I do as he asks, meet his dark brown gaze with my own. “My brother needs a strong hand. You are well within your right—”
“It isn’t your brother.” My voice shakes far more than I want it to. Not that anything has gone the way I want. “And it isn’t about right. The magick…” I trail off, unable to tell Dante, a perfect stranger, my biggest fear.
I’m losing control. Already, the Dark magick within infects me. Recodes my DNA. Rewrites the person I am for the person he wants me to be.
“Come on. Let’s get dressed.” Caleb helps me out of the shower, finds a fresh towel, and wraps me in it.
The shower cuts on a few moments later. I feel bad for wasting all the hot water, leaving Dante none. I’m sure it won’t be the worst thing I do to him, to all of them, when this is done.
I get dressed in silence, mostly because I kick everyone out of my bedroom. No, that isn’t true. It’s because, if I let myself cry, truly cry, I won’t stop. There isn’t any more time for indulgence.
Claudia needs me to save her. The world needs me to fight my father. My Pentagram needs the Priestess who will make sure they survive whatever’s about to happen.
I may not be up to any of those tasks, but I wouldn’t be a Dark if I didn’t try.
After grabbing my favorite pair of comfy nylon hiking pants and a lightweight shirt, I tie on my tennis shoes and comb my fingers through my new multi-colored hair—as if the power at a constant angry buzz underneath my flesh isn’t enough of a reminder.
Okay. I can do this. I can face them, take charge, and formulate a plan. To do that, we need to make a short trip further into the mountains. Go and see a woman used to being in charge, who can give me the answers she promised twelve years ago. Had I stayed, done what she said, trained her way.
If life’s taught me anything, it’s that I do things my way.
“Can we all fit in your car?” I ask Dante. Well, I ask in his general direction. I may have to pretend to be strong, but I’m not. I don’t trust myself to look at him. At any of them. Not when I don’t know who I am. Who I’m becoming. Who it is they’ll see when they stare back.
“It’s a five-seater,” he answers. “Though the back might be a bit tight.”
I half expect Derion to make a snide remark about my back being a bit tight. When he doesn’t say a word, I lift my gaze to where I sense he sits. He lowers his at the exact moment, and okay. We’re playing this game. Whatever.
“It’s fine. I’ll sit in the middle. East and West with me. You two can ride up front.” I nod toward Dante and his brother.
Honestly, I’d rather Derion ride on the roof. In the trunk. In a separate vehicle altogether. It isn’t reasonable or rational. I know. It’s nice to imagine, though.
“We’re East and West now?” Callen tries to joke. It falls flat.
“We need to focus, figure out what becoming Inferi means for me and you four so we can fix this mess and find a way to save Claudia,” I say, not sure why I have to explain myself.
Derion pushes to his feet and heads for the front door. “No, Kate. You want to figure it out. You want to fight this. The rest of us are just along for the ride. I’m perfectly happy serving the Devil.”
The door bangs shut behind Derion when he leaves. A blast of magick fractures the wood, cracks the doorframe. He’s pissed, that much is clear. I have zero ideas about how to fix it. I can’t apologize, and I can’t think of a single nice thing to say, anyway. Best I keep my mouth shut and let him ride it out to whatever conclusion he finds. He does have a valid point, though.
“Anyone else feel the same?” I ask, not sure I want an answer. I have no intention of serving my father. If we all aren’t starting out on the same page, it would be better to know now. Well, before now. Preferably before we all—
I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. It only adds to the pressure building in my brain instead of relieving it. Figures. Everything I’ve touched today has turned to shit. Why stop with a migraine?
A pair of strong, warm arms wrap around me from behind. Caleb doesn’t smell exactly like his twin, close enough that my muscle memory trained over the past two years with Callen has no problem helping me relax.
“The Pentagram serves at the Priestess’s command,” he says, his breath tickling my earlobe. “If you want us to save your friend, we will. If you want us to fight the Devil, we will. If you want us to harm an innocent, smite your enemies, procure for you any fashionable desire, we’ll do it.”
He turns me in his arms, skims his fingers along my jaw. Bolts of electricity crackle from his skin to mine.
“We’ll do it because it is your wish. Your desire. We live to see you happy; exist to bring you more power.”
“East speaks for himself. My brother and I may have to do your bidding, and we will make you powerful beyond imagining, but we don’t have to like your choices.” Dante stands and brushes the wrinkles from his jeans. Weird, he wore a suit before. When the hell did he change clothes? Come to think of it, Derion was in different clothes, too.
He frowns down at his jeans as if they offend him. With a snap of his fingers, they morph into a sharp, expensive-looking pair of slacks. He’s clearly more comfortable dressed up. Even better, he just used magick to dress. That means I could do the same.
His fingers graze his lower lip and his tongue presses against a cut on the inside of his mouth. When he pulls his hand away, his fingertips are red with blood, a reminder of the price of using Dark magick.
On second thought, there’s nothing wrong with picking out clothes I already own.
I cross the distance between Dante and me. The physical distance, anyway. Something tells me there’s too much of the other kind for me to ever make it across. “We’re a team,” I say, taking his hands in mine. “I may be your leader, but I’m not a dictator. You get to have a say, get to have an opinion.”
He squeezes my hands and sighs at the same time. “Okay, then my feedback is that we get the items needed to perform the ritual, perform the actual ritual, then give your father what he wants.”
I pull my hands from his, cross my arms over my chest. “Do you even know what it means to give my father what he wants? What it means for me to be Inferi? For you? For them?” I point at Callen and Caleb.
Dante’s lips press thin.
“No, you don’t. No one does. Well, almost no one.” Grandma comes to mind. “What kind of shit Priestess would I be if I led you into this blind? Not to mention the ramifications for the rest of the world.”
“Fuck the world,” Dante says, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him show authentic emotion. “I’m not here for the world. I’m here for me, for my brother. For you. Everyone else can burn.”
That’s exactly what everyone else will do if I give in. Doesn’t he get that? Maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care. The question I need to answer is, why do I?
I change course, deciding now isn’t the time to get into this with him. “I agree we need to find the tools we’ll need for the ritual, and we will. The person we’re going to see can help us with that. She can help with my thing, too. For now, our two desires are in alignment. Okay?”
Dante nods once and palms his keys. The jingle of the metal signals he’s done with this conversation. For now, I am, too.
* * *
If you plan to continue with this series, there’s an epilogue. If you don’t like cliffhangers and don’t plan to continue, stop here.
Thanks for reading!
Epilogue
Dante’s car is easily the nicest one I’ve ever ridden in. Even crammed in the back seat between Callen and Caleb, it’s still comfortable. Granted, I don’t mind being squished between the two of them.
We ride in silence, let the GPS give directions. It can’t get us all the way there, but it’ll be close enough. Plus, a hike will do us good, work out some of the unresolved tension screwing each other didn’t seem to relieve. Unless having sex together only added more.
We park at the Cades Cove campground and follow Abrams Creek for what feels like forever. None of us have said anything of import, each of us preferring silence to the alternative.
Caleb and Callen stick close to my six while Dante and Derion forge the path ahead. Both of them have magicked their clothes and shoes for something more fitting, given the environment.
The buzzing electric field of Grandma’s perimeter wards isn’t the first thing I notice as we approach her property. It’s the silence. The absolute quiet of a forest that should be alive.
“Something’s wrong,” I say to my men, my whisper a thunderous boom in the stillness.
My men surround me, guard me each from their point. We move as a unit, like a highly-trained tactical team who have known each other forever. The bond, though incomplete, is strong enough that I sense them, can anticipate their next move.
Hell, if this is just a taste of our power…
“Someone’s coming,” is the first thing Derion says to me since breaking my front door. It could also be the last.
Nails on chalkboard. That’s what Wyka magick feels like. We all duck an instant before a white ball of righteous light takes off our heads. Whoever is attacking us isn’t fucking around.
The guys break off, take up defensive positions. They don’t stray far, and Derion actually pulls closer. Where I move, he does, too. He doesn’t leave my side as I make my way to the ward perimeter.
Magick singes the hair on my arm as I reach for a familiar wooden totem. “You still have your blade?” I ask Derion at the same moment he raises a shield to deflect another energy ball attack.
“Back pocket,” he says, and I guess that’s an invitation.
I swear I try not to feel him up as I search for the blade. But with how much he’s moving, I grab more than a few handfuls.
“I know I was pushy about us fucking, but now isn’t the time, Kate.” His tone is almost playful, as if the past hour or so never happened.
“You sure?” I tease back, my fingers wrapping around the cold silver handle. “I thought it was always the right time.”
Derion shakes his head, dodges a nasty looking bolt of some kind, and throws one of his own. Without any more time to waste, I slice into my wrist. Blood is the price of entry, for all of us. Since I’ve drunk from the four of them, my blood should be good enough to get us all through.
I hope. Guess we’ll find out.
My gaze cuts to the wooden talisman made from twigs, a stark reminder of the time I spent here, and why I had to come in the first place. I reach for it, then pause. Something moves in my peripheral vision.
Twelve years have passed since the last time I’d seen a Warden. No amount of time will erase my memory of the look on the man’s face, the one who almost caught me in that shed. Sure, he’s older. Wisened. But his eyes are no less cruel, and his intention to annihilate me clearly hasn’t diminished.
Having imagined the possibility of surrender was foolish. The Wyka are determined to erase me from existence. I am not so easily forgotten.
With ruthless precision, the Warden throws a jagged bolt at Derion. He doesn’t see because he’s busy engaging another Warden. I grab his arm, try and pull him to the side. The cut I’d made in my wrist screams in protest, weakening my grip.
I can’t move Derion out of the way fast enough.
With a sickening crunch, the magick bolt collides with Derion’s chest. It takes him off his feet, hovers him in midair for what feels like an eternity. When he crashes down, he lands on me. I break his fall. The leaves beneath me break mine.
The Wyka move fast. They’re on us before I can struggle to take my next breath. Thank Hell, my men are faster.
A pulsating purple ball surrounds us, expands outward pushing the Wyka back. Blood runs from Caleb’s nose as he holds the shield, his brother on the attack next to him. They’re fighting their way to us, and I’m laying here on my ass.
Get up, Kate, I admonish myself.
“Derion!” I shake him, desperate for him to answer, or move just an inch. Panic blanks my mind when he doesn’t respond. I yank on our bond, the string almost snapped. If I don’t do something, he’s going to die.
Using every ounce of strength, and a little magick, I manage to roll him off of me. I press to standing, my cut wrist screaming in protest. It bleeds, which is precisely what I need it to do. Caleb and Callen are getting too close to the barrier. A few more steps and I’ll get to see if Grandma’s invisible fence really does fry a man to a crisp.
I reach for the wooden talisman. A train runs over me. Or maybe it’s a semi-truck. Nope, no. It’s just the damn Warden sacking me just as enthusiastically as a defensive lineman.
My hand grazes the talisman. Blood coats the wood. The magickal barrier presses against my flesh like a hive of angry bees before finally breaking to let me through. It doesn’t do the same for the Wyka.
His face, arms, and clothes smolder then catch fire. The screams of agony pierce the sky. Blood pours from his blistered, broken flesh. It’s a horrible death, but I can’t bring myself to feel bad about it. My focus should be on Derion. Instead, it’s on the powerful blood soaking into the forest floor.
I crawl over to the now charred remains, hunger and need driving me forward. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I suck the red nectar from the dirt and from the dead man. The taste of him fills my mouth, floods my senses.
It isn’t his blood I want. Not really. It’s what’s in his blood.
A rush of light magick fills my body, lightning quick and just as energizing. Any cut or bruise, down to the most minuscule discomfort, disappears. I’ve only once felt stronger, more powerful. The last time also involved death.
After consuming every drop I can, I push to my feet. No, that isn’t exactly correct. I think about being upright, and my body bends the laws of physics to obey. Taking in the Warden’s power not only makes me strong, but it also gives me a connection to the rest of his Pentacle.
Darks form Pentagrams. Wyka form Pentacles. Four witches or warlocks to one Priestess. Which means…
Closing my eyes, even if only for a moment, is a risk in the middle of a fight. It’s a risk I take. I’m not well trained, and I need to concentrate if I’m going to locate her. She’s staying hidden, feeding her men strength through their bond. It’s that bond I stole from the dead man, a fact she’ll have realized by now.
My connection with my Pentagram tells me we’re losing. My tie to Derion is weak, which I interpret to mean he’s dying. The other three are hurt. We aren’t fully bonded, which means we aren’t strong enough to take down a Pentacle with years of experience.
Finding the other Priestess and taking her out is our only chance. If I’d only stayed with Grandmother, learned how to use magick, I would have a hope of winning this. Faith is all I have now, the irony of it glaringly obvious.
Casting aside my fear and need for control, I allow the Dark magick within to take the driver’s seat. It knows far better than I what to do. It silences the little voice within that says I should let the Wardens kill me. End this, here and now.
But they wouldn’t only end me. My Pentagram would die, too. They deserve a leader willing to fight for them. Willing to die. Setting aside who I am, my need for control, feels as if I’m doing just that.
Pulling on the stolen bond is easy once I let my magick take over. “There,” I feel my lips and mouth say as my feet obey the force leading me to her.
Dante goes down to one knee before the Warden he fights, just as I pass by. I don’t think, I react. I flip the silver blade in my palm and jam it into the back of the Warden’s neck. The blow doesn’t kill him, but I’m pretty sure the sound his spine makes when Dante snaps it does the job.
The Priestess screams. It would be a soul-wrenching sound if I hadn’t already traded mine
to Dad. The two Wyka must have been opposing points in her Pentacle. To lose them both must be agony beyond imagination.
I pray to whoever listens to such things that I never have to know that agony. If I don’t get help for Derion soon, I might find out. I don’t have enough magick to heal him. Maybe if I take hers, I will.
It might be a shit thing to do, attack a Priestess in her weak moment. But I don’t have any delusions. I’m the bad guy in this story. The Devil made sure of it.
The blood from the Warden coats the blade in my hand, making it slippery. When I lunge to stab the Priestess in the back, the knife slips, and slices into my palm. I’m not quiet about my attack, either. She knows I’m there and has an energy bolt waiting for me.
It hurts like hell, getting struck by light magick. One fuck up with the blade would be bad enough. Combine it with my prone position, and now I’m the one about to get her ass handed to her.
A shadow crosses my vision, too fast to make out what, until it stops. “Caleb,” I say. Try and say. I still haven’t caught my breath.
He takes a swing, which she dodges. She cuts across him with a light blade, slashing him in the chest. He goes down and doesn’t move.
No! Not him, too.
I turn over, try and push to my feet. The Priestess kicks me, then kicks me again. I end up on my back once more with no hope of moving any time soon.
She begins to chant and move her arms. I’ve never seen anyone glow so brightly. Even with two of her men down, this bitch is powerful. Why in hell they’re afraid of little ol’ me? I don’t get it.
The ball that forms between her palms is giant. I throw up the quickest shield in history, which also makes it the shittiest one. It won’t protect me, but I’m out of ideas and don’t know my magick well enough to do anything else.
It’s astounding what goes through your mind when you’re about to die. The fight Derion and I got into before we left my apartment. The level of resistance I put up to claiming the four of my men. The years spent running, denying who and what I am. The deal I made with Dad. Oh, and the blocks of fudge left uneaten back in my desk at the office. Totally fucking pointless, and a waste of perfectly good energy, time, and chocolate.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 97