no’ mean we canna.”
Broden blushed at that, realizing that he’d wasted much of his life worrying and coddling the lot of them for no real reason. Well, no reason, at least, other than to distract himself.
Every one of his brothers, he realized, was more than capable in their own right, but he’d chosen to destroy himself—break his body, torment his mind, and starve himself at every turn—all for the forced notion that only he could handle the tasks. And now that he’d found something else to busy his mind with—something that this damned storm is keeping me from, he thought bitterly—he was forced to admit that he’d been denying himself from his own identity for too long.
Sighing, he nodded to Lachlan and muttered, “Ye’re right.”
“Aye, I usually am,” his brother chuckled.
“Doona get cocky,” Kade scoffed.
As Broden looked his way, Grant rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. “Are ye finished moping then? Because we doona need ye to be a nanny; we need ye to be our brother. An’ until ye tup the lass an’ get it over with I worry we’ll never get ye back.”
“Doona speak of her that way,” Broden growled.
Lachlan raised a hand to silence Grant before he could say anything else and narrowed his knowing gaze at Broden. “This is more than a wee fancy, isn’t it?” he asked.
Broden looked down, uncertain how to answer that.
“Oh shite…” Grant’s eyes widened. “Ye doona think that she could be—”
“Those are just stories!” Broden interrupted him, not wanting to put any more thought into that impossible dream—a dream that he was having a harder and harder time believing as such—and turned away.
“Broden…” Lachlan called after him. “Ye know how Grant can be, but, stories or no’, this girl has clearly turned into something more for ye, aye? An’ right now that something is a distraction… an’ we all know what ye think about distractions.”
Broden spun to face him. “I can still—”
“Of course ye can,” Lachlan’s voice remained steady. “Ye always can; ye always could. Shite, it’s all ye’ve ever done! Look at yerself: ye work harder, hunt more, an’ constantly go out of yer way to keep us supplied an’ what’ve ye got to show for it? A body that’s skin-n-bones compared to the rest o’ us an’ a scowl that Callum has more of a right to wear. Why? What are ye afraid of facing if ye doona have all this to busy yerself with?” He took a step closer and gave Broden a hard, cold look, “Or are ye more worried about Father’s stories than ye let on?”
Broden looked away, not having an answer.
“Oh shite!” Grant repeated.
Lachlan rolled his eyes and gripped Broden by the shoulders. “Look, Grant’s a horse’s arse, I know, but—”
“I’m right here,” Grant glowered.
“Aye, I know, but if ye insist to act like a child, ye will be treated as such,” Lachlan glared back. Then, facing Broden again, he said, “but… in his own right, he has a point.”
Broden glared. “An’ that point would be…?”
“That this lass—whether she’s the lass or just a fine one; stories or no’—has obviously come to mean something to ye, an’ ye canno keep distracting yerself just to avoid that.” He patted Broden’s shoulder and smiled. “We know ye care fer us, Broden, but yer allowed to be happy, too. An’—who knows?—maybe Father’s stories are true and something great will come of this, aye? Now let us finish the hunt; ye go be Broden.”
Go be Broden…
It saddened him to no end to realize at that moment that he didn’t even know where to begin going about such a task.
Turning away, he paused on Grant, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll forgive ye for speaking ill of her this time, but doona do it again.”
Grant nodded slowly, gaping at him as though he’d just seen a ghost. “Do ye… Is she…” he gulped loudly, “Could she really be the one? I mean, could she really be yer…?”
Even left unfinished, the question exploded in Broden’s head the same way it had been for the past few days.
Not offering an answer, he turned away and headed off on his own into the icy rain, suddenly not minding it as much as he had been. There was no denying that he wanted Abby. Everyone could obviously see that much. What he didn’t want to admit, though—neither to Grant nor himself—was that, if she was the first key to breaking his family’s curse, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to know how take the next step.
* * *
Dana watched the eldest of Bowen’s sons through the eyes of his brothers. It was an easy enough spell, especially when compared to others she’d cast. Though she wasn’t in her own body to control such things, she knew that what she was seeing would’ve drawn a smirk of wicked proportions on her face.
And to think she’d nearly lost hope in seeing the next phase of the curse come into being.
But, no, as resilient as the scarred therion, this Broden, was, there was no denying that look. He had found his mate, and, much as he seemed to be fighting it—as though some part of him knew what would come of it—she knew it was only a matter of time. After all, the sickness was already beginning to show; only a few days apart and he was all the worse for it. Not that that one hadn’t been rather sickly beforehand, but now…
They’d be forced to return to one another, and then the rest would follow.
Bowen didn’t know about that detail, though, which meant none of them did. In fact, with the exception of the obvious, there was much about their curse—Dana’s punishment, she corrected herself—that Bowen and his wretched little family didn’t know about. But that was the idea. No use in designing a good enchantment only to spoil the best parts beforehand, right?
Especially when there was a message to be sent in the process.
Love was a painful, dangerous game. Bowen had personally shown her that. It was a harsh and agonizing lesson, but one that Dana committed to loyally. But—BUT!—trespasses could not go unforgiven; cruelty, no matter how educational, could not go unpunished.
Love was a painful, dangerous game—it left one feeling empty and incomplete until it was reciprocated, and then… then the pain and the danger only doubled; those of one becoming shared between two—and Dana thought it only proper to relay that lesson back on Bowen’s kin. It started simple enough: confusion and obsession, feeling lost and, yes, even sick when separated…
And then…
Oh, yes! And then…
On to the next act.
Slipping free of the brothers’ minds—content with what she’d seen from Broden’s turmoil—Dana cast her astral form out towards the village at the base of the mountain, seeking out a new set of eyes to spy through.
It was time to check in on the little minx who had caught the scarred male’s heart.