Page 4 of Touch Of Fate
“No. I know the location.”
“Is she a witch?” I ask.
“Yes. Her power is unstable.” He relaxes, knowing he convinced me.
“I need to prepare the house,” I state, and he backs up.
“Alright. Put some clothes on before we go.”
I snarl at him as he leaves the room. Like it’s a big deal for a warlock to wear pants and a robe around the house. Or castle. I like to be comfortable.
I am a hundred-and-fifty-year-old warlock who lives in a castle I built with my spells. There is an illusion spell on my home, so anyone who sees it doesn’t see a sprawling castle but a lovely cookie-cutter home. My favorite pastimes are practicing my craft, fucking off, sleeping with beautiful women, and driving my friend nuts. My power is unmatched, and I fucking love it. Most think I am an eccentric, rich asshole. I can’t deny I am those things, but no one except Archer knows everything I am.
Contrary to popular belief, I do many other useful things. I own a chain of magic shops. I know, I know, but it’s fucking funny. Even if no one else is in on the joke. I invest in struggling businesses that I think could thrive, work to rebuild them, and provide the funding to do so. I like movies, books, decadent food, and spending time with Archer. My power is enhanced by being around people and their energy. It fuels me. Being in a room with others does the trick. I soak up their excitement, love, anger, sadness, and any emotion they feel. I recognize their feelings, but they don’t affect me. Being in a business that creates joy, like the magic shops, or determination, like building something out of nothing, gives me all the good emotions, yet my magic neutralizes them. I still get the energy that I need, no matter what they are feeling, yet I have to be careful. Taking all of their energy can easily cause their death.
Without it, I would still have magic and be able to move things from across the room. My tattoos are a part of me and ensure my power will always be with me. I was born with magic in my veins and spells in my mind. I have only grown stronger with the passing years, and as long as I keep practicing my spells, my magic will grow. As I prepare to protect my house while I’m gone, I call on my stored energy.
“Darling, you're going on a trip.” My mother, Margarete, pops out of thin air.
“Fuck, you know I hate that. Call first,” I grumble. I love her. She was a great mom, loving, informative, yet suffocating. She possesses the gift of teleportation, and my dad serves as her anchor.
“Darn, I forgot.” She cringes. “Will you forgive me?”
“Yes, until next time,” I sigh. She kisses me on the cheek and holds my shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” She asks, pushing back.
“You were here a week ago. What could happen in a week?” I was hoping to leave before she found out who Archer found. Not that I want to hide it, but I would like to meet my soul bond before she does.
“Rome,” she warns, looking me up and down. “What’s up with your tattoos?”
“I’m fine,” I protest, moving back. “Archer found my mate.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she gasps, grasping the ends of her long blonde hair.
“I do tell a good joke,” I muse, lifting an eyebrow.
“Rome.” She drops her arms, glaring.
“It’s true.” I wait. Her mouth opens and closes no less than five times.
“Fuck, yes.” She spins in a circle, clapping her hands, and I shake my head.
“Mom, calm.”
“You fucking be calm,” she screeches. “Maybe you won’t be so cranky with a bond.”
“I’m not cranky,” I snarl.
“Son,” she starts patiently. “You are. If you are getting it regularly, you’ll be happier. When your father and I first met, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” My mom isn’t a typical mom. We have a very open relationship. I’ve heard the tales of her bonding too many times. I’m glad she’s happy, but fuck, it’s gross.
“Alright.” She sobers and cups my cheek. “I’m so happy.”
“Archer might be wrong. You know how unstable his location spells are,” I say. Yet excitement is building.
“He’s not. He’s never wrong when it’s important.”
