Page 43 of Magic of the Damned

Unconstrained anger filled her eyes, and it was directed solely at Dominic. “My brother is calculating and strategic at all times. For now, you are of use to him. Despite him finding you entertaining, it adds little value to your life. If he determines there’s more benefit to your death, he won’t think twice. But you don’t know that, do you, Luna?” She was gifted with her brother’s ability to add just the right inflection, modulation, and venom to make my name sound like a curse. Like something vile to be spat out.

Peeling her eyes from Dominic’s, she finally looked at me, staring at me over the glass before tossing back the remainder of the wine. “For now, you’re the queen in his game of chess. He will protect the queen, sacrificing anyone as a pawn to do so, including me.” She put the bottle and glass on the table and yanked up her sleeves, revealing rust-color interlocking glyphs encircling both of her wrists like manacles.

Dominic maintained a chilly indifference as he leveled his eyes with hers.

“You weren’t sacrificed. You offered yourself as a sacrifice by your actions,” he said, then took a leisurely drink, banked fire hot in his glare.

I shot up to standing, backing away when Helena grabbed the wine bottle off the table, smashed it against the edge, and pointed the jagged edges of the bottle at him.

Fuck this psychotic family. This level of dysfunction was only acceptable in poorly scripted TV. I did not know what to do. Should I attempt to deescalate the situation? Was that even possible? Or maybe this was the time to call their father? Hey, Lord of the Underworld, come get your terrible ass kids. One is about to assault the other. The one being assaulted doesn’t seem too worried about it.

Dominic remained unbothered, choosing to take another slow, indulgent sip from his glass.

Helena’s anger was stormy and pervasive. “Return my fucking magic!” Helena shrieked, bringing the jagged glass toward his neck, which Dominic was so kindly baring to her. A taunt and a challenge.

Frozen in indecision, Helena seemed coiled for violence. Her breath came at irregular clips. It might have been the first time she didn’t give in to her first impulse. That denial showed in the furl of her frown.

In helpless rage, she released the bottle at his feet. While they held each other’s stare in an icy silence that stretched, I became a voyeur, gawking at a family dispute instead of having the good grace to look away.

I snapped myself out of it and started to slowly inch away from them, afraid that a sudden movement would draw her ire. Her need for violence was wound so tight, it was just looking for a target.

“As you pointed out, I protect the queen. And far too often, a princess undeserving of such protections,” Dominic whispered.

The moment was forged in hostility. She glared back at me, her hatred intensified by the belief that I had dethroned her. I did not want her to believe that or to think she needed to wrench the position back by any means.

“I hate you!” Helena bellowed. I thought it was directed at me—after all, she probably blamed me for her magic being restricted and not her clawing her brother’s face. But a declaration with such impassioned vehemence came from years of emotional connection. It could never be directed at some random stranger—despite how she perceived my part in having her magic restricted. And that’s exactly who I was. Some random stranger, pulled into this complex world, who had caused cataclysmic problems.

“A pronouncement you make often when you are forced to deal with a miniscule consequence for your actions. You hate me. Okay. That dagger has dulled from overuse. Find another way to hurt me, you’ve exhausted that one.”

She whipped around, stomping past me while Dominic stood and began picking up the large pieces of glass. It seemed to provide a moment of catharsis.

“Luna, you may return to your seat. We have more to discuss.”

We did, but we weren’t going to do it then. I wanted—no, needed to be away from him.

“We can talk later. Perhaps you need some time to mend things with Helena.”

“The mere fact you suggested that shows you do not know my sister,” he offered with a wry twist of his lips. He was still gathering the broken glass as if there was something symbolic in the gesture—cleaning up a mess that Helena had created.

“Goodnight, Dominic,” I said.

He looked up momentarily and smiled at the sight of me grabbing handfuls of chocolates.

“We’ll talk later.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Before he could object, I moved swiftly toward the house, stopping at the fridge to get some water before going to my room. I locked the door and pushed one of the accent chairs in front of it. It was doubtful it would do anything to stop anyone in this house from entering, but it gave me a small sense of security. At least I’d hear it move.

Pacing the floor, I thought that despite Helena’s histrionics, there was truth to the things she said about Dominic. Him being calculating wasn’t a surprise, but I wondered at what point he would perceive my life as a liability rather than an asset. Unformed plans and tactics ran rapidly through my mind, but none had a high rate of success because magic, the supernaturals’ world, and their rules were unreliable variables.

A ragged breath caught in my throat at the knock on the door.

“May I come in?” Dominic’s voice was low, entreating.

“No.”

The chair against the door slid from its position, levitated, and was eased down in a silent, sweeping movement that rendered its purpose obsolete. A silver glow flicked along the inside of the door and Dominic strolled in, hands in pockets, face expressionless, and pitfall-deep eyes sharpening on me.

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