The Return (The Witch Hunter Saga)

by Nicole R. Taylor

  "Zac," she whispered. "It's going to be alright. I'll get you out of this."

  He nodded, understanding what she had to do.

  She smiled down at him, her hands caressing his face, tracing his jaw.

  "I love you," she said, then twisted.

  Aya knew he was at the door before it opened. Cradling Zac's head in her lap, she glared up at Arturius as he sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him with a dull thud.

  "How many times do you think you can snap Zachary's neck before his head comes off entirely?" he asked with a sneer.

  Pursing her lips, Aya stood, placing Zac's head gently on the hard floor. Breaking his neck was the only way to take him down without killing him. "I know it's pay back, Arturius. For Caius."

  "Oh yes, you did the same thing to him once, if I remember correctly. Except he actually tore himself apart." He scowled at her and shook his head, remembering. "Who do you think was the one who stuck all the pieces back together?"

  "There was no way he would have died."

  "Of course not. But you're as sadistic as we are, love. You enjoyed that little show. Let me enjoy mine."

  "Invite him in."

  "Oh, come on. We've plenty of time to do that."

  "Go and die, Arturius."

  "Oh, my dear," Arturius continued. "What happened to your sense of humor?"

  "Get it over with. Whatever you have us here for get it over with."

  The Roman regarded her for a moment then said, "How long has it been? Four hundred, maybe five hundred years since we've seen each other?"

  "I don't really care."

  "Ahh," he held a finger up. "Tudor England. 1500's. Spanish Armada and what-not."

  "I'm not in the mood for a catch up, Arturius," she rolled her eyes.

  "Always so impatient, Aeriaya."

  "Only when it comes to you lot."

  He let out a small laugh, his eyes sparkling in the gloomy light.

  Aya didn't have the stomach for his games, so she cut to the chase. "Did you go to Morgan or did she go to you?"

  Arturius smirked, "She came to me."

  She knew it. Morgan was in love with Zac and wanted her out of the picture. Her greatest mistake was dealing with the founders. She wouldn't have to seek retribution for this. They did the job for her. Stupid woman.

  The Roman looked down at Zac with a confused look, when his eyes met hers again, they were nothing but cold.

  "What have you done with Gabby?"

  "I'm helping her," he said quietly.

  "You and I both know that your idea of help is going to destroy her." The darkness inside of her would consume everyone and everything. She'd seen the same thing happen to Violet Cohen, but that time she'd been there to stop it.

  "That's a matter of opinion." He turned his back and pulled a chair into the middle of the room and sat to face her. He wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

  Aya slid her back down the far wall and sat next to Zac, regarding the Roman warily. She knew that he had no idea what to do with her. She couldn't be killed by any means they knew. Even she didn't know how she could die. What would Arturius do with her now?

  It had been hundreds of years since she had seen the Roman and the years hadn't changed much. He was still the hard, vicious and calculating man she had known back then. But, when she'd first met him, he hadn't been like that, had he? He had a kindness about him, but Katrin had firmly erased it and shaped him into something else.

  Her eyes flew up to his face as he sighed and leant forward, elbows resting on his knees, a finger tracing the point where his scar reached his jaw. "The world I knew, Rome, it was all a lie," his voice was unusually quiet, making her regard him with suspicion. "The gods didn't exist. Everything that I had sacrificed myself for was meaningless. Katrin offered us a new life. One where we had the control. One where we had the truth."

  "But she lied to you too," Aya said quietly.

  "She lied to us all, Aeriaya."

  "There's more?"

  "More than you or I will ever know," he sighed, leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Why did she do it?" She didn't have to explain what she meant., Arturius knew better than anyone.

  "She never told us her reasons for betraying the Celestines and the other witches. I would suggest you speak to her, but she's dead."

  "What about you?"

  His eyes narrowed. "We were tricked, Aeriaya. All of us. Except maybe Regulus."

  "He wanted this?"

  "He was the one who convinced us all. I didn't want to be this… this monster. But, he convinced me and there was no going back. I had no reason to desert the Legion. None at all. I was content."

  "Content to conquer and kill."

  "It was a different time, Aeriaya. A different world. It was what I believed in."

  "That's why you hate him so much," she said quietly, but Arturius didn't seem to hear her.

  "Katrin doted on Regulus. He had been disgraced and she took him in when he was little more than filth to the people he'd dedicated his life to. He went along with it in the beginning, but he soon came around. We were at each others throats from day one."

  Aya didn't know what to say. Why was Arturius telling her all of this? Perhaps he needed to repent. But, this had been the first time they had sat in the same room in two thousand years without trying to kill one another.

  "Katrin ordered me to seduce you," he said absently. "Of course I had to do it. But, it wasn't all a lie."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, frowning. He couldn't mean…

  "The day Regulus dumped you at my feet, a terrified slip of a thing, I was transfixed."

  "Please…" She rolled her eyes.

  "That is the truth. And it's more truth than I have given anyone."

  She didn't want to believe that Arturius had had feelings for her in the beginning. Not after what he had done to her. "Do you even feel any remorse for the things you've done?"

  Arturius smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Remorse? Me?" He said it like the answer was glaringly obvious. He didn't have any. "How about you?"

  "You can't admit to it, so how could I?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "Try and separate the truth from the lies, Aeriaya. I dare you."

  "I don't want to play your games, Arturius."

  "I didn't want to do it," he said, his voice strangely quiet. "I was the one who tore your brother apart."

  She shot to her feet, a snarl erupting from her throat, eyes threatening to change.

  "I knew how much you loved him, but I had to."

  She took a step forward, hands trembling in tight fists at her sides.

  "It was my punishment for turning you. For having feelings. Taking away the thing you cared about the most."

  "No," she hissed. "How could you?" Even as she said it, she knew he'd had no choice. Katrin had ordered it and her power had bound him to follow it through.

  "If you hadn't of been so hell bent on killing me for the past two thousand years, I might have explained myself."

  "Why do you care about explaining yourself? I could never forgive you for any of it."

  "Sometimes I think I'm still a man underneath all of this," he gestured to himself. "Under the beast."

  Aya shook her head, trying to clear her rage. "There is no man left."

  Arturius stood abruptly, the chair falling over behind him. The Roman was an inch away from her face, their eyes boring into each others. All Aya had to do was reach out and touch him, then he would be hers. But, she had to know. "Why did you do it? Why'd you turn me?"

  "I wanted to destroy you," he spat. "Like you destroyed me."

  "Katrin destroyed us all, Arturius. Not me."

  "If it wasn't for you, I would still be human." He pushed her up against the wall, her head cracking on the brickwork, his hand around her neck. Pushing himself into her, she felt his lips against the skin of her neck.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said, the warning clear in her
voice.

  He brought his head up, his eyes glaring into hers.

  "Where is Gabby?" She didn't falter. She could kill him now if she chose.

  Arturius let his grip slacken and he dropped her, her feet touching the ground. "You've become a monster, Aeriaya. What would your precious Celestines say if they were still alive to see you?"

  "I'm no longer a Celestine," she said, the emotion dropping from her voice. "You saw to that the day you snapped my neck."

  Arturius snorted, taking a few steps back. He ran his hands over his face and took a few sharp breaths. She'd gotten under his skin and she didn't care in the slightest.

  "We can feel when one of us dies. That was the only reason you escaped that night. When you killed Titus, none of us understood what was happening until we found what was left of him. It was then that Katrin ordered us to kill your family." He seemed to be trying to make it better.

  "You're talking to me like an old friend, Arturius. What do you want? Sympathy?"

  "You think everything we do is about you," he sneered, his eyes darkening. "There are bigger things at stake than a rouge hybrid."

  "Like what?"

  He remained silent, eyeing her with distaste. What were they up to? "I know I won't survive you. Whether it be tomorrow or in a thousand years… But damned if I let you kill me before I'm ready." He turned his back to her, dropping his head. She found it insulting, that he thought he had all the power. "I haven't decided what to do with you yet." he murmured. "That depends on my friends upstairs."

  "Lucky me," she said.

  He looked back at her, a frown creasing his brow. "How did you do it?"

  "Do what?' she asked, knowing he meant how she had killed the other founders.

  "Titus, Marcus, Octavia… Caius."

  "When you made me, not all parts of my old self withered and died."

  "Though, time has," he said absently. It was this comment that made Aya understand. He knew that her power had faltered when she'd killed Caius. He thought it was all gone.

  She didn't say anything, instead waiting to hear what he would say next. It would all be over if he found out. Arturius would kill everyone she'd come to care about in a heartbeat if he knew even a drop of the truth. And Zac would be the first. He would be dead and she would be imprisoned for eternity.

  He sighed, looking back down at Zac before walking towards the door. He paused, his hand on the knob and looked back over his shoulder at her. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your brother." Aya stiffened at his admission. She went to speak, but he continued, "I died a hero, but I lived long enough to become a villain. Don't make the same mistake I did."

  "Poor you," she rolled her eyes, not believing him for a second.

  "No," he said. "Poor you."

  The Roman strode back across the room and hauled up Zac's unconscious body, hooking his arms under his shoulders. Aya stood, ready to do whatever it took to stop the Roman from taking him, but he shot her a warning glare that stopped her in her tracks.

  "Don't think about it Aeriaya. If you want him to live, you will not lift a finger to harm me."

  Aya backed up against the wall, her gaze cutting straight into him as he dragged Zac out of the room, the door closing heavily behind them, leaving her to her imprisonment alone. If he did anything to harm Zac, she would stop at nothing to tear Arturius to pieces. And she would enjoy every moment of his torment.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dorset, United Kingdom

  43AD

  Lucius Arturius Quintillus was a man to be reckoned with.

  He was typical for a centaur of the Roman Legion. Broad shouldered, heavily muscled and imposing. His men would follow him to the bowels of the underworld or suffer at the end of his blade. They feared and respected him and never questioned his logic. His men came back alive. That's what made him the best.

  It was this new crusade that had the entire Legion rattled. Cesar had ordered the expansion of the empire into Britannia. Wild lands that lay across the channel.

  Stories about the Britons, ferocious tribes of men stained with blue war paint, had the younger more unseasoned soldiers nervous. Julius Caesar had tried to conquer them some eighty years before without success, but this time it would be different. This time they understood their enemy.

  Arturius' legion, II Augusta, was lead by General Vespasian. While the other legions travelled northwards into the wilds, they were tasked with the capture of the south west. Old country that the tribes held sacred and fought fiercely to protect. They were battle hardy men and the only ones that were fit to conquer this stretch of land.

  On the morn of the eleventh day they marched upon a small castle, nestled upon a green hillock. It was hard for them not to be aware of the Legion's approach, so when they crested the rise and saw the castle for the first time, they were greeted with the sight of a group of Briton's amassed on the hillside. They stood to defend their homes, but Arturius knew they only stood to face their deaths.

  Vespasian ordered Arturius to take his men and deal with the savages. The Britons had amassed a mere one hundred men and boys to defend the fort and eighty of the best and brightest Roman legionaries would slaughter them in minutes. Here, skill would prevail over numbers.

  "Don't disappoint me, Arturius," Vespasian said, gesturing down the hill. "You are one of my best primius pilus, are you not?" He was one of the best and that meant knowing that the general just wanted to sit back and be entertained by the bloodshed.

  He hesitated a moment. This seemed wrong. They were just a group of old men and children, not seasoned warriors. They would hardly have a chance to defend themselves or even surrender before the Legion squashed them. "But, Sir. It will be a massacre."

  Vespasian turned and glared at him, his gaze cutting straight through to his bones. "Are you questioning your orders, Arturius? If you are, know that you are replaceable." He gave him a look that suggested his replacement would put him in the ground.

  "No, sir," he said, quickly covering his doubt.

  "You have your orders, now go and execute them. For the glory of Rome." The general clapped a fist over his heart.

  It was the first time he had questioned his superior and Arturius suddenly felt sick. He had always followed orders unquestioned, trusting he was doing the right thing for Rome and the gods. And he had always known he was replaceable, but how replaceable was now glaringly apparent. To speak out to his general was treason and his sentence would be waiting for him at the end of a sword. He hoped that he could make up for his slip. He had to.

  "Yes, sir," he said sharply, clapping a fist over his own heart. If it was a spectacle Vespasian wanted, then he would get one grander than the Gladiators of Rome could ever hope to put on and he would be the star.

  As Arturius marched forward with his men, he couldn't help but scoff at the sight before him. The Britons were all over the place, their line haphazard and weak, their vanguard full of old men and children. They had no idea what they were doing. It was a stark contrast to the Roman formation, which suggested order, precision and training. It would be a senseless slaughter, but Arturius was more interested in saving himself.

  His attention was pulled back to his own front line as he saw the man to the left veer too far from his shield-mate. "Titus, keep in formation," he barked at the soldier. He didn't care to know all of their names, but this one was a particularly bloodthirsty fighter. Along with Marcus, Paius and Augustus. These men he'd made his elite. His brothers in arms.

  As the two forces met in a clash of steel, Arturius surged forward with a roar, bringing his sword down on a stout man, his face and chest smeared with blue paint, willing himself not to think about what he was doing. The man had no hope of escaping the Roman's blade and it sunk deep. Wrenching it away in a shower of hot blood, he crashed into the next man, slashing upwards. His victim stumbled forward in surprise at the sudden pain, exposing his back. Arturius didn't hesitate. He plunged his blade clean through his heart. For the glory of Rom
e.

  There was a savage roar behind him as the dead weight of the man slumping to the ground freed his blade. Pivoting on his heel, Arturius was a fraction too late lifting his sword to parry the axe that was arcing towards his face. Everything seemed to slow down as he stumbled backwards, trying to arc his head out of the way, but it wasn't quite enough. The sun glinted off the crudely forged iron weapon as it sliced into his face, narrowly missing his right eye.

  Arturius was stunned for a second as the Briton heaved the axe back to swing again. He blinked hard as blood began to drip into his eye. Eyesight intact, he grimaced, cutting his blade upwards and sliced cleanly into the man's weapon arm. He dropped the axe with a wail as blood began to soak his crude shirt and Arturius kicked him viscously in the stomach. He doubled over, the air pushed from his lungs, and was tripped backwards, falling hard on his back.

  Then, it was as if Arturius was overcome by some demon. Straddling the man who had tried to hack his skull open, he brought his sword down hard into his chest, narrowly missing his heart. Pulling it out, blood began to pour from the wound at an alarming rate, but he wasn't done at all. As his own blood ran from his face, blinding his right eye, he sunk his hands into the Briton's chest and tore, digging straight into his chest cavity. As his hand came into contact with his still beating heart, Arturius paused. It was insane what he was doing, but he felt powerful.

  With a guttural roar, he ripped out the man's heart and tossed it aside, his chest heaving.

  His head snapped up as he caught sight of two Briton's staring down at him with looks of horror on their faces. Before they could turn and run, he grasped his sword and cut them down with swift, efficient blows to the heart and neck.

  He cut down three more men before he realized that there were no more. His men had made short work of the Britons. All they had left to do was to enter the castle and establish order. There would be women and younger children inside who would be put to work. The castle would be rebuilt.