mythean arcana 07 - witchs fate (5 page)

“I owe you nothing,” Malcolm said. “And I’ve little interest in tangling with the Salem Coven. Like your own coven, their numbers are great enough to be an issue.”

“True. You could abandon Sofia to her attempts. Perhaps you will. To us, it doesn’t matter. We’d like the Grimoire. But we’d also like to destroy Sofia’s village and reap all that delicious power.” The High Witch turned to her companions, her eyes bright. “Think of it, brethren. The burning. The screaming. Buildings collapsing and lives being sucked away. All that destruction, all that power.”

Sofia shuddered. The High Witch’s desire was all too evident. The picture she painted too real.

“So you see, Malcolm,” the High Witch said. “We win either way.”

Sofia swallowed hard. That was the crux of it. There was no escape. She either did it, or the witches would destroy her and everything she loved. Their dark magic was fueled by destruction. Not only did they draw power from the aether like normal Mytheans, they reaped great power from the dark magical energy given off by mass destruction. As the only all-Mythean village in South America, the destruction of her village and its inhabitants would provide immense magical energy. 

“Is that all?” Malcolm asked, his tone bored.

“A week.” The High Witch waved her hands in a shooing motion. “Now go. Back to where you came from!”

The aether pulled at Sofia, and she had no choice but to let it take her. When she opened her eyes, she and Kitty stood on the main street in Bruxa’s eye. Sultry heat enveloped her.

Home.
And it was still standing, safe and sound, lit by a nearly full moon. Even better, Malcolm wasn’t here. He must have been sent back to Scotland.

Good. She ignored the strange sense of loss, as if there were an empty place inside of her now. Being with him again had been too complex. Anger, desire, longing—it was so hard to sort through the feelings that crashed through her.

She took a moment to absorb the essence of the place she loved, trying to ground herself. To get away from the chaos Malcolm wreaked on her mind. 

The smell of rain on the horizon competed with the earthy tones of the jungle. The ramshackle wooden buildings of Bruxa’s Eye crouched at the edge of the Amazon River. The screeching and cawing of jungle animals was a welcome sound, one that was replaced by the distant shouts of a crowd. 

Of course. It was Saturday night and the fight ring was the place to be. The match must be in full swing and Mytheans loved a good fight.

Bruxa’s Eye was one of the few all-Mythean towns in the world. Creatures of all species could walk freely without fear of being discovered by mortals because that lowly species had no idea the town was there—or that its strange inhabitants existed outside of their imaginations. 

Fear and a sense of failure crawled up her spine. 

They counted on her. She protected them from the High Witches, paying off their version of a mythical mob. If people needed something, they came to her. If there were problems, they came to her. It’d been that way with her mother and grandmother as well, and the women before them. Over two thousand of years of protecting Bruxa’s Eye. 

And it crushed her beneath the weight of duty and expectation. It was exhausting—she was always on the hunt for new tributes or going to pay the High Witches off.

If she couldn’t get the Grimoire and pay off the High Witches, she’d fail these people—her friends, family, and everyone she held dear.

CHAPTER THREE

After a great force shoved Malcolm into the aether, he opened his eyes to see that he stood in his library, the soaring walls of books as familiar as his own face. Heart pounding, his gaze flicked around the room, searching for Sofia. 

She was nowhere to be seen. 

Did the High Witches still have her? Fear sent an icy chill across his skin.

But no, the High Witch had gestured to both of them when she’d sent them home.

He aetherwalked immediately to Bruxa’s Eye. His heart pounded as he looked up and down the quiet, moonlit street. The buildings were ramshackle—like a Wild West town in the middle of a jungle—and the boardwalk under his feet kept him out of the muddy street.

The roar of a crowd sounded at the end of a street, but he caught a slight hint of her distinct, floral scent coming from the other direction. He headed away from the crowd and saw her seconds later, standing at the end of the street. 

As he approached, she drew her wand and transformed herself into an old Crone, a black cloak draping her shoulders. Kitty was black as pitch against the fabric.

“Don’t bother trying to hide,” he said.

“I’m not hiding from you, idiot.” She nodded to the street behind him. “There are people coming.”

He spun around to see two men approaching. Their gait was unsteady and they were arguing good-naturedly. Drunk. A shifter and a vampire, from the look of them. He’d been so distracted by his need to find her that he hadn’t even heard them coming. 

Disgraceful.

They stopped abruptly a dozen feet from Sofia. The shifter’s green eyes widened and he bowed low. “
Honored one
.” A sign of respect.

The vampire bowed low as well and they made their way past.

Of course. He’d forgotten, because he’d never seen her in her Crone form. 

Like many witches, Bruxas believed in the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. The Crone was the most powerful. The Protectors of Bruxa’s Eye always appeared as the Crone when in public.

“Don’t you hate hiding yourself like this?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s tiring and I can’t have a normal life.” Her voice was bitter. “But it’s tradition. The threat to our village is real, and I’m the first line of defense. People expect this. I’m strongest in this form. As the Protector, it’s my duty to present my strongest front.”

The words sounded memorized. She’d inherited this role from her mother. No doubt it’d been drilled into her. But he too knew something about the dictates of family expectations. They’d been half the reason he’d given her up.

He’d never known anyone like Sofia. She was the loveliest woman he’d ever met—small and curvy with golden skin. He hated that she covered that up. But she was fierce, and she was committed to protecting her village. Was willing to do anything to save it. He’d have to use that to his advantage.

He grasped her arm and aetherwalked them back to his library. He used his magic to remove her enchantment so that she looked like herself again and wore her normal clothing. 

She jerked out of his grasp. 

She glanced down at herself and scowled. “Bastard.”

Kitty hissed. Her fat little familiar glared at him out of its one good eye. The other was squinty, just as he remembered it. He’d always liked Kitty and Kitty had liked him. Until he’d chosen becoming a warlock over a life with Sofia.

As he’d expected seeing her in his home warmed a cold part of his soul. This room was better with her in it. Brighter, somehow. The firelight from his ever-burning hearth gleamed off her dark hair. He’d always loved her hair—the way it hung in shining curls down her back. He’d always loved everything about her.

“Why the hell did you bring me back here?”

“I want you here.” What he’d done was fucked up—he knew it was—but he’d wanted to see her again. He was sick of being alone and trying to forget her. Seeing his brother with his new mate had revived memories of Sofia. Had revived his unslakable desire for her. “I wanted you to come to me. So I took what you needed.”

“You manipulative ass!” Rage flared hot in Sofia’s belly as she watched Malcolm shrug carelessly.

“It worked,” he said. His gaze burned with something unidentifiable. 

“Why are you screwing with my life like this? Am I just a pawn to you? Haven’t you done enough to me?” She felt like she’d explode with all the conflicting thoughts and feelings ricocheting through her. 

He strode toward her, all power and grace, and trapped her against the bookshelf. His arms braced against the shelves behind her as he leaned over her. She felt caged by his sudden nearness. Though he didn’t touch her, his heat burned. His thick biceps framed her face and his head dipped over hers. Golden eyes blazed.

 “Because I want you.” His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve wanted you for centuries and I’m sick of denying it.”

The words sent a streak of heat through her. Desire pushed through her, furious, hot and insistent. Her skin heated and her sex ached. It happened so fast her head spun. She was an idiot and he was a heavy-handed bastard, but she wanted him. “You’re a bastard. And a warlock.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

“I gave up being a warlock to be with you. And you threw me away. Do you have any idea how much it hurt to make a sacrifice for our love, but then you didn’t do the same thing? Or how much it hurt to realize how little you valued our love?” Just the thought made her chest ache. “No. Of course not. Because you’ve never even considered sacrificing what you want. How do you think I’d ever be with you again?”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Rage flared in her chest, burning out some of the pain. “Even if you did, you can’t have anything real. Your curse will destroy it.”

He lowered his head to her ear. His voice and warm breath made her shiver despite her ire. “I’m good at getting around the curse.”

“Not possible. You remember Laira.” 

That
wouldn’t
be her. Fate was too cruel and too strong.

“That won’t be a problem. Love killed Laira,” he said.

She flinched. She knew he didn’t love her, but it hurt to hear it so bluntly. “So that means you just want to fuck me and then go on your way? Because that’s the only thing fate won’t destroy.” 

 “I absolutely want to fuck you.”

“No.” She forced the word out. “You broke my heart. You got me into this situation.”

“I wasn’t expecting the High Witches to be so pissed off. It was only a few hours late.”

“Fat lot of good that does me, now that I’m on their bad side.”

“Can you blame me for trying?” The words were rough at her ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I’m tired of waiting. Any man in my position would have done the same to have one such as you.”

“After everything you’ve done, what makes you think I would
ever
sleep with you?”

“Because I’ve missed you. I’ve spent centuries dreaming of the things I’d do to you. Planning out every touch. Kiss. Lick. I’d make you shiver and shake and lose your mind.”

Fates help her, his words were too appealing. Despite everything he’d done to her, a big part of her still wanted him.

But he was behaving like an utter bastard now—putting her in this position for his own gain. And even if she totally lost her mind and fell for him, this could only end in massive heartbreak—or worse, death. 

It was crazy and stupid and probably due to the fact that she hadn’t gotten laid in about a decade. If the Crone didn’t scare the men off, the fact that they thought of her as some sort of holy figure did. Though the worst of the pain of their breakup was gone, she still hated him. 

She pushed at his chest, hard enough that he shifted back and gave her enough space to sneak away. 

“I’m done with you. I’ll fix this myself,” she said as she made her way to the door. She had a week. She could do this.

Right?

No. Not really. She was fucked.

“I’ll consider helping you. You need my help.”

Sofia stopped in her tracks, turned and glowered at him. He was right, damn it. She
did
need his help. She was stuck. Because of him.

Was this all part of his plan? She shivered. She felt like a fly trapped in his web.

He approached her, reminding her of a panther stalking its prey. She backed up, but the desk stopped her. The big chair nudged her hip. It suddenly became very apparent how in over her head she was.

He’d orchestrated all of this. Maybe not the task in Salem—but stealing the dagger, getting her here, and inciting the wrath of the High Witches. “You’re a heavy-handed bastard, you know that?”