Page 166 of A Bond with the Dark

“Dominic. Stop. I didn’t know it was her mom.”

“But you knew it was an innocent? You knew it was a witch?”

“Yes. I knew.”

This time, Dom is silent before he takes the phone away from his ear and lets loose one of the most agonizing sounds I’ve ever heard. The keening sweeps into a scream and collides with fury, becoming a wail with such emotion that the grass lays down to weep at his feet. As his lament subsides, he leans on the balcony’s banister and looks at his phone, his breath shuddering as he waits for Adaline to speak.

“We were told by a witch long ago to kill the witches of that bloodline to keep the balance. If I told you it was an innocent witch, you’d never do it. When you agreed to do it in the ’70s to thwart the grims back then and again in the ’90s, I didn’t think to tell you anything different. We thought it was helping to stanch the swarm.”

Tears fall from his eyes and splash onto his hands. “And when Ollie and I told you that Shayde and her energy spirit said to kill a witch in Colorado, you didn’t think to bring it up?”

“I thought it was coincidental. I didn’t ever think that the witches we burned in the past were her family.”

“Fuck!” He says again and hangs up the phone.

He turns to face me, his eyes returning to mine.

The shift in his demeanor is immediate. His skin darkens, his eyes dilate, and tears have welled up and are falling down his cheeks. The brokenness set upon his bones is fracturing the features of his face, and while my heart shatters, the mutilated and reprehensible grief spills out in a deluge from both of us.

44

SHATTERED

DOM

“Sayah,” I utter, though words are too weak a sentiment to explain to her how I feel. How sorry I am. They’re lost in the hurricane of wretchedness and remorse. My stomach is tightening, a stitch in both sides almost has me keeling over, and I’ve forgotten how to breathe normally.

Sayah sets her jaw. “What did you mean when you said she had youcometo Colorado?”

Fuck.

The stitches break and rip me apart. Physically, I have to grip my hand to my side to stop the ache, clutching the agony as it simmers to a boil.

I’m never coming back from this now.

“Sayah, wait, I can explain . . .” I step toward her, feeling her tear the truth from my throat.

“No!” she screams, her blue eyes are splintered with splotches of gray. The gray of them tells the story of her sadness, her anger at my betrayal. “What? Did you come out to Colorado to kill me, too? Is that why you were there?”

“No,” I state, my voice languid, trying again to come toward her. She takes another step back. “I came to Colorado to save you.”

“To save me? What were you saving me from, Dom?” Rage is coloring her face an angry red, and tears stream down her face. Bash and her aunts are standing in the background, staring at me. Judging me. They could be hewn from stone; there is no draw of breath, no reaction to my confession. They all just stand there and stare at me, watching me burn.

I feel my vision wavering, the threat of going dark getting more intense; like a sinister vessel on the horizon of my mind, looming large and wild and ready to attack. I swallow it back and try to remain calm, feeling myself spiraling faster than I can manage.

“Everyone wanted you dead,” I respond softly as if whispering will keep the demon inside me quiet. “The warlocks, the witches, the vampires. My whole family. I talked them into letting me go out there to help you find your fire.”

“And killing my parents was just another Tuesday?”

Her words sit in the air like smoke.

The memory of the fire is shattering my mind.

“I didn’t know they were your parents,” I almost whisper. I can’t think. Every thought in my head is jumbled together, swirling and crumpling simultaneously. The demon is gnawing at me from within, mingling with the torture of feeling her slipping away. Losing her.

“I can’t,” she says, turning her back to me and walking away.

Is her blood bright red or that beautiful burgundy color?says a voice that is not mine.

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