Page 21 of The Rowan
“Your power exceeds hers considerably, but I recommend keeping that fact hidden for a while. Caro is power hungry, and who knows what tricks she has up her sleeve. We need to keep up your training, especially with Astor. It takes a great deal of inner strength to use magic, and your immortality gives you an edge she can’t match. Her primary advantages are the power and favors she’s gained as leader of the witches’ council. Plus, she’s been a witch for a long time with access to many grimoires and spells. That’s where Astor can help. His knowledge of magic is ancient and deep,” he comments. “I’m not sure I’d share your grimoire with her.”
“She didn’t really give me time to agree,” I admit with a laugh. “She just assumed my answer was yes.”
His lips lift in an incremental smirk. “Is that it?”
I wonder what it would take to get him to smile?
Not wanting to hide anything, I list the tasks. “Learn how to use all my powers. Find my witch heritage and the reason my mom hid me. Release the binding on my other powers, and hopefully, find my father. Track down the source of the assassinations and eliminate the threat. I think that’s it.”
His fingers grasp my chin, tilting my head back. “One more thing,” he murmurs while staring down at me.
My heart skips a beat. Licking my lips, I rasp, “What?”
His eyes drop to my lips, hesitating, before continuing down to the base of my throat. “Tell me about the rune,” he says huskily.
Blinking, I reply, “It was my prize for winning the Gathering of the Light.” With a smug grin, I watch as shock steals over his face. I guess he’s not the ice man he pretends to be.
“Rivan, the Rune Master, gave me a protection tattoo. It flares when I’m in danger, or if someone tries to use their powers on me. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“You won the Gathering of the Light?” he challenges. “How? Very few outsiders have won it.” The Fae pride themselves on the race they hold every hundred years. Winning is a testament to the winner’s strength, courage, and intelligence.
Shrugging, I answer, “Solandis. She won it and helped me train for it. It was incredibly tough. I didn’t think I’d make it, but somehow, I did. Didn’t you win it, too? And Fallon?”
“Hmm…you’re full of surprises,” he comments, starting the car. He pauses for a second, his gaze intense, then continues, “Thank you for trusting me. I’ve already got Fallon and Daire checking into any contracts out on your life. Astor and Valerian will assist with your training. And I’m going to see if the supernatural archives mention your mother. Maybe we can trace her steps or find others who knew her.”
“Thank you,” I reply, reaching out to grasp his hand. “It means a lot to have friends looking out for me.”
12
DAIRE
Solange rubs up against me like a cat in heat. Her skimpy silk and lace dress leaves little to the imagination, but then again, I’ve seen everything she has to offer. Beautiful from the tip of her dainty toes to the top of her glossy black hair, she’s the epitome of vampire aristocracy. Besides her obvious physical traits, she’s poised, graceful, and narcissistic, and of course, she holds an utter disregard for anyone who isn’t a vampire.
She’s been my girlfriend for the last two years. Her father, one of my father’s closest friends, is constantly pushing me to offer her the Mate’s Kiss, but I shudder every time I even think about it. I can’t quite figure out why, either. If I wrote a list of the ideal traits I want in a partner, Solange checks every box.
Pouty lips caress mine. I glance down into her deep blue eyes. “Solange, who did you invite tonight?” The VIP area is packed with vampires. Friends and strangers fill the booths.
Her fingers walk up my tie, grab a hold of the knot, and she uses it to pull my head down for a deep kiss. Sighing, I give in, kissing her back with dedication and expertise. Kissing Solange is always pleasurable, but I’m restless tonight and not in the mood to play host to a bunch of sycophantic, overindulged, aristocratic vampires.
“Darling, why don’t you go see if there’s anything our guests need,” I urge her.
With a pout, she reads the resistance in my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go order some champagne for everyone. Your tab, okay?” She walks away without waiting for my reply.
As if she would ever think of paying for anything. Her family is wealthy, but she expects me to keep her in the manner she’s become accustomed.
Blonde hair catches my eye below. It’s Arden, laughing and joking while she serves her tables. She doesn’t seem to have much in common with the witches I’ve met, but then again, she hasn’t been indoctrinated into their warped view of the world yet, either.
Arden stirs my blood in ways I can’t grasp. While certainly beautiful, it’s not her beauty that attracts me, but her light. Her light shines like a beacon into the black hole of my heart. Shriveled long ago, I thought it to be dead and lifeless, along with Danica. Yet when I look at Arden, my heart opens an eye to stare at her, too, and gives a single solitary beat.
It’s maddening, this new obsession. Solange would kill her. If Arden doesn’t get herself killed by the witches first. Or her assassins.
Theron told us about their little meet and greet at Witchwood the other night and Arden’s subsequent story-telling in the car later. She’s playing a dangerous game with the witches right now by trying to uncover her past while hiding her power and making allies with witches behind Caro’s back.
It takes every ounce of my will not to warn her away from them. The witches banished my mother when she became pregnant with me, as if the taint of a hybrid could be passed along like a disease. I snort and take a long sip of my old fashioned.
As I glance around downstairs, I notice several eyes following Arden. The light witches, dark witches, males of all races, and Merindah. Cocking my head to the side, I consider Merindah. Another enigma in the staff at The Abbey. She’s watching Arden like a hunter staring at its prey, and I stiffen.
Watching Arden, Merindah quickly types a text to someone on her phone. The reply doesn’t seem to make her happy, though, her face a thundercloud of emotions. She furiously types another message before dropping the phone in her pocket.
