by Cecy Robson
“Then she’ll belong to me,” Vieve responds, losing her smile. “As your young weres belong to you.”
Aric shakes his head as Gemini mutters my favorite swear word. His response gives me pause, like I mentioned he’s not one to swear or swim in all this rage he has going on. It’s a struggle not to meet his face or to assure him that I’ll be fine. He doesn’t want me, he made that clear long ago.
Instead I focus on Aric, and how his features reflect my annoyance at Vieve insinuating she’d own me.
“Taran is neither a young were for me to manage or a Lesser witch for you to command. She’s proven herself as a formidable member of our Alliance on numerous occasions and should be treated with respect.”
Vieve leans in, making it clear she’s not playing around. “She’s proved herself as she was. It’s time for her to prove herself as she is.” This time when she speaks, her attention is all on me. “If you fail, upon your return I will place you with Lesser witches who are closer to your age and also the weakest among us.”
“Genevieve,” Aric begins. “This is insulting to both Taran and me.”
She motions mildly with her hand. “Would you prefer I place her with our school-aged population, who may I add, already possess more command and power than Taran? Or would you rather she be among those older yet struggling as she does? These are my terms, Aric. Take them or don’t.”
“She’ll stay with us,” Aric responds. “And she’ll master her control safely. Those are my terms or you can forget any favors the Pack will owe you.”
“You’re both assuming I don’t stand a chance against Hannah,” I begin.
“Savana,” the other guard mutters.
“Whatever,” I respond. “Just point the way and I’ll bring her in.”
“I’ll allow a small team of three to watch your back should you encounter other threats,” Vieve replies when she catches something in Celia’s features. “But Savana’s capture must be achieved using your magic alone.” She relaxes against her chair all-too gracefully. “Need I remind you, you’re the one who has something to prove.”
“I don’t need reminding,” I tell her. “Heard you loud and clear the first time, Vieve.”
“Don’t even think about it, sweetness,” Aric says, when Celia stirs beside him. “Not in your condition.”
Her stare hardens she dips her chin. “I know,” she says, so quietly I barely hear her.
Bren, who’s been unusually closed-mouthed for him, nudges me with his big wet nose. I stroke the fur along his large head with my good hand. “It’s okay, Ceel,” I reply, knowing that at least for now, her days of kicking ass are over. “Bren has my back.”
That much I know. Yet the way Bren regards me and wags his tail touches me in a way I’m not prepared for. I walk carefully away when I feel my emotions begin to spiral, not bothering to say goodbye. No one stops me and no one follows me except for Bren who trots loyally beside me.
I’m not sure what to expect as I march through the house. For all I know about a dozen witches armed with eye of newt or whatever the hell are waiting to take me out in the foyer. Yet even though I can sense magic practically seeping through the walls of this ancient building, and hear voices trailing from the upstairs rooms, I don’t see anyone until I step onto the wraparound porch.
What seems to be a new set of Lesser witches trail between the crops, carrying buckets of water. This group wears light tan and white pilgrim / Amish / nun outfits. Bren chuffs beside me, his frown bouncing from me to them.
“Believe me, I don’t want to end up out there either,” I tell him.
I fold my arms in front of me and lean against the railing, my stare latching onto the leather cord crisscrossed along my psycho arm. It’s not as tight, having gradually loosened once it got my arm under control. But it’s there. I feel Vieve’s power skulking beneath it, ready to smack it around should it disobey.
With a defeated sigh, I return my attention to where the Lesser witches trudge through the soil. A few don’t quite make it to the center of the field before having to lower their buckets and take a few needed breaths. I don’t want this to be my eventual fate. It’s not that I don’t believe in hard work, I’ve worked hard all my life. It’s more like I don’t feel like I belong. Not that it’s anything new.
“I was pretty bad in there, wasn’t I?” I ask Bren.
Bren releases a small whine in affirmation, but then pokes me in the elbow with his nose, careful not to touch my affected arm or Genevieve’s bind.
“Yeah, it helps,” I admit. “But it’s like trying to seal a gaping wound with a Sponge Bob band aid, buddy.”
The door creaks open behind me, and although I feel the familiar tension, I’m still surprised when Gemini positions himself to my right. Bren, for all I’d like him to, doesn’t stay. He hops down the steps, disappearing into the garden.
I hope he lifts his leg over Vieve’s favorite rosebush. Hey, a real friend would.
Gemini shifts his body to face the field, neither of us speaking, at least not right away.
“How are you?” he finally asks, his deep voice rumbling and his dark eyes fixed on the field.
Being as defensive as I am, and as hurt as I’ve been, I want to tell him that it’s none of his business, and that it hasn’t been since the day he moved out. But it’s because I’m still devastated over our break-up that I don’t lash out.
I’m miserable, I want to say.
I miss you, my heart responds.
Why did you have to stop loving me?
Yet my mouth remains closed. I hope my emotions can follow suit and stay just as silent, except they don’t. They never could settle around him.
“I don’t want you to go after Savana, with or without a team,” he tells me. “You should stay here and do as Genevieve asks. It’s the only real chance you have to regain command over your magic.”
Maybe it’s because he’s trying to tell me what to do that my anger returns. Or maybe it’s because he mentioned his new girlfriend and how he expects me to bow down and give into her demands that pisses me off.
Hmm. I think it might be the latter.
I lift my chin to meet his face. “That would be like me telling you, you shouldn’t be here,” I respond.
He frowns. “You know my position with the witches. This is nothing new.”
“I’m sure you take many positions with the witches,” I reply, all the resentment I’m feeling lancing each word. “One head witch in particular must be very familiar with them by now.”
Gemini barely blinks, his anger rivaling mine. “You pushed me away,” he says, closing the small space between us. “Just as you did in there. Why do you think I’m the one most covered by the remains of your clashing magic? I was the one fighting to get to you the hardest, and the one you fought to keep the furthest away.”
“Did I push you away?” I ask as pensively. I lift my bound arm. “Or did this?” I scoff when he withdraws from it like it could somehow bite. “It did, didn’t it? Right into the healthy arms of another.”
“You’re so wrong,” he growls.
“No. You are.” I back away, whipping my hand out to stop him when he reaches for me. Of course it’s my bad hand, and of course it easily keeps him from drawing closer. “Don’t touch me,” I tell him, my throat burning with impending tears. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”
I don’t wait for his response. I barrel down the steps, passing Celia and Aric. I didn’t notice them there, but it’s easy to be distracted when your heart is busy breaking.
Chapter Six
I adjust my position in the front passenger seat, along with the magical equivalent of MapQuest on my lap. There’s a reason you don’t hear much about Kentucky. It’s quiet. Almost too quiet, and the people are ridiculously nice. Too nice. I’m not saying it’s a Stepford state, but I’m not used to so many people smiling my way and meaning it, unless I’m at a club and they happen to be staring at my ass. If I had to guess, I’
d think the whole state was under some eerie spell. But I’ll take it. I grew up in Jersey so I’m just excited that at least for the moment, no one’s tried to “cut” us.
We barrel down the country road in our rental Jeep, passing another band of locals who smile and wave our way. We wave back, Bren’s grin widening when a young woman in a cowboy hat, bikini top, and not much else blows him a kiss.
“It’s not such a bad place. Is it?” he asks. “Nope, not so bad at all . . .”
Bren’s driving because I’m too busy giving him directions and Shayna aka Hades’ Chauffeur isn’t allowed to drive us anywhere. It’s not that she can’t drive well, it’s more like she can’t drive slow and doesn’t care if we live so long as she gets there.
Ordinarily, I’d just ask Siri. She’s my girl. But apparently rogue witches don’t like to leave forwarding addresses or ways to be easily found. So I’m stuck staring at a stick punctured through the center of piece of cardboard. “N” for North, “S” for South, “E” for East, and “W” for West, are scrawled in charcoal around the perimeter of a drawn-in circle. A strand of hair the witches believe belonged to Savana is tied to the stick on one end, and wound around a pebble at the other end.
I made a mental note to avoid leaving any DNA around Vieve. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit witches can do with piece of your hair or, God forbid, a toenail.
“Bear right,” I tell Bren when the pebble tilts between “N” and “E”.
Koda’s growls erupt from the other end of Shayna’s phone. She’s sitting in the rear with Emme. Bren’s blasting the radio and I can still hear Koda like he’s perched on my lap.
“Puppy, there’s no sense in fussing,” she tells him calmly.
“Fussing” she calls it. Um. No. Fussing is what babies do when they drop their favorite toys from their highchairs. Koda’s sound effects are reminiscent of a wild beast tearing flesh from his prey’s bones.
More growls, more snarls, and something that may or not have been the sound of cracking molars. If he was here, I’d be running for my life. Yet Shayna, unlike the rest of us, isn’t scared of Koda and is very much used to him flipping out.
He doesn’t want her here with me. It’s not just because of the witch we’re hunting, even though no one is taking her seriously, but also because he doesn’t trust my arm even with Vieve’s bind. He’s afraid I’ll hurt her, and he’s not alone. This bind maybe forcing my hand to behave, but Vieve made it clear it won’t last, and when it goes, we could be in a firestorm of trouble.
The thing is, my iPhone isn’t exactly overflowing with contacts I can call. Celia’s out of commission due to her delicate state, and the vampires are well, slutty. And when it comes to vamps and owing them a favor, you’ll always get screwed in the end and in every position possible. Vampires suck that way.
Bren was the first to offer his help. Emme volunteered in case she needed to heal me, but also because she’s sweet and genuinely wants to support me. Shayna is always ready to skip into danger waving a battle axe, since that’s how my perky sister rolls. But Bren and Emme don’t have anyone to talk them out of joining me. And Shayna . . . let’s say her fuzzier half isn’t happy.
The next set of growls have her extending the phone out and away from her. “Puppy, don’t fret,” she says sweetly, returning her phone to her ear. “I promise to make it up to you when I come home.”
She whispers something that I don’t catch, but cracks Bren up. “Holy shit. That’s some kinky stuff there, Shayna.”
Shayna covers the phone as I glance over my shoulder. Her cheeks are pink, but there’s that smile that lights up every room she enters. “He likes peanut butter,” she tells him. “Most people do.”
“Most like it on bread. Not on their—”
“I’m going to stop you both right there,” Emme says, holding a hand out.
I crack up with Bren, despite it being Shayna’s cat that’s run screeching out of the bag, Emme’s face is flaming red. Shayna laughs for whole different reasons, now that her scary beast is under control. She whispers into the phone, giggling when he says something I don’t hear, and probably shouldn’t.
“What’s the matter, Emme?” Bren asks her, when her blush doesn’t seem ready to leave her. “Never had peanut butter slathered on your rolls?”
I start laughing until I catch sight of Emme’s face. Her skin remains just as flushed, but there’s more riddling her angelic features than shyness. My smile fades as she seems to shrivel inward, trying to hide from the world.
“What about honey, baby?” Bren presses. “Ever try a little sweetness down below?”
I touch his arm when he continues to laugh, the way I shake my head causing him to immediately quiet. Emme’s not a virgin, but she’s very virgin-like in her mannerisms and thoughts. We tease her because of it, and it’s all in fun, but something’s different this time.
His eyes cut to the rearview mirror, his thick brows knitting tight. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks.
Emme nods, forcing that smile she’s flashed way too many times, but keeping her head down. “I’m fine,” she says, stammering slightly.
It’s clear that she’s lying. Bren doesn’t have to take a whiff to know as much, yet he still does. His nostrils flare as he inhales, only for his breath to hitch. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“What’s wrong?” I mouth.
His humor is now long gone. “She’s not doing well,” he whispers.
I angle around to see her. The shadows cast by trees pass along her face as she stares out of the window and withdraws further away. Emme’s our light, she always has been. So why does it seem like that light is dwindling right in front of us?
“Liam?” Bren mouths.
I shake my head, not just because I don’t want him mentioning Liam’s name, but because I don’t think his memory is the cause. At least not this time.
Liam was one of Aric’s Warriors, and a close friend to him and Gemini. He was also Koda’s best friend and Emme’s lover. She adored him, but she wasn’t his mate. No, Liam belonged to another. So when Liam died, Emme didn’t just mourn the loss of someone we all loved, she mourned what she believed she was never meant to have.
I know that feeling because I share that same sense of loss, only it’s not due to Liam.
Bren nudges me with his elbow as we speed down a small highway with ancient trees on either side, their branches extending out to entwine like carefully clasped hands. He wants to know where my thoughts are headed, so he can get a stronger fix on what’s wrong with Emme.
“She’s lonely,” I say under my breath.
He keeps his stare ahead, giving nothing away. But I know he heard me. Those heightened senses of his never miss a thing.
The next few miles are quiet, which is typical for Emme, but not for the rest of us. Even Shayna hasn’t said a word since disconnecting with her not-so adorable “puppy”. Like the rest of us, she’s likely picked up on Emme’s solemn mood.
I want to talk to her, except this isn’t the time for a heart to heart. I know it, and so does everyone else.
My brows lift when something stimulates my so-called compass. “Um, go right,” I say, watching the pebble angle up toward the corner.
“Right as in east?” he asks.
“More like Northeast,” I answer, watching the pebble continuing to levitate.
“You sure?” He eases off the gas, appearing to take in everything ahead of us and along the deeply wooded edges. “I only see straight.”
I start to insist, only for the words to seep back down my throat when the strand of hair and pebble float parallel to the paper. When we first slipped into the Jeep, it swung along the edges, tilting just enough so we’d know where to go. Now, it’s tugging at the hair hard enough to snap it.
“I’m going to go with yes,” I tell him, my voice trailing.
I’m not thrilled at how this little stone is acting. But when it starts to shake like it’s freaking scared, I’m reminded how muc
h saving the world sucks monkey ass. Peeps, this is so not a good sign.
“Bren—”
I lurch forward when he slams on the breaks, my grip instinctively tightening around the edges of the compass. I don’t have to look at him to know he sees what I see. The pebble is no longer shaking, it’s jerking violently. I jolt when it breaks free from the strand and soars through the partially lowered window, chipping the edge.
Bren sets the emergency brake, sniffing in the direction where the eerily rigid strand of hair is pointing. All that’s there is thick brush and trees centuries old. Yet that doesn’t mean I’m any less afraid.
Something is really wrong.
“Stay here,” he says, opening the door and slipping out.
I lower the window the rest of the way and peer out. The slight breeze lifts my hair. It’s warm, but not so warm that we needed air conditioning during the drive. Instead, we opened the windows about halfway down, allowing the aroma of blossoming flowers and trees to indulge our senses.
Yet while the now familiar scents continue to trickle into my nose, the air itself is different, stirring within it more than pollen and bits of dust from the road.
My vision sharpens, I don’t realize how white my irises turn until I catch sight of my reflection in the side mirror. Christ, they’re practically glowing.
“T . . . your eyes,” Shayna says.
“I know,” I respond, my voice appearing to drift. But neither my voice nor my reflection keep my interest. Bren does.
His back is to us and his hands are placed firmly on his hips. The breeze picks up again, sharpening everything in front of me until the scene appears like paper cut-outs layered on top of each other.
Bren’s hands fall cautiously to his sides. I toss the compass on the floor and hurry out, slamming the door behind me.
The magic charging the air drags me forward like the pull of a relentless stalker. I’m not a runner, but I am in shape. Yet despite that Bren stands only a few feet away, my legs feel heavy, as if I’ve just reached the end of a very long race.