Shadow witch, p.7
Shadow Witch, page 7
“Makes you wonder why,” Lazaro’s father said, joining our conversation. I could see the caution and indifference in his gaze, making me wish Lazaro was with us instead of by his mom, but I also had to hope that the arrogant attitude was surface level.
“Because he wants me back,” I answered candidly. “Because I was his prisoner for years, and he wants me back. That’s why.”
Surprise flickered in his gaze. He hadn’t expected honesty. “Why though?”
“Because I’m powerful? I’m not sure—he isn’t the most logical individual,” I countered, trying to not sound disrespectful but also finding the man off-putting. Grim’s humor at my reply was evident though, giving me the feeling that not a lot of people talked so directly to Lazaros’s father like this.
“You aren’t wrong.” His gaze darkened as he tilted his head. “You’re a lunar witch?”
“Fates, Bore, what the hell else do you want to ask the girl? This isn’t an inquisition.” A third man suddenly appeared looking annoyed, despite a smile playing on his lips.
“It’s Hellebore,” Lazaro’s father corrected, “and I want to know who exactly my son has decided to spend his time with.”
I felt my spine stiffen as Oz tensed, and Grim’s father was no longer amused. “You’re welcome to leave if you’re going to be rude,” he said, lounging back in his leather chair. Hellebore’s jaw clenched as he shook his head and turned, without a word, leaving to go to Lazaro and his wife—the two in an intense, heated discussion that left my chest feeling tight and uncomfortable.
“He’s always been such an asshole,” the third man said with amused annoyance, reaching over to grasp my hand that I barely had time to put out. “Don’t worry, Deva, you’re more than welcome here. Hellebore just has a stick up his ass.”
Cage’s father. I saw that now. He had more fine lines than I would have expected, and his brown hair had gray at the temples, but his bright red eyes and magical signature, along with his reckless smile, were exactly what I should have expected.
“Thanks,” I offered, unable to help myself from smiling.
He flashed a big smile and called out. “Honey, come here—”
The woman from before appeared, her warm red gaze running over me with a softness I hadn’t expected.
“I was just meeting Deva—”
“You can call me Idra.” She immediately tugged me into a hug that surprised me. “It’s absolutely wonderful to meet you. I hope that Bore didn’t scare you away—”
“No, he can’t scare anyone,” Cage’s dad called out loudly, earning him a scowl from the man in question.
“You’re going to start a fight, Leandor.” Phelan shook his head in amusement.
“Have you had anything to eat yet?” Idra asked suddenly, leading me from the boys and towards Circe, who was talking to a young woman that looked a lot like herself, but maybe in her late teens. Her dark hair was plaited down to her waist and she was wearing a dark navy dress and heeled boots, her eyes a deep navy that was filled with interest at whatever Circe was saying.
“Yes—”
“We have food coming, and even more later.” Circe turned to offer me a smile of greeting. “Deva, I’m so glad you were able to escape the cloud of masculinity over there. I want you to meet Grim’s cousin Artemia, daughter of Phelan’s sister.”
“You can call me, Art,” she said, a blast of shadow magic rolling over me as she met my hand. “It’s great to meet you.”
“She’s one of the younger members of the organization,” Idra explained. The sudden sound of Cage’s laughter had both of us looking over to where he and his father were talking to Lazaro’s dad…which spelled trouble. With a curse, Idra was over there, leaving me with Art and Circe.
“This is going to be a mess tonight,” Circe sighed. “Art, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to bring Deva around to introduce everyone.”
“Sure. Lycidas looks bored,” she mused and walked over towards a man that looked very similar to her, who was focused on something outside.
“Phelan’s sister Edana is on her way. She’s one of his closest siblings and a huge help to everything we do. Lycidas and Art are her children,” Circe explained, hooking our arms. “Of course you met Cage’s parents, Idra and Leandor. His brothers will be arriving tonight as well, or at least most of them.”
As we walked, my gaze snagged on Oz and Alek talking quietly while looking over a bookcase. I had to wonder how they felt about all of this, but I was being led across the room and I had an idea of what introduction would come next.
“And of course you’ve now met Hellebore, and this—” Circe led me to a stop in front of Lazaro and his mom, the confident, gorgeous woman’s gaze hyper-focused on me. It wasn’t as critical as I would have assumed, but something did seem to be bothering her.
“Ketura.” Her voice had the faintest hint of an accent that I couldn’t identify, and the way she looked over me was as if she was searching for something. “And you are the girl my Lazaro has chosen?”
Oh fates.
Circe sighed. “Always so incredibly blunt. Tell me, Lazaro, was that fun growing up?”
Lazaro’s gaze held the faintest hint of amusement before he looked down at me, his expression morphing to concern as if he could see how overwhelmed I was. I’d hoped I was hiding it better than that…then again, it was possible he was feeling it through our bond. That was my hope, at least.
“Yes, Deva is ours,” Lazaro said firmly, his tone filled with surety that had me nearly smiling.
“What are you?”
Ketura’s question threw me, and I realized that what was bothering her was the fact that she could sense my magic and didn’t understand it.
“I’m not sure how to explain that,” I answered honestly, and her gaze filled with curiosity.
Circe seemed to think that was the time to step in. “I think this conversation can be saved for later,” she suggested.
When the door suddenly opened and our gazes all moved to the entrance, surprise radiated through me at the individual standing there. Not because I had any idea of who she was, but because of how unique looking she was.
Her hair was dark naturally, that much was clear, but the ends were dyed a vibrant blue and pulled into four ponytails stacked one on top of another, matching her nearly silver blue eyes. She was wearing an all leather outfit and had a harshness to her expression that suggested she was absolutely no-nonsense—until she smiled at Lycidas and Art.
“Mom!” Art nearly ran into her arms as I put together that this was Grim’s aunt.
“Told you I would make it back,” Edana, if I remembered correctly, teased. “Circe, you have a lot more guests than you probably realize. If you want to get this meeting started, it may be time.”
“Crap, I should’ve been keeping an eye on the time,” Circe murmured. “Well, no time like the present. Deva, you ready?”
Was I ready…I had absolutely no idea what to even be ready for.
When Alek suddenly appeared by my side and captured my hand, running his lips over it, I couldn’t help but relax. I wasn’t positive if I was actually ready, but I had to remember that these men were here, and at the end of the day we were all after one thing.
Getting rid of Astaroth.
Something I had a feeling was a true possibility now.
9
DEVA
Walking into the large meeting room with Circe on one side and Grimshaw on the other, I wasn’t sure if I felt emboldened…or not. It was a surreal experience, and I felt like I was watching it from outside of my body. My hands were rigidly pressed to my sides, and I couldn’t help but shake the concern that the minute I walked into the room, everyone would know who I was. That they wouldn’t hesitate to label me as Astaroth’s Dead Doll. An assassin. A killer. After all, if anyone would be able to recognize me, it was this group of people.
My men were around me, surrounding me protectively, but there was still a tense edge to how I felt that was no doubt radiating through the bond. It only increased the moment we entered into the space, my eyes widening at the sight of so many more people here than I’d expected. There was no way I was going to meet, let alone remember, the over fifty individuals gathered in the room.
I didn’t usually have issues memorizing names, but this was a lot, even for me. Add to that trying to remember everyone’s relationship to each other and the details about each person that I couldn’t help but pick up on, and I was in sensory overload. It didn’t help that I was constantly taking in observations about the room around me as well.
The room was two stories in height and had four fireplaces, two to each side. The black marble floors and small gothic windows that barely let in any light created a cozy, dark atmosphere that was complementary to the shadow magic floating through the air.
Which of course made the non-shadow witches stand out.
Namely Cage’s brothers. Unlike some of the other people I’d met, I knew instantly who they were. Besides the similarities in looks and magic, there was an air to the four of them that was echoed by my blood-loving psycho, although to a lesser degree. As in they were less psycho than the man I was absolutely in love with…something I needed to tell him, no doubt.
“Welcome everyone!” Circe called out as Phelan appeared next to her, now dressed in a dark cloak that echoed his wife’s dark clothing. “We will start soon, so please make yourselves at home. Food and drinks will be coming around.”
I came to a stop, taking advantage of Circe and Phelan’s side conversation to look around the space. I recognized some of the faces present, but most of them were unknown to me. And the ones I did recognize…well, it was possible I didn’t actually know them and they just looked very similar to Grim. It appeared that his family was far larger than I could have ever expected.
“Breathe, zaya,” Alek suggested, squeezing my hip securely. “I promise you are perfectly safe. If I think for a minute there is an issue, I will get you out of here.”
“He’s right,” Grim agreed. “They may be my family, but even I see the looks they’re giving Alek.”
“I don’t blame them—they don’t realize how much I hate the bastard that calls himself my father,” Alek murmured as I leaned back into him.
“All of these people work for your family?” I asked.
“My family runs The Society of Shadows, and all of them are part of it. Most of their lines have been for centuries, acting as somewhat of an informal government structure,” Grim explained.
“It’s why we’d met each other before going to the academy, although we didn’t work together until then,” Lazaro explained, joining us. Oz was standing silently near us, his gaze on the room with a quiet stillness that was perfectly natural to him. The only one of my men not nearby was Cage, his tall frame moving towards his brothers. I had a feeling he would want me to meet them, I just wasn’t positive I was ready for that…
“The Society of Shadows.” My brow dipped as I tried to recall if Astaroth had ever mentioned them, but nothing came to mind. I had a feeling he wouldn’t have called them something so official, instead trying to find a way to degrade them.
“And they were planning to have this meeting before we even came here?” I clarified.
Circe made her way back towards us, answering the question before one of my men could. “Yes. We’ll talk about it soon, but Grim may have made you aware that there’s been an increase in killings. I’m really glad you’re here, Deva, for many reasons, but I’m hoping you can provide some insight into Astaroth’s headquarters. We know a lot, but having firsthand experience…well, that would be amazing. And don’t worry, we’ll make it clear you were held against your will so your scope is limited, but the information is still invaluable.”
I swallowed and nodded, looking down at my shoes in thought before looking back into her understanding gaze. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I wasn’t ready to reveal the full truth either. “I will help as much as I can. I’m not sure how much has changed since I left, but I have a fairly good recall of what I experienced.”
In a way, Circe was right—I had been a prisoner, even though I hadn’t realized it. I’d been brainwashed to believe that I wanted to help Astaroth, that I wanted that lifestyle in general…it wasn’t until I was older that I realized just how wrong that was.
“Wonderful. Now, the group of you find yourself some seats—although it looks like Osborn may already be doing that.”
My gaze moved towards the man in question as he made his way towards a large floor-to-ceiling glass case in the far corner of the room. I didn’t hesitate to follow him, and I had a feeling that at least Alek came with, his energy wrapping around me protectively. I hadn’t doubted Grim’s observation before, but I also was starting to realize just what my shadow witch meant about the way people were looking at Alek with caution and mistrust. While my face had been hidden during my crimes, Alek’s father looked so much like him, and if he was as brutal as people made him out to be…the mistrust was understandable.
“Oz?” I called out as we caught up to the place where he’d come to a hard stop. My unblessed witch was staring at the gold-framed black and white photos in the glass case in front of us. I studied them with interest, noticing a few familiar faces in the one in front of him…but that wasn’t the one he was focused on. No, his eyes were on the smaller frame next to it, the photo featuring Grim’s parents and…well, I had to assume those were Oz’s parents.
I mean, there was no way it wasn’t his parents, right? The woman had the same bright intense gaze as Oz, her hair far paler, and the man who towered over her had hair that came across as black. His serious expression didn’t match the other three in the photo, yet somehow was perfectly fitting. On the bottom of the frame was a scripted phrase:
In loving memory of Medora and Nodin.
“Oz,” I whispered, my hand gently grazing his arm as I realized just how tense he was. His gaze flickered down to mine, his emotions completely shut off.
“I haven’t seen a photo of them in years,” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to see if my memory did them justice. It does. They looked just like that, at least from what I remember.”
“I wish I’d met them,” I offered sincerely.
Oz chuckled. “Maybe my mother. My father was an asshole, apparently.”
I didn’t think I believed him completely, though. There was a slight warmth to his gaze I wasn’t used to seeing.
“Nodin? Nodin wasn’t the problem.”
A soft voice had both of us looking to our left as an older woman, maybe in her seventies, made her way towards us, her silver hair shifting around her dark cloak as she eyed the picture with curiosity. I noticed immediately that she was an unblessed witch, and while I couldn’t get an exact read on her age, my initial analysis may have been off. As in she may have been a few hundred years old with how powerful she seemed to be. Alek, who’d been standing back, moved closer, his magic surrounding me protectively. But he didn’t say anything, nor did the woman seem to notice.
“You knew him?” I asked her, Oz staying silent.
“Of course. Nodin was a good man,” she said easily, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “Medora—now she was the true troublemaker. The woman had a bloodlust that I have never seen matched.”
I nearly smiled at that despite it probably not being appropriate considering the topic…because let’s be honest, I think Oz had a bloodlust that was a bit unmatched as well. I could tell my serial killer was a bit surprised by her statement, so I decided to ask more questions since he probably wouldn’t.
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?”
Her gaze lit up. “Sure—but there’s killing, and then there’s torturing for hours for fun and then killing.”
Ah, that made too much sense.
“Maybe they deserved it.”
“They probably did,” she agreed, her gaze filled with amusement. “And you, young man, must be their son Osborn. I was one of the first visitors to the medical center when you were born. I am one of the Society’s healers and looked after your mother following your birth. The name is Marilla, but please call me Mari.”
Oz took a long moment before nodding. “It’s good to meet you, Mari.”
Her gaze moved to mine. “Just like his father—so serious. And you must be Deva. Everyone has been talking about you, nearly as much as Aleksander. Although for very different reasons, I suspect.”
“You’re not wrong,” Alek agreed, keeping it simple.
“Tell me, Deva.” Marilla examined my face. “Where are you from, before Astaroth took you? I’ve been around some time; I’m wondering if I know your parents.”
Oh fates.
“I don’t remember,” I answered honestly. “He took me from an orphanage.”
Her gaze lit up with interest, and she put her hand out. I froze up for a moment, confused on what she was offering until I remembered that she was an unblessed witch.
Deciding she wasn’t a threat, I placed my hand in hers lightly. I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t for her to flip my palm over and examine the lines on it. My mouth went dry. My hands had been burned with lunar magic…well, a lot. A memory flashed over me suddenly and without permission as I felt choked on emotion.
“Keep your hands on it—don’t fucking move them.” My eyes stung with tears as my small frame started to shake with pain. At ten I thought I’d experienced a lot of agony, but it was nothing compared to this. At least not the same type of pain.
My hands were searing like they were on fire despite there being absolutely no flames. The moonstone in my hand was pulling my magic out of me, draining me so I couldn’t even try to focus on healing or feeling better. I didn’t understand why we were doing this. I knew they liked to take some of my magic to make sure I wasn’t overpowered, but it had never been like this before, and the woman standing over me wasn’t one I knew.
