Page 21 of Omission: Part 2

I went through this reaction the first time I dreamed of my parents after their deaths.

Young and still reeling from being left behind, I walked through my dream and connected to their resting place in the afterlife. They were waiting for me with huge smiles on their faces; I experienced the sense of a hug and the comfort of home, and I’m forever thankful that my Wiccan powers allowed me such a privilege, as short a visit as it was.

While the physical realm is binding, the spiritual plane allows us to play and bend while roaming freely. It gave me a bit of closure, and that respite from my pain allowed me to put one foot in front of the other while I trained to be king.

Just the same as when my father’s presence looms close; the ceremony with my sisters being the perfect example before I met my queen. Because spirits can answer a call, they visit and bring with them the connection you’ve missed while taking a bit of the pain away, and Anaya now has the possibility of muchmore.

Her mother is alive, but lost. Can be a part of her life the right way.

“How, Leonardo? How is this possible?” my girl croaks, her voice heavy with hurt yet there’s a small tinge of hope, too. “It just can’t be. My mother lies within her garden, her ashes laid to rest among the white lilies, and I’ve mourned her there. All these years, I’ve cried for her eternal rest.”

“That’s what we need to find out, love.” Finally, those violet eyes see me. Her ears twitch to let me know she’s paying attention, too. “Ruben admitted that Larue glamoured your mother into believing that she was his mate and his maman with the help of a powerful witch. My guess is Silla helped him, then they killed the woman who birthed the spineless asshole.”

“But why make us think she’d died? To what gain when they had it all.”

“My guess is he wanted absolute control. With her out of the way, no one could clamor for the rightful monarch.”

She’s shaking her head, lips pursed. “It doesn’t work that way, Leonardo. He was given a transfer of power. The faes recognized him as a carrier of the sacred blood.”

“So he kept her nearby? Close enough to use?”

“He bled my maman the entire time.” If devastation had a picture, her face would be it, and I hate myself for putting her through this. Tears fill her sad orbs, but they don’t fall yet. She’s fighting back her emotions to get through this conversation.I’m going to take care of you, my precious fae. I’m so sorry.“They used black magic against my people.”

“I think it’s worse than that, Anaya.” I’m remembering Ruben’s words between pitiful cries for a mercy I didn’t grant. If she dies, the real heir will step into her powers. The crown isn’t handed over in the physical sense but manifests, and all faes would drop to their knees before Anaya. She would take what’s mine.“You would’ve risen without Larue tricking the court. The same powers he claimed to have been granted by Amelia before death would’ve manifested in you, and that’s something they couldn’t permit. You were the key to unmasking them, but by keeping your mother hidden and you thinking she’d died, he controlled the narrative. Controlled the rightful heir and planned to continue doing so by marrying you off to Brice, another loyal servant.”

“He drank from her.”

That stops me cold. “What do you?—”

“He drank from her,” she hissed from between clenched teeth as the first tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. “That is how he carried the sacred blood. Itwasa part of him, but because he stole her life’s essence. Goddess!” Hands fisted in her locks, she pulls, and that’s when my mate finally breaks.

Anaya’s pain slams into me—volatile and open—as her petite body is wracked by sobs. As the years of hurt pour out of her in curses: for her dead father, for the man who played the part of an asshole brother, and then for what her mother’s lived through. She blames the court’s elders and their misogynistic views, and then she just cries for everything taken from her.

And through it all, I hold my beautiful mate and give her the one thing she’s been without for a long time: comfort.

“I love you, sweet girl. We’ll get through this and find her. I’ll bring her home to you.” My arms wrap around her, tucking her against my chest while I absorb every painful shudder. Feed her my unending admiration through our bond.My strong little queen.“I vow it, Anaya. You will be reunited with your mother.”

I get a minute nod against my shirt as she shifts her face to my neck, burying her nose there. Her breathing is labored and rapid, a small wheezing sound filtering past her cherry lips, but that soon becomes hiccups the more she breathes me in.

My scent soothes her. Calms her enough that my treasure falls asleep gripping me just as tight as I hug her, Aya’s body finally succumbing to exhaustion. And while I lay her down and then cover her body with a blanket, I make another promise to the quiet room.

“Your enemies are mine now, and I’ll bring you their heads as an offering. The world will have a cleanse, and it’ll be in your name.” Leaning over, I place a final kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling back. “So mote it be.”

* * *

What greetsme on the training grounds is nothing short of amusing.Theodore’s been busy.

There are hundreds of vampire guards standing in a semi-circle around their king while three men kneel on the harsh ground. The prisoners are not bound, just naked, and their bodies show signs of multiple fang marks—missing chunks—while bright red blood oozes from each quarter-sized wound.

They look painful.

Not big enough to kill them, but enough to deliver tremendous discomfort while they tremble at their king’s feet. More so when I take a good look at the area, a rubble-filled section that’s speckled with fragments of blood and what looks to be dried flesh.Sacrificial.Then, there’s the tall wooden rods protruding from the ground. Thick and splintered, they’re placed in the perfect position to watch the sun rise over the horizon.

Moreover, they don’t see me as I approach, but Theo and Tero tilt their heads in my direction. They sense the shift in vibrations as I take my place behind the first man with my favorite opal dagger in hand.

Its hilt warms in my hand while the sky above becomes turbulent. As if nature is matching my wrath, and those guards who witnessed the killing of the imposter prince shift a step back.

Lighting strikes not far from where we stand, the grassy area burning to a crisp as a sharp cry fills the air—the sound of a scared man who senses danger but cannot see it.

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