Page 34 of Morning's Light

CHAPTER 8

“She got to you in the house,” Karsia said softly, reaching for fresh towels. “She got to you when we were all here and we didn’t hear you scream. At least they’re healing quickly.”

Aisanna gritted her teeth and stood still while her sister mopped the blood from her arms. She could still see the woman in the mirror, the intimate connection between them despite the pain and blood.

She’d never felt so close to the end as she had when the brand seared along her skin. Except maybe in dreams.

“What happened?” Karsia asked.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have let it happen. So much for Astix’s damn piece of agate.” Aisanna tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

“Maybe the agate was the only thing that stopped it from being worse. I’m going to wipe the ones on your chest. Ready?”

“Sure.”

It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. She tried to keep the screech to herself, lest she sound like a big baby.

“Try to focus on something else. Think about work. Something good. Your boy toy’s sexy arms…okay?”

Aisanna smiled a little despite the pain. “I’ll do my best.”

Karsia stopped long enough to stare at her before rinsing the blood. “I’m not sure if you noticed, since you were busy getting sliced and diced, but it’s writing. Cyrillic script, actually. I’m going to find out what it says.”

To give herself a moment to steady, Aisanna bent at the waist to grab a discarded towel, using it to wipe her hands. “If you think you can.”

“I know I can.” Karsia blew out a breath. “And when I do, we’ll solve this thing. Together.”

**

Another few days passed until the Imbolc holiday was upon them. Always an uplifting, hopeful time of year, it somehow felt forced this time. Threats of all shapes and sizes loomed ahead and added unwanted pressure. Instead of a joyous night to celebrate the mid-point between winter solstice and the spring equinox, the family was trapped together under a fresh blanket of snow.

And Zenon’s chair was still empty.

The Cavaldi clan gathered around the antique oak table that comfortably sat twelve. Aisanna knotted her hands in her lap and tried to feel grateful. The writing across her chest and arms had scabbed over and was healing quickly. She was grateful her parents hadn’t found out yet, although she’d taken to wearing turtlenecks and long sleeves to hide it. Luckily the weather provided enough excuse that her wardrobe choices were never questioned.

Although Karsia had promised to discover the meaning behind the strange-looking Cyrillic script, so far they’d had no luck. But fortunately for Aisanna, there were no more ominous shadows. No more whispered words or strange reflections in mirrors. There, she felt exceedingly lucky.

Aisanna kept her mind ruthlessly turned toward greener pastures. It was better than thinking about her problems. Or Elon. She wanted him to hold her again. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers. Though she knew it wasn’t a crime, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. There was a charge between them. He’d been right, and she couldn’t say it surprised her. Between the sizzling tension at work, and their kiss several days ago, she was hesitant to admit: She’d been moved.

For a long time, she’d wondered if the part of her heart capable of feeling affection for a man had died. She’d experienced her fair share of interesting, attractive men over the years, and come to appreciate her own sexuality. But there were none—including Israel—who brought her to full attention like Elon.

She’d been content to live without the affection, her heart turned off. Then Elon had to go and make a mess of things.

She wondered what it meant for her future. Her ability to fight the faceless monsters who wanted to use her and her sisters. It would be a trial to balance her basic human wants and desires and protect her family at the same time.

“Where are you?”

Aisanna snapped to attention. “I’m right here,” she commented.

“Don’t lie. You were a million miles away.” Karsia pursed her lips and let her attention wander back to the food.

The surface of the dining table, polished to a lemon-scented sheen, was swathed in a tablecloth of blinding white and laid with heavy silverware and food someone else had prepared. Varvara Cavaldi had many talents, but cooking wasn’t one of them.

Astix shook her head and a wave of hair obscured her features. Tension knotted her shoulders. “I still can’t believe you dragged me here.”

Thorvald Cavaldi set a massive golden-brown turkey in the center of the table while shooting his middle daughter a world-class glare, one perfected over decades. “Isn’t this nice? It’s our first meal together as a family without a Claddium-sanctioned banishment looming over us. At least, it’s our first year where I don’t give a damn about the consequences of breaking said banishment. Calm your mouth for an hour and I’ll give you a treat.”

“You really know how to deal with children, Daddy.” Astix snorted, drawing her napkin with a flourish and settling it on her lap.

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