Morning's Light (Cavaldi Birthright Book 2)

by Brea Viragh

  He’d contemplated calling her to talk. Going back to Lake Forest to her family’s home and asking her to explain again, to show him the miracles she worked. What he saw, what he felt, had been utterly real. Magic was real.

  Instead, he’d spent a restless night flopping around on his mattress like a dying fish and decided to come to work. To be near her, in a way, a place they both frequented which held her essence. A comfort for him.

  He meant enough to her that his reaction to her secret caused a reaction. How interesting.

  “Yes,” she answered quietly. “And don’t ask me anything more. I can’t tell you.”

  “It’s okay, you know.” Rising, he retrieved the first aid kit from underneath the counter and found a tube of antibacterial ointment. “I’m not upset.”

  “Scared?”

  “Maybe a little. Not for me. I’m scared for you.”

  She closed her eyes, enjoying his ministrations. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were scared. I know it’s a lot to take in. Kind of makes you rethink everything you know about life.”

  “There was a lot of that, I’ll be honest with you. I feel…deceived.”

  “I have to say you’re taking it well.”

  “How am I supposed to take it? Have you ever told anyone about this before?”

  “No, you’re the first.” She paused, worried the inside of her lip, then said, “And I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

  He tenderly rewrapped her red and swollen feet in a fresh towel and rubbed the cotton. “I’m not leaving you anytime soon. You better get used to me.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He listened to her sigh, a soft sound like a breath of wind through a chime. “We don’t need to go over it, not anymore. I think we’ve said everything. Another time, maybe. Will you tell me what happened to you?”

  “No.”

  He cleared his throat. “I think it’s best to focus on your feet. They don’t look good.”

  Aisanna scoffed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “We need to get you taken care of immediately.”

  “Respectfully, Elon, I’ll do what I need to do on my own time. I can heal myself faster than any doctor can. Stop worrying about me and be happy I’m letting you do—” She gestured down at his hands. “—whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “What? You’ve never had someone massage your feet before?” He grinned at her.

  “I can’t say I have. Not without paying for the privilege.”

  He noticed the moment she let go of the tension. Her shoulders drooped and she lazily shrugged out of her coat.

  “Someone needs to take the time out of their day to do more for you. I know you’re an independent woman, and it’s a real turn-on, believe me. Still, even liberated ladies deserve a man to show them kindness without strings attached every now and then. Like a foot rub, or a glass of wine after a long day. A kiss.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.” She pointed at him and schooled her face into a stern look.

  “Does this have anything to do with your sickness every time I say the word date?” He pressed his suit, wondering when she would fully open up to him. When, if ever, she would give him her trust.

  “I have no issues with the word, only when you say it. How about you tell me why you decided to come here to think instead of staying at home?”

  Releasing her foot only long enough to set the used towel aside, Elon spoke to her of his musings. “I came here because I didn’t think you would be in and I didn’t think you would mind, to be honest.”

  “I guess I don’t, not when it comes down to it.”

  He saw the moment her shock registered, surprised at the words flowing from her mouth. She hadn’t expected to feel that way, and certainly hadn’t wanted him to know.

  “I was upset on principle,” she continued, ducking her head. “When it comes down to brass tacks I know who to trust, Elon. I guess you can keep your key.”

  “I appreciate it. Especially because I know how hard it is for you to let me in. To the store,” he clarified to get her to smile.

  “I know you aren’t going to vandalize the place while I’m at home, or out shopping.”

  “Or trying to convince naïve country boys about magic?”

  She chuckled. “Yes, sure.”

  After a few long moments had passed, Elon spoke again, the quiet flow of his voice soothing her. “I notice you didn’t answer my question earlier. Have been dancing around it quite well, actually. Makes me think you would be great at the foxtrot if we ever went out.”

  “I don’t have any answers for you.” She kept her eyes averted. A classic sign that she had no interest in divulging details to him. “And people don’t do the foxtrot anymore.”

  Shyness, Elon decided, was not her normal way and instantly made him wary. “All right. I’ll leave you alone.”

  He stood, his joints protesting the movement though he was only now approaching his mid-twenties. He stared at her for a moment longer, her face devoid of cosmetics and fragile, heartbreaking.

  He hated to leave her, the desire swamping him. Inappropriately. That sort of response did not come around often. Certainly not with any other woman besides Aisanna.

  With Elon’s last few girlfriends, their feelings had been more of a quiet romance, sweet and easy. Easy to find. Easy to get over. Aisanna was different. Even before his knowledge of her magic, being around her was like fighting a tide, being dragged by the undertow until you lost sight of the shore. He didn’t mind.

  Restless, he walked the length of the counter and back again. “You’re worrying me,” he said, for lack of anything else. “I need to know you’re okay.”

  Aisanna opened her mouth then closed it, everything she wanted to say evaporating. She needed a moment before she responded. She may never be okay. But how could she tell him?

  She lied. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Impossible.”

  He approached her before she could shoot him down, pressed his lips to hers and stilled any protest. His mouth was hot and instantly brought a throbbing ache to certain parts of her anatomy.

  He did not push her, and she was eternally grateful. Keeping it light, Elon let her dictate the direction of the kiss. Whatever the risks involved with Elon, whatever the price, she would gladly pay them. She enjoyed the taste of him and the texture of his tongue. The way his fingers twisted in her hair, trailed along the lines of her scalp and massaged lightly.

  Opening her mouth with a sigh, they dove deeper. A slight nip on his upper lip before her tongue slid against the ache to soothe it. Aisanna tilted her head to the side and changed the angle of the embrace. He followed her seamlessly, moving with her as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

  It was natural, timeless, one small step from falling. She refused to press her luck and drew back, though her lips vibrated with the memory of him.

  “Elon, I…”

  Her heart stuttered. Darkness stole over her for a moment, like a cloud passing before the sun and blotting out its light. For an instant, she found herself imagining how good it would feel to wrap her hands around his neck for no reason other than she could. Veins, tendons, bone would crush under her grip as life faded from his body. It would be delicious. A treat. He’d die and she would watch the world—

  She jumped back, freaked. Elon reached out to her and she dodged, lost her footing and fell against the shelving. Clay pots crashed to the floor.

  “Aisanna, what the hell?”

  “Get away!” She blinked and kicked off the towels, rushing to the door barefoot through the clay shards. “I need to leave.”

  “You don’t have to go. I-I’m sorry. If you’re bothered, then I’ll go. This is your shop!” Elon hurried after her and captured her hand, stalling her when she tried to run out. “Please.”

  “Let go of me!”

  The force of her voice, the harshness of the command, had him releasing her qui
ckly.

  Her fingers bent into claws and her nails trailed along his skin. She fought the urge to bite deep, draw blood and run her tongue along the line of crimson. Her jacket slipped, giving him a glimpse of the Cyrillic script burned into her skin.

  “What in the—”

  She screamed at the image burned into her mind and left Elon standing shocked into silence behind her.

  Aisanna burst onto the busy street. Her throat was raw. Ice stung the soles of her feet but she ran regardless. Heedless. No matter how fast she went or how her lungs ached, she ran to escape the sliver of Darkness inside of her. The sliver burying deeper and deeper until soon, she knew, it would be a part of her.

  She tasted blood. Somewhere along the way, she’d bitten the inside of her lip. Her feet slapped the pavement.

  She felt Darkness like a phantom limb, a thorn in her side she couldn’t tear out. In the nooks and crannies of her mind, she heard laughter, deep and feminine.

  Run. Run!

  And she did, until her body finally protested and broke down. Her chest heaved and she fell to her knees in a pile of slush.

  Did you enjoy the preview? It is a small taste, I assure you. Once you’ve taken my place as keeper of the veil, the world is yours.

  People walked around her, with only a few turning to look in her direction and none offering a hand of assistance. Life, laughter, the sun shining down…yet she saw only night.

  “Get out of my head!” Aisanna viciously scratched the skin on her ankles and left bloody wakes in zigzag lines.

  Never.

  She rocked back and forth, arms covering her head and her shoulders bumping the side of the brick building she’d collapsed against.

  “Get out, get out. Leave me alone!”

  Why don’t you try and run? Run, run, right to your death. You are mine, daughter, ripe for the plucking. And the closer you get to the edge of insanity, the sweeter the taking will be.

  “I’m not insane!” she shrieked at the passing public. “You aren’t taking me.”

  Darkness chuckled, the sound sinewy, trailing through her mind. I beg to differ.

  She sank down to the ground, lying in a curled position, ignoring the cold icy slush and hard unforgiving concrete. Agony slowly faded, replaced by feelings of guilt and dread. She was relieved to be alive, yes. But she couldn’t help thinking she’d made a terrible mistake somewhere along the line.

  Lost in her misery, Aisanna didn’t realize when hands reached down to draw her up, when strong arms lifted her. She drew Elon’s scent into her overworked lungs and clutched at his lapels, fighting a tide of nausea.

  He shushed her, whispered sweet nothings in her ear meant to comfort. Giving in to her vulnerability, Aisanna cried and let Elon carry her away.

  CHAPTER 11

  His pinkie raised, Israel brought the teacup to his lips and sipped, the scalding hot Earl Grey sliding nicely down his throat. When he replaced the porcelain cup to its matching saucer, it clinked delicately.

  Decorum in public was everything. It was all about image. He might live the way he chose to in private, but if his mother saw the facade slip even an inch, he was toast.

  The sentiment had been ingrained in him since birth. Reputation was one of the few things in this world that mattered. Mrs. James had a temper to match her magic, and made sure her son—as well as any children who may come in the future—knew the importance of maintaining a public image. That included propriety, respect, and manners, manners, manners.

  In his apartment, Israel could say and be and do whatever he wanted. If he didn’t feel like going to the laundromat and left thousands of dollar’s worth of clothes dirty on the floor, then no one was there to stop him. In public, however, he was a model citizen. And made sure he looked like he’d stepped off the pages of GQ magazine.

  The woman across from him said nothing. She watched his movements. Her eyes captured everything and stored the information away for later. He could practically see her ticking things on her mental ledger.

  Her hair was the red of old flame, down to her elbows and swept up halfway to display smooth, round cheeks. Her eyes were full and deceptively soft, the bright green of forest moss. Too many men had looked into those eyes and thought her naïve. Guileless. They were wrong.

  “She showed up at my house.” Israel emphasized the last three words with gusto, though was careful not to overdo it. “Which normally I don’t mind, but she was covered in garbage, Zelda.”

  The woman’s eyebrow rose in response to the statement. “Garbage?”

  Israel reached across the table and grabbed her hands, staring imploringly. “Trash. Like from a dumpster. Can you imagine it? She was covered in the most horrible things. Egg shells, coffee grinds, and God knows what else. I called a cleaning service on my way over here to make sure there were no crumbs left behind.”

  Instead of dwelling on that, Zelda reached into the heart of the matter. She drew a ruby-red fingernail against Israel’s skin and watched blood well beneath the surface in a long trail. “This behavior of hers. Is it out of the ordinary? Abnormal?”

  “You better believe it.” Israel sighed, resigned. “Our mothers set us up, you know. I thought having a tryst with a Cavaldi was going to be fun. And it was, for a while. Now…I don’t know. Sex with a bigwig magic user versus trash in my shower? It’s not really weighing in her favor.”

  Zelda wouldn’t tell him how to handle himself, although she could if she wanted to. If she chose to exert her prowess—flex the proverbial muscle—the others would fall in line. She had an attitude from hell and the magic to match. Her dark eyes had narrowed as Israel recounted his tale and the numerous complaints making his life less than stellar.

  Luckily, manners prevented her from revealing her true feelings. The people she worked with and for had no sense of humor, so she was better off following protocol to their faces while pursuing her personal pleasures behind their backs. And those things were combined with Israel James.

  She made a face and drained the rest of her tea. After her many years in the Claddium, she understood the necessity of obligatory social events. She recognized their importance, knew how to say the right things and perform the right gestures. Her magic bloodline descended from generations of diplomats and Claddium members worldwide. With a history like hers, she was a natural at protocol and subterfuge.

  And she loved it.

  “I want out,” Israel replied.

  Zelda leaned back in her chair and examined her manicure. His words didn’t please her. “Were the terms of our deal unclear?” she asked in a low, smooth voice. “What part of ‘get close to Aisanna Cavaldi and find out what she knows’ do you not understand?”

  Israel was full of excuses, she mused, listening to his unapologetic explanation of recent circumstances. It was pure laziness. Very annoying.

  “I sympathize, Mr. James,” Zelda replied, breaking his monologue of grievances. “But I ask you to continue to persevere, as always. Be strong for us.”

  “Can you remind me what I’m getting out of this, again?” He licked his lips. “Just a taste?”

  She flicked her gaze to his face and scowled.

  The information would come to her either way. Dealing directly with Israel James was much more pleasurable. Her only fun outside of the office. Pity he was so damn stupid.

  Removing her hands from his slightly sweaty grasp, she twiddled her fingers above the slim white candle pillar in the center of the table, watching the flame burst to life and swirl in various patterns. Gold, green, blue, and back to burnt sienna. If she chose, the entire place would burn to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes.

  She considered it a testament to her power of control that she rarely indulged in such displays. Instead of crushing Israel beneath the heel of her Valentinos, she focused on commiseration. “It does seem a lot to ask of you,” she continued in a pleasant tone. “You must have the patience of a saint to keep dealing with her. Though I do appreciate how you try.”
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br />   “I do. And it’s not like we do a lot of talking. We hardly talk at all. It’s a physical thing. We keep contact to a minimum outside of our designated times, and she rarely stays through the night. Though lately she’s been staying later and talking in her sleep. Something about her sister, and darkness coming to get her….”

  The woman’s ears perked up at the mention.

  “…although she’s never been afraid of the dark before. It’s a real downer.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” At last, something new. She would need to report back to the office immediately to update the others on this new piece of information. The Cavaldis were compromised by rogue magic.

  Israel smoothed out imaginary lines in the tablecloth. His skin appeared gold-plated against the pristine white, the glint of flame on his brow. The fire was as much a part of him as it was of her, but in different ways, different lines.

  “What do you think can be done about it?” Zelda asked, taking a sip of her water and staring at Israel over the rim.

  “I don’t know. I’d like to cut it off, but… I don’t know. You would be mad at me if I did.”

  She held her breath and waited for him to finish without prompting. He kept her in suspense, taking another giant sip of tea, his throat convulsing. The man had a flair for drama and knew how to draw a moment out to its fullest potential. Surprising, considering his lack of brain cells.

  “She really is a powerful woman, despite the night terrors. And the garbage. Beautiful. Strong to a fault,” he finally said.

  “I understand how you might be turned off.”

  “Right. Although the sex is great.”

  Another thing she did not want to hear, though she knew it was a necessary part of his continued involvement. Sex was natural, essential. And a picture in her head she fought to ignore. She’d never been bothered by the concept of sharing. She certainly refused to be now.

  Zelda needed to keep him involved with the Cavaldi girl if only to gather information. He couldn’t afford to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar.