“So you don’t believe in the whole destined to be together thing anymore?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe, but I do know how I feel. Right now that’s all I can depend on.”
They walked silently for a while before he spoke again. “Hey, what about the healing sessions?”
Zanya’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I forgot all about it since you haven’t been in pain.”
“It’s cool. But I would eventually like for my chest to not look like a piece of gnawed-on trash dragged out by the neighborhood alley cat.”
Zanya crinkled her nose. “That’s gross, Jay.”
“Yeah, no kidding. So, tonight? My room?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
They approached Tara, who waited with her foot propping the door open.
Jay held the door open for her. “I think I’ll let you two chill without me in the way.”
Zanya paused. “But I thought you wanted to come?”
When Tara disappeared into the house, Jay grinned. “Nah. I just wanted to know you wanted me to come.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Arwan
Arwan knocked on the door of Contessa’s home. It creaked open, allowing warm light to pour out. The scent of savory food wafted from inside.
He stepped back. Everything about the witch put him on edge. She wasn’t just powerful but cunning, and the feats of magic she was capable of would keep him cautious. He took off his bag and leaned it against the side of her house.
“Contessa.” He dared not enter her home without seeing the temptress—knowing where she was and keeping a constant eye on her.
The voice of a woman echoed from inside.
Arwan arched his brows. The woman’s voice was not Contessa’s. He would recognize her snaky tone. The voice he heard was soft and silky, full of joy and familiarity.
He pushed the door open to a room lit with the warmth of candlelight flickering in every corner. His mind was pulled back to the home he and his mother had shared when he was a young boy—to the ten nights before solstice, when they spent the evenings filling their home with scented candles, lighting them each by hand to signify the arrival of spring and new life. It wasn’t a common practice but something they had begun as a family tradition. He missed it dearly.
He stepped through the threshold, entering a dreamlike atmosphere. A soft haze blanketed the scene in front of him.
A young boy with black hair played with a wooden train on the living room floor. Arwan stared down at the foggy image of himself, all those years ago.
It could not be real, no matter how much he wished it were. Still, he ignored his instincts, all of which were telling him to get out while he could. He hadn’t seen his old house since before his mother had passed. It was the only place he’d ever really felt safe.
When he reached out to touch the boy, a woman glided into the room. Her thick, black hair was pulled back in a French braid, and her heart-shaped face beamed with serenity and light. Big, brown eyes gazed down at the boy as she passed.
Arwan’s throat ached while he stared after the woman—his mother. He cautiously followed her into the kitchen, where he found her humming as she arranged bundles of herbs in vases. She pressed her nose into a bushel of what looked like mint, and her lips spread into a soft smile.
She raised her gaze, showering him in angelic light beaming from behind her eyes.
He extended his hand, and her image wavered like a mirage. She examined his gesture, then offered her outstretched hand in return.
Her soft laugh carried through the air, becoming louder until it filled the space. The dreamy atmosphere shook with dark energy. Arwan pulled back his hand, and the scene around him melted into puddles of muddled color. His mother’s features twisted and contorted into something unworldly. The mask fell away to reveal Contessa, leaning against the counter in a bloodstained satin slip.
A noxious stink filled the air and invaded his nose. The windows were all closed, trapping the odor inside the gloomy room.
Contessa tried to stand straight while gripping her stomach, both amusement and pain woven into her features. Taking slow, backward steps, he examined pages from the book tacked on her walls, many of them now marked with blood.
He’d come here to get something, and he wouldn’t leave without it.
“You poor, pathetic boy.” She cackled, limping toward him. Her legs were dotted in deep-colored bruises, and her arms crawled with purple veins stretching up her neck. Arwan didn’t know much about Contessa, but the witch was obviously clinging to life. She sucked in a gasp and hunched, gripping her ribs. The power radiating from her pressed against his skin. She turned her head to expose a bald scalp on one side.
Arwan squared his shoulders, his eyes locked with the witch’s. He had to be calm and strategic. Hopefully, if his plan didn’t go well, she would be too weak to fight, and he would escape with his life.
Her eyes narrowed, and she forced herself to stand up straight. Contessa dragged her gaze over the walls of her home, examining the pages on display. “You’ve come for something in my possession.”
She tore a page off the wall and waved it in the air, watching his reaction with a calmness that made his stomach pitch. “I believe this is why you came. To uncover the mystery surrounding your tainted lineage.”
Bile churned in his gut from the stench of rot and death.
“As you can tell…” She gasped short, labored breaths. “I am not at my best.” Her focus was trained on the pages he held. “Though you could assist me with that, considering I have something of great value to you.”
He shouldn’t engage her in negotiation, as no encounter with the black temptress would end in his favor. But the truth was, while he stared into her eyes, shimmering with underworld magic, he was not all that different from her. They both shared a common spawning, and if anyone could sway the woman, it was him.
He drew in a deep breath and refocused himself. “What does the page say?”
Her lip curled into a snarl. “If you’re willing to give me a fair trade, you’ll soon find out.” Her face twitched. “Speak quickly, boy.”
He studied her failing body. “You’ve been exhausting yourself. Why?”
She slowly craned her neck and tilted her head, leering at him with a predatory gaze. “I need more. More than what these weak, insufficient humans can provide. More to complete what I must do.” Her sudden fascination with him made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. “We can assist each other. You can return my power, and I can provide you with freedom—a way to win back your guardian’s affections and rid yourself of the burden you carry.” She pursed her lips, gazing into his face. “Such a heavy cross you bear.”
The air sparked with black magic. He tried not to notice the dark energy caressing his skin, awakening the dormant creature deep within.
Arwan clenched his fists.
“Ahh.” The moan passing through Contessa’s lips enticed his darker half, already awakened by the pull of the solstice. “I see you,” she said in a singsong tone. “The real you, deep down, fighting to get out.” She inched toward him, the page still clenched in her hand. “I can give you peace. All I want in exchange is something you wish to rid yourself of. I can take away your pain.” She stretched out her hand and rested her index finger against his chest. “I will tear the darkness out of you.” His skin burned from her touch. “And she can love you again.”
A war raged beneath the calm surface of his gaze. Their energies clashed and danced. Without some kind of escape, the worst would happen.
Contessa examined the page in her hand. “It speaks of your beloved mother, the martyr.”
The way she said the last two words sent a blaze of heat coursing through his veins. He watched the life in her eyes dim as she struggled to keep her finger pressed against his chest. Her arm trembled under the stress.
“What do you mean, ‘martyr’?”
“Oh, my poor bo
y.” Her touch scorched his skin, and a crawling ache wound around his lungs. “Your mother was not killed because she bore you. She met her end at her own hand.”
The ache clenched like an iron claw, forcing the air out of his lungs. “What? Are you saying my mother committed suicide?”
“This single page will make it clear.”
A low growl escaped his throat as his inner darkness bled into his mind, polluting him with thoughts of underworld savagery.
Contessa curled her fingertips into his muscle. “And as for the rest…” Her lips parted, her eyes shining with desire. “I cannot take it without your consent. You are heir to the throne, after all, and your father is still king. You must say it. Say you will give me your power of your own free will.”
“You can do that? You can…make me normal?”
“Better than normal, boy. Immortal. You can spend the rest of your life with the one you love. Everything you want, I can give to you. All you need to do is to say yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zanya
Zanya sat on the floor of Tara’s bedroom, her legs stretched out in front of her.
The brightly decorated room was adorned with Moroccan curtains, woven throw rugs, and satin pillows, all shimmering with silken threads. The curtains on the large bay window were pulled aside, allowing moonlight to spill over the floor, where they lounged on oversized pillows.
They kept the conversation light and casual. Her muscles were still achy from training, and she still hadn’t shaken off the waves of dizzy spells from sprinting for the first time. Zanya sighed and rubbed a knot in her shoulder. “I need a massage.”
“I thought you were supposed to magically heal from everything, like Peter.”
“You’d think so, but using my abilities pretty much strips my energy to nothing.”
Tara bit her lip. “Other than that, how are you holding up?”
Zanya shrugged. “Okay, I guess. It’s a lot to take in, but I’ve gotten kinda used to that.”
Tara nodded, her red curls bobbing with the gesture. “It’s cool you’re back, and your mom, too. She seems…” She pursed her lips. “Mmm, different.”
Zanya sighed. “Yeah. Too different. I’m trying to get used to it, not that I ever really knew her in the first place.”
“You spent a lot of years wishing you did.”
Zanya pulled her legs to her chest. “I dreamed about her so much when I was a kid, always wondering what she’d be like. Then when I met her, that image of her was all I had. And now…”
“She’s a stranger.” Tara’s eyebrows drew together. “It’s okay if you’re disappointed.”
Zanya played absentmindedly with a string from the pillow she sat on. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. My mom is alive. I really shouldn’t be complaining.” She paused, watching her friend chew on her bottom lip. “What?”
“Nothing…”
Zanya narrowed her eyes.
“I was just thinking about you and Arwan…but I wasn’t sure if I should ask.”
Zanya blinked, and then lowered her gaze. “I guess I don’t know what to say. He seriously betrayed my trust. I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again.”
“You don’t think he deserves a second chance? I mean, I can kind of understand why he didn’t tell you.”
Zanya jerked her head up. “What?”
Tara shrugged. “Think about it from his point of view. He totally digs you, and it’s a fair assumption you wouldn’t want to be with him once you found out who he is.” She twisted a curl around her finger. “I don’t go airing my past out to every person I meet.” She ran her hand down her arm. “Not exactly proud of it, you know?”
“You were a little kid when that happened, and it’s not even close to the same thing. You can’t seriously be sticking up for him.”
Tara shrugged. “It’s just that I can relate.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Hey, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m just trying to be honest. You guys are destined to be together, right? Why not at least let him explain?”
“This is ridiculous. What would you possibly have to gain by—” Zanya’s shoulders slumped forward. “Oh, of course. I should have seen it sooner.”
Tara scratched her arm—a telltale itch that nipped at her skin whenever she was nervous.
“Peter put you up to this, didn’t he?” When Tara didn’t respond, Zanya lazily pushed to her feet. “Tell Peter I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll deal with my own love life.” She tugged on one of Tara’s curls to let her know she wasn’t completely furious, then checked the clock on the wall. “I have to go. I promised Jay I’d heal him tonight.”
“‘K,” Tara said softly. “But…”
Zanya paused at the door. “But what?”
“Pete’s a healer, and he said he can sense it.”
“It?”
Tara’s green eyes shimmered under the silky moonlight. “Your broken heart.”
***
The warm hardwood floor creaked under her feet as Zanya walked into the west wing, scouting for any sign of Peter or Jay. The bachelor pad was empty and dark, except an idle light from the TV, and a nightlight plugged in halfway up the stairs. “Jay, you here?”
“Up here.”
She followed his voice to the top floor and down the hall, where his door hung open. Jay sat on the bed, a guitar cradled in his arms.
She smiled. “Hey, I forgot you started playing that thing. Any better than you were the first time I heard you?”
“I think so. Listen to this.” He pressed the tips of his fingers over a few strings on the neck of the guitar. With a pick pinched between his fingers, he strummed an entire song from start to finish without fumbling once.
Zanya smiled. “That was awesome. How did you learn how to play so well?”
He held his hands in the air as if declaring his honesty. “I swear, it’s like this kinda-dead thing is helping my memory. I read that book—” he pointed to a how-to guide on the floor, “—and after I did it once, I had it down. It just flows.”
She didn’t want to be a buzzkill, but any side effects should be noted. “Anything else the kinda-dead thing has done to you?”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Stuff I should know about?”
“Oh.” He pointed over his shoulder with this thumb. “Like the wings that are growing from my back?”
She sucked in a breath.
“I’m joking. Calm down.”
“That’s wasn’t funny.”
“I have to disagree.” He chuckled. “Oh, but there is one other thing. Well, two, actually.”
“Okay.” She walked to his bed and sat beside him. “What is it?”
“I’ve been experimenting the last few days, and I’ve realized I don’t actually need to sleep. I wondered if I was the same as the guy in that story, and after I stayed up for a few nights, I wasn’t tired. But I get really hungry when I don’t sleep.
Zanya’s eyes widened. “How hungry, exactly?” If he had developed a hankering for human flesh, they had a problem.
“I ate, like, four sandwiches last night. And a pie.”
“A whole pie?”
“Hey. I told you I was hungry.”
“What about, oh, I don’t know…” She glanced at him. “Raw meat?”
Jay crinkled his nose. “Gross.”
The knot in her stomach fell loose. “Okay. Not so bad. That’s it?”
He shrugged. “So far.” He flashed a grin. “I guess you’re here for my session, Doctor.” He stripped off his shirt.
Thankfully, for whatever reason, the solstice issue she had around Arwan didn’t carry over to her time with Jay.
He pushed scattered strands of hair out of his eyes and lay down on the mattress. Zanya stripped off her shirt. “I won’t be able to do this for very long since I’ve been training all day, but I figure a little is better than nothing.” She lowered herself on
top of him.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. She resisted the urge to smack away his ice-cold hands. “I’m ready to go if you are. Let’s get this party started.”
She jerked her head back. “What?”
He raised an eyebrow. “My healing.”
Her cheeks flushed with heat. “Right.”
His chest jumped with a chuckle.
She aligned their bodies and rested her cheek on the curve of his shoulder. Goose bumps prickled her skin. “God, Jay. You’re freezing.” She shivered.
“Sorry. Not really something I can control.”
“Is it uncomfortable being so cold all the time?”
“At first, but I don’t feel it anymore.”
She drew in a deep breath, channeling her energy to the surface of her skin. Before long, the healing heat move from her body into his.
Jayden exhaled and laid his head back. His expression turned solemn. She lifted her head and looked down at him. More blond hair was sloppily draped over his forehead, and his crystal-blue eyes were focused on the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
“You okay?” He nodded. “I would ask if you’re in pain, but—” She blinked when the back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. “Jay…”
He ran his thumb over her lips.
“You know…” His voice was soft in the dimly lit room. “I know I’ve done a lot of shit that makes me a Grade A asshole, but out of it all, I’ve only regretted one thing.” His gaze intensified.
Suddenly she was hyperaware that she wasn’t wearing a shirt. She swallowed against a dry throat. “Jay, I don’t know if we should be talking about this right now.”
“I just want to ask you for a favor. One favor and I’ll never ask you to do anything for me again.”
She smirked. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Yes.”
The complete lack of sarcasm in his tone made her grin vanish. “What is it?”
He quietly contemplated his words. The fact he was thinking—actually thinking before he spoke—set their conversation on a whole new level. A level that made her stomach drop.
Lights of Aurora (The Stone Legacy Series Book 3) Page 18