Page 233 of Dark Souls

Luka carried the suitcase and bags out to the cliff and then told me to wait there. He vanished back inside for a couple of minutes and then strolled out the front door as bright raging flames appeared in the windows. As he made his way over to me, the fire of vengeance burned brightly in his own eyes. I held my hand out to him, and he turned, pulling me to his side as we both stood in silence and watched the old manor become consumed by fire, the roof caving in and the structure crumbling. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, squeezing my hand to show he was ready, and I wasted no time in transporting us home.

As we all sat around the large dining table at the castle, I couldn’t believe how much healthier Zoran looked compared to yesterday. He’d slept, fed and bathed, and it had done him the world of good. With his deep-red hair tied back out of his face, and the bandages removed, his burns weren’t so angry and raw in appearance. Luka and I sat across the table from him, with my grandpapi and mum next to him as he rifled through all the photographs we’d found in the manor. His sharp green eyes, which were a slightly darker shade than Luka’s, narrowed as he focused all his attention on a group image of some slayers.

Even though Zoran and Luka looked so alike, I was noticing the subtle differences between them, especially in the way they held themselves. Luka had always been mysterious and intimidating, but you could tell that was due to what he had been through and his lack of humanity. His life experiences had hardened him, but there was always a vulnerability and softness that was dying to break free beneath it all. Even though Luka’s bad-boy appearance made people keep their distance, he had this charisma about him that seemed to draw people in (I think Heathen had a lot to do with that), but Zoran wasn’t like that.

Zoran was an unyielding force in his own right. He was built like an ox, all strength and brute power, and his piercing eyes were a little unnerving when you stared directly at them. They seemed to cut through bullshit and lies, seeing you for who you really were. Although his attractive features were so similar to Luka’s, making him beautiful to look at, there was an edge to him that seemed to carry the weight of a storm. And now his face and body were scarred with cuts from wood and burns from hellfire, which gave him an even more menacing appearance. Even as he sat calmly, rarely speaking, his presence was like a quiet threat, projecting a darker and more shrewd energy than Luka. After briefly meeting him, Leif had summarised him pretty well in two words: a sinister heartthrob.

Yet, beneath the terrifying menace, it was obvious that this man was fiercely loyal. His devotion to his family softened the steel in his gaze, which was apparent every time he looked at Luka or Hana. And they idolised him as if he was their fortress. It was clear how much respect they had for him and how much he loved them in return. The fact he had watched how much his siblings had suffered while he was helpless and trapped made him even more explosive. I almost felt sorry for the witch that had crossed him because his relentless wrath was itching to be released. He’d already killed ten criminals my grandpapi had brought him from the green list, and still, his thirst didn’t seem quenched.

Zoran shook his head once more, grinding his angular jaw as he tossed the last group photograph back on the table.

“None of them?” Luka asked, lifting the image to take a look at it himself.

Zoran peeled his lips back over his teeth and clicked his tongue in frustration before he answered in Serbian. Luka had explained how Zoran preferred to speak in his native tongue but understood English well enough to follow conversations.

Luka glanced at me with worry in his eyes.

“Could you describe her? What did she look like?” I asked as Zoran stared at the table with his fists clenched.

He peered up at me under his tense brows before he spoke, his deep voice booming off the wall of the room. Luka replied, his own beautiful voice sounding so rapid and passionate. I hated that I couldn’t understand what they were saying and set myself a new goal to learn how to speak and understand Serbian as soon as possible. After all, I would have the best teacher.

“Could you get him some paper and a pen, please, love?” Luka turned to me and I quickly reached for my bag, pulling out my new journal, seeing that Mitchell had destroyed my last one. I slid it across the table towards Zoran, and we all watched with interest as he picked up the pen in his huge hand and sketched. He lost himself in the activity and when the image he drew started to form, none of us could take our eyes off his talent. He truly was an incredible artist, which was rather surprising.

Luka smirked and nudged my elbow. “He hasn’t lost his skills even with years of having no hands.”

“He’s an artist?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he always loved drawing and painting. Mama used to joke that it was the only way to get him to sit still. He’s the rough-and-ready type. He prefers being outdoors and has always been a force of nature, but when you put a piece of parchment and some paints in front of him, he would turn all serene and soft.”

Zoran’s eyes lifted from the paper to glare at us from under his dark lashes, though he didn’t lift his head. “He talks wrong. Do not listen,” Zoran said slowly in broken English, which made me smirk. Luka grinned with natural ease at his brother, such a light and teasing look that I had never seen before.

“Remember what you used to sign at the bottom of all your paintings for mama?” Luka continued. “Zuzu. That was his artist name.”

Zoran lifted the end of the pen and pointed it in Luka’s direction, his own portraying fake aggression, but there was only love in his eyes. “Keep talking, Lulu. I dare.”

Luka chuckled, his shoulders shaking, and I couldn’t stop beaming as I glanced between the two brothers. Their relationship was special. You could feel it whenever they were together. And now it made so much sense why Luka had lost himself when he thought Zoran had been taken from him.

When Zoran had finished the sketch, he pushed it into the middle of the table, and we all studied it. It was from a bird's-eye view showing the coven members crowded around, performing magic outside the front of a cottage. He circled a lone figure much further back, standing by the edge of the forest. She had short black ringlets that stopped just above her shoulders, and he’d drawn her wearing what looked like a long shirt that hung around her thighs. She was also barefoot. He’d left her face blank because he said that he couldn’t see her features clearly from so far away. It really wasn’t a lot to work with and when my mum glanced at me from across the table, I could tell she was thinking the same.

“She had no shoes on?” I questioned and Zoran nodded once. That detail just seemed odd to me. “Was it usual to wear no shoes back then?”

“No,” Luka answered. “It’s strange.”

Zoran pulled the page back to him and added some scratch marks on her legs. He spoke to Luka in Serbian.

“He said she had cuts and blood on her legs and feet. Once the coven had left, he went back to look for her as the raven, and he could scent her blood on the ground. But she was nowhere in sight.”

“Perhaps she was a prisoner of the Knowltons?” I offered. “It would make sense with such basic clothing and no shoes. Maybe she escaped them during all the commotion and tried to save Zoran before she fled.”

Grandpapi blew a breath between his lips, which caused us to all turn our attention to him.

“A faceless witch with an adversity to shoes from 1825 in Serbia?” He shook his head, causing an ominous cloud to mist over Zoran’s eyes as he leaned forward in his chair to glare at Grandpapi. My nerves rose because it wasn’t very often that someone outside our immediate family dared to test his authority, but I could already tell Zoran answered to no one. “There are not many witches that are still alive from that time, but we have checked the Enchanted Council archives and there are a few. We could try to contact them, see what they know but there really isn’t any guarantee–”

“No,” Zoran interrupted. “I speak to them. Alone. I will know.”

“We can’t let you do that, Zoran.” Grandpapi met his stony stare down the table with his own stubbornness. “We understand your determination to find her and demand answers, but we cannot have you terrorising or threatening innocent witches around the world to do it. I have been there myself and trust me, it takes you to a dark place and does no good for anyone. That is why we have laws and procedures now. Let us speak to them first and—”

Zoran’s head snapped at Luka, a mask of fury taking over his features. He started shouting in Serbian as Luka held up his hands to calm him. Zoran suddenly stood up from the table so abruptly that his chair flew backwards and hit the wall. In a blur, he had disappeared.

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