Page 23 of Soul Bound

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about that now.” I give him a look that hopefully conveys the subject of my scars is off-limits for the time being.

“I’ll drop it,” he agrees before adding, “for now.”

Esme comes back with an armful of things and unceremoniously dumps them on the table, something starts to roll off but with lightning fast reflexes, Ranger catches it and places it back on the table.

“This will only take a second,” she assures as she gets to work, dumping thing after thing into the large cauldron. She sprinkles something that looks a lot like rosemary into it before striking a match and tossing it in too. The contents catch fire abruptly, embers spitting out the sides. I jump in my seat, but both Esme and Ranger stay in place, both having been expecting the sparks.

Esme reaches for a very sharp looking dagger. The knife is beautiful, it’s gold and the hilt has different colored stones embedded in it. I would have appreciated it a lot more if she wasn’t suddenly pointing it in my direction.

“Woah!” I hold my hands up and lurch back in my seat when she comes closer. “Watch where you point that thing!”

With her free hand, she reaches for me. “Give me your hand.”

I sit still, not offering her my hand, instead, I lift it to nervously push my hair behind my ear.

“It’s not going to hurt, just sting a little,” Esme tries to assure me, but I don’t believe her, the knife looks insanely sharp. “It’ll be like getting your finger pricked at the doctor, I promise.”

“Is using the dagger an important component for the spell?” Ranger asks her, his eyes on the gold knife.

Esme shakes her head. “No, it’s just what I have on hand, I just need a single drop of her blood—” she cuts off when Ranger’s hand snaps out and grabs hold of my hand.

I release a startled squeak and try to yank my hand away from him, but as I’ve learned, he will always be stronger than me. I’m even more startled when he intertwines his long fingers with mine. Perplexed and kind of enthralled by the way his hand feels in mine, I stare at our joined hands. His skin is so much tanner than mine, I’ve never felt paler than I do right now comparing our skin tones. His hand is so much bigger than mine too, completely engulfing mine. I also can’t ignore the way my stomach flutters at his touch. A shiver runs down my spine at the physical contact. It’s almost like—

“Ouch!” I yelp when a sharp pain comes from my finger. I yank my hand again and this time he allows me to. When I look down at my hand, I see I’m bleeding from the pad of my thumb. “What the hell!” I narrow my eyes at his hand. “You used yourclawson me? What thefuck,Ranger?”

He shrugs. “You seemed like someone who needed to be a little distracted…”

I watch as blood blossoms from the wound, creating a perfect drop. I’ve never been squeamish about blood; I couldn’t be when half of the ghosts I see are covered in the stuff.

Esme used the blade on herself, pushing the sharp tip into the pad of her finger. She squeezes her finger, pushing more blood to the surface before putting her hand over the flame. I watch as the blood falls into the fire and a sizzling sound follows. The flame flashes blue, the change happens so fast I barely notice it happened.

“Okay Winslow, your turn. If we share the same blood, the flame will stay blue and not return to orange like it just did. Are you ready?” Esme ushers me to come closer.

I snort. “No, I’m not ready for any of this.” I’m more not ready to deal with the aftermath of this. What does it mean if I’m related to Esme? “But here goes nothing.”

I hold my hand over the flame and watch as in slow motion, the drop of blood falls from my finger into the fire. The same sizzling sound comes just like it did with Esme, but the sound doesn’t cut off as quickly as it did when Esme’s blood dripped in. Instead, it intensifies, and static in the air suddenly appears, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a spirit was near, but the room temperature warms instead of chills.

With a rushing sound, the flame burns bright blue, indigo sparks shoot out of the pot leaving burn marks all over the wood surface of the worktable.

Eyes wide, I look at Esme. “I’m related to you?”

“I’m your aunt.” She gives me a watery smile before pulling me into her arms. Stunned, I keep my arms tight at my side, my eyes lock on Ranger’s face and find he looks as shocked as I feel. “Where have youbeen, dear girl?” she asks, even though I’m sure there’s a more pressing question she wants to ask.

Where is her sister? Mybirth mom?

8

Ranger

This is not what I had in mind when I decided to take Winslow to meet Esme. I figured the high priestess could figure out what the hell Winslow was and maybe give us a little advice on how to find a newborn baby that could be anywhere. But no, there was just a minor change of plans because it turns out, Winslow is Esme’s long-lost niece.

What the fuck?

I don’t understand the spell or the magic, but sure as shit, the fire turned blue when Winslow added her blood. I may not understand the magic, but I know Esme would never lie about something like this. And if the fire changing color wasn’t evidence enough, the picture Esme just pulled out of her wallet is.

Amara is almost the spitting image of Winslow. Their hair is the same dark brown, almost black color. Their features are both very elfin with pouty, full lips. Their noses are a little different and their eyes are different colors, but the same doll-like shape. The picture is over twenty years old, so they are roughly the same age in the picture.

“She was twenty-three in this picture.” Esme places a bottle of water in front of Winslow, but she doesn’t reach forward to take it. Instead, Winslow’s eyes are fixed on the picture she holds. “How old are you, Winnie?”

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