Page 20 of Omission

Rivulets of red flow like an open faucet, creating a warm puddle beneath him. With each of his heartbeats, it grows, and his chest labors, his clammy skin becoming more pallid by the second.

Bending a bit over him, I use my other hand to smack him just hard enough that his hazy eyes snap to mine. I have a minute of his attention at best, but it’s enough for what I need to say.

“Your biggest mistake was coming onto my lands and mentioning my mother. I could’ve given you an easy death, taken mercy and shot you in the head once, but you were cocky.” There’s a fluttering beneath my fingers as if he’s trying to answer me but can’t. There’s no swallowing or clearing of the throat that will help him, and the more he tries, the faster he’ll die. I shake my head at him and press a little harder, enough to send a sharp jolt of pain and stop him. “Your words mean less than shit to me, warlock. My family is sacred, and you tried to rise against them; I will never forgive that. May Thanatos cross you into the afterlife and Hades condemn you to eternal suffering.”

A presence is felt in the room now, ominous and dark, and Angelo looks up just in time to watch the haze of death cover his cousin. He freezes, a puddle of piss growing around him, while the God of Death is here and gone within seconds, leaving behind a corpse. A corpse whose chest is rising for a final time, the air having gotten trapped, but then it doesn’t matter as I tear out the mangled piece of the windpipe and toss it at the paralyzed witch.

“You will tell me everything, Angelo.”

“Yes, my king.”

“Then start. I have a plane to catch in a few hours. Tell me who and where she is, asshole.”

6

ANAYA

“Anaya, go and welcome our guest. The Luna is awake.”

Father’s voice rings through my head, the sharp bite in his command causing a yelp to slip past my lips as the cup of water I’d been drinking crashes to the floor. It shatters upon impact, the shards nicking at my bare feet while a wave of nausea rolls through me.

“What the gods is this?” I hiss, placing one hand over my forehead while the other presses on my stomach, willing the horrid feeling to go away. For a few seconds, I feel no change—the urge to curl into myself almost causes me to drop to my knees—but I manage to stay upright. I walk away from the mess made and head toward the bathroom, one slow step at a time, until I’m standing in front of the mirror.

The sight before me is ghastly. Not me.

I’ve always been fair-skinned, but this is more. This has nothing to do with the minimal amount of sunlight I’ve been allowed over the years, less since my mother’s death, or the lack of nutrients I consume as my meals are made to keep me thin and weak.

No. This is dark magic, and the proof is found the second I concentrate on my aura. The cerulean blue, a gem-like tone with hints of purples and greens, is there but muted. Being constrained. There are shades of black, vine-like manacles, restraining me while simultaneously draining me.

“How is that tea still affecting me? It’s been days.” I recognize the trails of magic, though. Its signature belongs to my father, yet at the end of the tight grip, there’s a hint of Brice. Is this how they planned to force my hand into marriage? Controlling my motor functions? “Merde. Or did they do something else to me? Could it be the water?”

Anaya, did you not hear me? I said—

My apologies, my king. I was in the shower and I’m getting dressed now.

I know I’ll pay for interrupting him, and I’m not surprised when a second later it feels as though someone’s driven a rusty pike through my skull. It hurts, and this time it’s worse than anything I’ve felt before. I can’t stop myself from rushing to the toilet and losing the little bit of water I drank a few minutes prior; I’m gasping and choking, clutching my head while bile mixes and the acidic taste burns my throat.

It takes a few minutes for me to stop and regain my equilibrium, for the shaking to slow, but when it does, he’s there again. Almost as if he waited for me to stop, knew the exact moment I did.

You have five minutes, Anaya. See that the Luna is taken care of and happy.

Yes, Father.

Crawling, I make it to the sink and use the countertop to pull myself up. I’m shaky, stomach still giving small heaves, but I push it back and open the faucet. The water here is cold, the heating taking a while to reach the desired temperature and I call it to me once it’s lukewarm.

I don’t have the strength to wash my face, but at the quirk of a few fingers, the water dances for me and curves high enough to gently wash my face. It reaches my hairline and then glides over my closed eyes and the curve of each cheek, tracing and removing every trace of the tears I’ve shed before falling down the drain. This happens a few times, each sweeps soothing my frazzled nerves before there’s a knock at the door.

No one enters my room, but the scent of a fae male hits me shortly after.

Another guard. Another of my father’s faithful devotees.

“Princesse Anaya, I’ve been sent to escort you.” His tone is monotone, with no emotion or inflection. And I don’t answer him, choosing instead to take another minute and gather myself before deciding at the last minute to change my dress. The zipper at the side on this one runs from just below my breast to the hip and it falls to the floor after a show shimmy, pooling on the floor in its ridiculous yellow tone with lace overlay and pearl beads at the bust.

Not that the ones inside my closet are any better, but at the least, I can choose to greet the Luna in something a little more subdued. Sure, it’s in the palest of greens and as conservative in length as the rest, but out of all the gowns delivered an hour after I woke up yesterday, this one was made for me by my mother before her passing.

The last one. A birthday gift the day I turned eighteen summers.

Father kept us dressed to his liking, now and then, but Mother always tried to make it special by designing them herself, and the one I’m holding now, I could never hate. Not when it was made with love.

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