Page 93 of When Wishes Bleed

I smiled. “We’ll defend one another?”

“Back to back.”

“It might come to that,” I told him. “My mother has been freed.”

“I had a lengthy discussion with my own mother after we returned from Sector Three, and she told me all she knew. Now I’d like to ask…how do you feel about Cyril?”

“I always felt cheated out of knowing her, out of being raised by her. If she were alive, I would have been a member of her House, not handed off to another Priestess. But now that I’ve heard more about her and the way people speak about her… they’re frightened. Not just afraid enough to avoid her, but terrified of her. And now I can’t help but be frightened, too.” Plus, there was the little tidbit Brecan had overheard about her threatening to kill Lucius, and then trying to kill me.

Fate woke inside me. His comfort curled all around me.

To those who were worried because there could only be one witch of Fate, I felt it down to the dust of me that I was his choice.

Not my mother.

Never her again.

A dark smoke curled through the open glass doors and flooded the garden, despite the wind swirling through it. I leapt from the swing and crossed through the dead foliage to stand beside Tauren.

His eyes were alarmed. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered, on edge.

The smoke continued to gather, building in height and width until the shape of a human formed. Out of the plume stepped a male witch with shaggy, midnight-blue hair and pale skin. Silver slitted eyes twinkled as he smiled at me and stepped forward.

“You,” I breathed, finally recognizing his face. He was the boy who clung to the tree outside my cabin, the boy who chose the tea leaves… with the slitted eyes and indecision. “Who are you?”

“Daughter of Fate,” he greeted so much more confidently than he had seemed in my home.

“Come no closer,” I warned, raising a hand to defend Tauren and me. Tauren unsheathed a dagger, the biting sound of metal raking metal filling the air until he held it out in front of him.

“I am not here for a fight, Daughter of Fate,” the male witch proclaimed.

With sharp features that highlighted his nature, he was beautiful – darkness embodied. Without the red cloak hiding his face, he was a sight to behold. Gone was the angst that rolled off him in waves while I read his tea leaves. In its place was boldness.

He’s made his decision.

“What do you want, then?”

“To deliver a parcel.”

I ticked my head back. “A parcel?”

“Yes, Sable. A parcel,” he confirmed, hissing each s sound.

From a leather satchel at his side, he gingerly plucked a small, rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a matching string. “Who are you?”

“I am the Son of Night,” he answered.

“And do you often deliver parcels, Son of Night?”

He grinned like a panther. “When it benefits me, yes.”

“Who sent it?”

“Your mother.” The words sent a chill up my spine.

He tossed the package to me and I caught it, holding it against my chest. The witch strode back into the cloud of smoke and let it swallow him. A second later, not even a wisp remained.

---