Never Again by Michele Bardsley Read Free Book Online

duties, much less the actual protection spells. Gray’s mother had long since left to pursue her own political goals in the House of Dragons, and had groomed her son to do the same. She hadn’t returned to Nevermore—not since the day she had helped her son move back into her father’s house.
    Back when he’d had political ambitions, he had no problem following in his mother’s footsteps. Like her, he wanted to make a difference. And, too, he’d loved playing the games, all that maneuvering and positioning. He didn’t always win, but he always learned something new, something he could put into his own little bag of tricks. He’d been good at his job, and he’d loved the energy, the ambition. It was hard to believe that at one time in his life he had felt like he could conquer the world.
    His father had died when he’d been barely old enough to walk, and Leticia Calhoun had never married again, despite the numerous propositions she received. As politically motivated as his mother was, she would not marry to strengthen an alliance. Once you’ve been in love, she’d told him in a rare moment of melancholy, you can never settle for less.
    He had loved Kerren, or at least thought he had. His mother had never been thrilled with the idea of him walking a Rackmore witch down the aisle. The Dragons and the Ravens didn’t exactly coexist peacefully. When he looked back now, he wondered if in some small way he’d known they didn’t have the kind of soul-deep, can’t-breathe, would-do-anything kind of love his mother had shared with his father.
    “Except it’s all a bullshit fairy tale,” he muttered as he unzipped the black bag hanging among his sweaters and T-shirts. His mother longed for the man she could never have, and had painted love as bright and alluring as a fairy’s wings.
    Argh! If only he could find the cape, he wouldn’t have to find substitute attire. He pulled out the red robe first, and grimaced. He hadn’t worn it since his last day on the House floor, the morning he gave his formal resignation to the Court. He jammed it back inside and grabbed the hanger next to it.
    Gods-be-damned!
    Why had he even kept the white robe in which he’d been married? He tossed it to the floor, disgusted. The magic of the symbols sewn into the fabric no longer had meaning or power. He shouldn’t have kept the stupid robe. It wasn’t like he didn’t have enough reminders about his failed marriage and his treacherous ex-wife.
    Irritation turned to anger. He shouldn’t even be going into town. For what? To save Lucy? He didn’t exactly have pleasant memories of her. It wasn’t that she was a bad kid, just a self-absorbed one. She couldn’t be bothered with anyone or anything that didn’t have to do with her, an attitude that had a lot to do with being a typical teenager, and even more to do with being spoiled by wealthy, indulgent parents. Not to mention she was a thaumaturge—once courted by all the Houses, even the Dragons. His own mother had put aside Lucy’s Raven heritage to woo her. “Thaumaturge” meant “miracle worker” in Greek. Someone with Lucy’s ability could manipulate life itself—heal grievous wounds, fix broken bones, take away diseases. He’d heard that skilled thaumaturges could breathe the very life back into a body.
    But being a Rackmore had tainted her—and once the Grand Court issued its edict, no House could accept her as a member, even if they had wanted to risk it.
    As Gray extracted a third mystery coat, he wondered if he should just leave her alone. She was destitute, but he couldn’t save her from that. She’d always be without money, thanks to the actions of her greedy ancestors. No. What got to him now was remembering the forlorn look in her green eyes, the sharpened features and frail form that suggested starvation, the slump of shoulders bearing too heavy a burden, and the hopelessness that covered her far better than that worn green robe.
    He’d killed her hope