Of Flame and Fury: A Weird Girls Novel (Weird Girls Flame Book 3)

by Cecy Robson

  Witches can live a couple of centuries. I believe the oldest hag is somewhere around five hundred. Weres, if not killed in battle, usually die on the first full moon following their hundredth birthday. The exception is the loss of a mate. The vast majority of mated weres die soon after their mate does. The bond they share is so sacred, they die of a broken heart. It’s why Celia, and Aric, too, are guarded so fiercely. In losing Celia, Aric will go. There’s absolutely no doubt, and everyone here damn well knows it.

  Vampires don’t die. The young ones can be beheaded or have their hearts destroyed with cursed gold and die, just like, weres. You can even set a young vamp on fire and watch the fire eat them up like paper. The older ones, not so much.

  Master vampires like Misha, Uri, and Ileana, need both beheading and their hearts destroyed. Good luck with that.

  These superbeings of sorts basically live forever, giving them plenty of time to accumulate wealth, buy and sell favors, overtake foreign governments, you know, little things like that.

  They also count on each other to maintain their status. Don’t get me wrong, friends turn to foes quick. All it takes is the right opportunity or insult.

  Uri’s voice gathers that timbre mob bosses get right before they stab you in front of your family and force-feed you your liver. “Are you certain of that, my son?”

  I almost laugh, except even I’m not that nuts. Misha tends to be Uri’s son, especially when it suits him. Uri made Misha. The circumstances weren’t ideal, yet they allowed Misha to enact a frightening level of revenge against his tormentors and become who he is.

  “I am, Master. To guard and protect Celia Wird is to protect our future and that of our legacy.”

  I don’t miss how Misha addresses Celia by her maiden name. Neither does Aric, who stalks in, his arm curled around Celia’s waist. As per vamp protocol, Misha should fall to one knee and plead his case. At best, he tilts his head, another no-no according to vamp etiquette, and very much a demonstration of dominance by Misha.

  “Misha, don’t do this,” Celia whispers. “Not for me. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “No,” Uri agrees. “His debt to you is paid tenfold.”

  “There was never a debt to be paid, Uri,” Celia hisses.

  Celia was never one to kiss ass. But the way she speaks to Uri scares me and spreads a thick coat of tension around the room.

  Uri quirks a brow. He’s not afraid of Celia or the weres. Even the witches can go to hell as far as he’s concerned. But regardless of his frigid stance, he is afraid Misha will turn on him.

  Uri chuckles. “You show a great deal of strength with your mate so close, Celia,” he says.

  Celia’s stony features make it clear she’d show that and more to him with or without Aric growling beside her. “Keep telling yourself that, Uri,” she tells him. “And we’ll pretend I didn’t help save your dynasty.”

  Uri stops smiling. We’re all afraid of Uri to some extent. Doesn’t mean we’ll be bullied.

  Celia’s features soften when she addresses Misha. “I don’t want you to stay because of me. You don’t owe me anything, Misha. You never have.”

  “Mm, true,” I agree. Sure, we helped save Misha’s ass when we first met him. And yeah, yeah, Celia returned his soul and all that. But we steer away from all the manipulative bull and do the right things because it’s right, not just to bind someone in blood to return the favor.

  Misha meets Celia’s gaze. Her heart and loyalty are why Misha fell as hard for her as he did. She’s a kind person and likely his first real friend. And regardless of all the wrong Misha is a part of, he recognizes Celia’s goodness.

  Uri glares at Celia. Celia and Aric meet his glare with equal force. Genevieve eases away, joining the witches and weres who take point by Celia.

  “No one is keeping you here, Uri,” Aric replies in a low growl. “You want to go, get the fuck out.”

  Gemini edges in front of Aric, his twin at his side snarling. “The point of this reunion was to determine who would stand by us.” He trains his lethal gaze on Uri. “And who will choose to save themselves. This is your moment to decide.”

  Uri turns to leave. Gemini’s voice keeps him in place. “The pack will remember this when evil strikes its blow.”

  Uri motions to the remains of his lovers. “The blow was already struck.”

  “Maybe,” I say.

  I don’t snap at Uri and am seriously impressed with how well I keep my composure. I motion to the window where another leech Nyte, this one with suckers covering its underbelly, slithers along the wards, testing them out. “Except that blow was just the beginning.”

  I strut past Uri and give him a pat on the shoulder. “Good luck out there.”

  Uri leaves, as in, totally disappears. I don’t care. He’s dead weight, and I trust him as far as I can trust this thing sliming up the wards. Two weres in human form (African cheetahs, I think) scale either side of the windows with daggers clutched between their teeth. Runes emanating green light swirl along the hilts. I’m not familiar with magical weapons. I only know they’re really good at dicing creepy things. And veggies.

  “Hey, there,” I say. “Allow me.” They look at me and then each other, speaking in clicks. The bigger of the two motions to me with a wave of his hand.

  I’m exhausted from battle and from dealing with petty crap like with Uri. But everyone is watching every move Celia makes, and us as her sisters. They want to see if she’s worthy of their lives, and I need to remind them they’re on the right side.

  A thin stream of lightning releases from my fingertip, sharp as a surgeon’s blade. Given my tiredness and the preciseness such magic requires, it’s tough to maintain. I make like it’s easy and force it down. The Nyte screeches, splitting in two and falling away in equal parts.

  I didn’t expect such an easy kill and avoid allowing it to reflect on my face. I pull it off well enough. The smaller were nods at me and says something in a language I don’t quite understand.

  I nod in return. “Welcome to America,” I say. “On behalf of my family, thank you for your willingness to protect the Mate and Child.”

  See? I can be polite, even as every curse in every language I know bounces in my head.

  I meant what I said to Uri. Tonight, is only the beginning.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gemini and I fearlessly swoop into the—

  Scratch that. There was no swooping or fearlessness on my part. The weres may have pulverized enough Nytes to claim a few suites for themselves and our allies, but the halls are still screwed up and taking us all over the damn manor. Did I mention, there’re creepy critters waiting to tear out your insides and wave them at you in said halls?

  “What the fuck?” I say, stumbling into the suite.

  Gemini slams the door and growls at it resentfully before turning around to address me. “You are not to leave this room without me.”

  I clutch my heart, trying to see if it’s still there and doing my best not to hyperventilate. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he questions.

  “Yeah. I’m cool with that.”

  He raises his brows. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

  “Hell no.” I push away from where I’m leaning against the wall. Gemini’s wolf pants right with me. “Did you see that thing? It’s like Alien and that crazy bitch from The Ring had a baby, and then it ate them.” I cringe and point to his shoulder. “You have a limb draped on your shoulder.”

  Gemini stiffens when he notices. “It’s not a leg.”

  I bend to pet the twin. He wags his tail. Unlike us, he had fun fighting that thing. “No?”

  “No.” He wrenches what I mistook for a leg off his shoulder and flings it into the fireplace. “It would seem that thing was male.”

  I stop my petting.

  “We won’t mention this ever again,” he mutters under his breath.

  I hold up my hand. “Fine by me, babe.”

  He helps me to my wobbly feet
and sighs. “Thank you for burning it the way you did.”

  “Thank you for ripping it off when it tackled me,” I say. I bat something gross from his chest. It doesn’t come off right away and feels like it has its own pulse. I stop trying and force a smile, even though it’s a hell of an effort. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

  Gemini has no problem returning my smile. “We do, my love.” He lifts my hand and kisses it. It’s sticky and sweaty from battle, and he could give a damn. If that’s not love, I don’t think I’ll ever find it.

  “Come,” he says. “Let’s find a place to rest and get clean.”

  “That would be fantastic,” I say.

  Gemini places his arm around me and leads me forward. We’d stayed behind to care for the injured and the dead while Aric saw to Celia.

  Aric didn’t just clear a suite for Celia. He cleared Genevieve’s quarters. Located on the third floor at the center of the house, Shayna reported back that, “It’s roughly the size of Kansas and contains enough period furniture to shame the hottest ripped-bodice novels, dude.”

  The location makes total sense. Here, Genevieve can monitor the magic of her coven and her guests and anticipate a coup or attack. Now, if only bat-shit crazy Bridette had resided in these halls.

  I rub at the knot in my neck. The foyer is a room in and of itself, though small by Genevieve’s standards. I suppose it’s designed for those waiting for an audience with the Tahoe region’s head witch. Guests are served champagne and caviar or whatever the fuck or told flat-out she’s not to be disturbed. Vieve enjoys her position, and it suits her, as does the former glory of her surroundings.

  A plush couch is set in front of the fireplace and stuffy winged chairs placed on either side. A bar takes up most of the right side, its stock of top-shelf alcohol and liquor all but gone.

  We nod to the weres standing guard by the entrance to Vieve’s private residence. “Is the hall clear, sir?” a female asks Gemini.

  “For the moment,” Gemini responds. “I’m not sure what the next hour will bring.” He gives the weres the once-over. The female has a nasty scar on her side just below her liver. But the cut closed thanks to Emme. If the magic keeping the weres from healing somehow lifts, or we manage to escape the manor, her beast will take over and smooth the scar, leaving no evidence of a hard-fought battle.

  “Have the next team take over your positions,” Gemini orders. “You need food and rest.”

  The male bows his head. “We’ve had our share of food, but we’ll take the rest, sir.” He lifts his head and addresses me, careful not to look me in the eye directly in front of my mate. “Your sisters are safe.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I was hoping that was the case and wasn’t as worried until we met that thing in the hall we just killed.

  Relief washes over Emme’s and Shayna’s faces when they see us walk in. I lift my hand, keeping them in place, along with Koda and Bren, where they’re eating at a crowded table full of weres.

  There’s not a lot of food. Mostly meat plates with cheeses. I think about how the were said he had his “share” of food, not his fill. It won’t be long until we run out of food. Any game on the grounds has likely escaped or was killed. I don’t think Johnny’s creations necessarily need food, but if I were him, I’d starve my enemies if it meant gaining the upper hand.

  Aric brought Celia here as soon as he could manage it, leaving Gemini in charge. Misha and his family accompanied them, as did a few witches who volunteered to “feed” the vampires.

  Misha insisted he and his family stay in Vieve’s dwelling to help protect Celia. Aric allowed it. He and Misha will never be bros, but he recognizes Misha’s loyalty to Celia and the stance he took against Uri.

  I look in the direction of what might be the master bedroom. Several witches stumble out, their skin flushed pink and their formal hairstyles spilling against their shoulders and faces from the multiple orgasms feeding the vampires must have aroused. The witch with waist-length silver hair is walking with her legs parted like she’s straddling a horse. My guess is she either fed and had sex with Misha, Ileana, or both.

  Gemini approaches Koda, whispering low. Koda has resumed his human form and is wearing what would be an extra-long pair of basketball shorts on anyone else. Scars in varying lengths crisscross his torso and back, and his long silky hair lies in a braid against a rather mangled shoulder. Like most of the weres at the table, the pains of battle are written all over his skin. He needs more than what’s in front of him, yet there he is, giving the lion’s share of the block of cheese he was provided to Shayna.

  “Where’s Celia?” I ask.

  Shayna finishes swallowing the piece of cheese she’s munching on. “Closet, dude,” she replies.

  Her response gives me the barest pause. Aric wouldn’t just shove Celia in a closet, if she’s there, it’s likely the safest place in the whole place. “All right,” I say. “Which way?”

  She motions to the door opposite from where the witches stumbled through. Before I can move, she clasps my arm. “If you can, give her a little while, T. Ceel didn’t want to leave us downstairs and continued to fight sleep even though the little momma was plenty spent. It took Aric holding her and his wolf to settle her beast.”

  “All right.”

  Shayna motions to her plate. “Want some food?”

  I take a small bowl of cheese, prosciutto, and grapes she offers. “Thank you,” I say, forcing down a few bites. I’m not hungry. Blood and gore have a way of robbing me of my appetite. I eat just enough to replenish some calories, more because I think I should, and pass the remainder to Gemini. He glances down at it and frowns, not liking how little I ate. “We may not get more later,” he warns.

  “I know,” I say.

  Bren pushes away from the table with a hard shove. I don’t think he could have sat farther away from Emme. I expect him to play like she’s not here and ignore her, but I’m wrong.

  Bren lifts his plate marches away from the kitchen, dropping his plate of sliced sausage in front of Emme. She looks up at him. He doesn’t look back, limping toward the back of the residence.

  Emme rises, ramming a few pieces of the sausage into her mouth. The rest of the meal she drops onto Gemini’s plate.

  Emme never eats without utensils or shoves food into her mouth. As a preemie who spent time in the NICU, Emme had many physical and occupational delays. Our mother helped Emme through her issues and worked on her skills by teaching her to use a knife and fork and to write at a young age. The skills stayed with Emme, as well as her manners. Yet here she is, chasing after Bren, her cheeks full of food.

  I stalk after them. Emme may have healed the worst of my injuries, but my bare feet continue to throb. I welcome the cool feel of the wooden floors as I round the corner into a small bedroom.

  The mattress has been pulled, and the bed dismantled, its remains piled against a corner. Shams and blankets cover the floors. Several will sleep in the small space, the security of the sheer number of allies allowing for at least a few hours of solid sleep.

  “Emme, stop. Stop,” Bren growls.

  I stomp toward the bathroom, unable to take what’s happening between them. There’s so much pain and hurt, and neither will do a damn thing about it. Yeah, yeah, I went through the same thing with Gemini. But that was different. We were lovers, and Emme and Bren are not. I think. God, at least I hope not.

  My determined steps falter when I throw open the door. Bren sits on the edge of a jacuzzi tub large enough for a cozy foursome. Emme’s face is pink with frustration.

  I huff. “What’s the problem this time?” I ask.

  Bren mutters a few curses. I roll my eyes. “Really, Bren? You’ll have to give me more than that.”

  Emme glances down at her hand, spreading her fingers. It’s then I see how raw they appear. Emme is raw from healing? What the absolute hell? Light fills her palms and spreads across her digits when she notices me, notice her hands.

  “I’m fine, T
aran,” she says.

  My gaze bounces from her to Bren. “Not completely, are you?”

  She swallows hard. No wonder she ate as much as she did. We’re sapped from battle. Emme is worn out by every soul she touched and saved.

  “Just tell me what’s going on,” I press when both fall silent.

  “It’s Bren,” Emme says. “He doesn’t want me to heal him.”

  I cross my arms when Bren clenches his jaw and all but cracks three molars. “He doesn’t want you healing him, or he doesn’t want you touching him?” Bren narrows his eyes, warning me I’m about to cross a line. I run my mouth anyway. It takes more than dirty looks and lines crossed in the sand to stop me. “Which is it this time? And what has you so worked up?”

  “I’m not worked up,” he growls.

  “It totally shows,” I quip. I gather my hair around me, allowing the coolness in the bathroom to reach the back of my neck. I could sleep for days, except Johnny Dearest won’t give us that option.

  “I’m trying to help,” Bren says. He swipes at his scruffy beard and swears. “She’s bad off. She doesn’t need me making it worse.”

  “Okay, now you’re just grasping at straws,” I mutter. “She’s eaten, she’s recovering. Let her help you.”

  “No,” he snaps.

  “Quit acting like a damn martyr,” I snap back. “Seriously, what’s the big deal about Emme healing you, touching you, or otherwise?”

  I frown when I see blood oozing down his leg. I ease forward and lift the edge of his long shorts. “Holy shit,” I say gasping.

  I smack his hand away when he tries to shove the fabric back down. “You have a crater in your thigh.”

  “I know,” Bren replies.

  “No, you don’t. I can practically stick my head through it!”

  Emme’s jaw is on the ground. She wasn’t aware of that injury. Like me, I was fixated on the seeping wound just above his knee and the hamburger his calf and ankle have become. Bren swipes at the wound, splattering the white tile with green fluid and tearing the skin that had closed open.