Page 5 of Touch Of Fate
“True,” I whisper.
“Can I go?”
“No.”
“Come on,” she whines, stomping her foot.
“No.”
“I’ll be good.” She presses her hands together.
“When have you ever been good?”
She tilts her head. “Nineteen eighty-nine.”
“If you have to think about it. No.”
“Fine.” She whirls away. “I have to tell your dad.”
“Where is he?”
He is a wonderful dad.
“In Paris. I just popped out for a visit.” She holds up her hand. “Will you at least keep me posted? I want to meet her. You know how impatient I am.”
“I am aware.” I smile softly. “I will call you.”
“Love you, Rome.”
“Love you.” She snaps her fingers, and she’s gone.
Growing up with a free spirit for a mom was fun, but she has boundary issues. No matter how old I get, having my mom talk about desire is disturbing. Our magic keeps us from aging once we reach our twenty-first birthday, so she looks like my sister. She thinks it’s hilarious to call me her son in public. The humans are not so amused. As long as we have our power protecting us and are cautious, we could live forever. Our bodies are human, so if we don’t have our magic, we will slowly age and die. If themagicked deny their spells and refuse to practice, it will reside inside them, waiting. The magic knows if they truly desire to live without it, or if they are suppressing it and will eventually accept their gifts. In that case, they will stay young, and their magic will awaken when they are ready.
As I walk through the castle, I spell the walls, ensuring a human won’t stumble upon my home. My magic doesn’t come from the words I use, but my intentions behind them. I don’t read obscure old spellbooks to do magic in a language I don’t understand. The movies lie. It enhances the storyline to pull out a dusty book and try to decipher it to cast a spell. Some things are rooted in truth. I do like cats. They seem to understand us, and some witches and warlocks have a familiar. An animal that warns them of danger but doesn’t necessarily have the gift of practicing spells. If I want to use my magic, I push my will and say the words in my head. Magic is a tool. My intention is what guides it.
I enter my bedroom and take off my robe. We will travel as normal humans, so I pull out a suitcase from my closet. Using magic is convenient, but we try not to abuse the power. I didn’t inherit my mother's gift. I can’t pop in and out at will. A few times, I’ve been able to travel short distances. It takes a lot of my magic and energy.
Finding a bond hasn’t been a priority. I’ve had relationships over the years and have loved some of them. Perhaps, I enjoyed more the idea of love. I’ve loved aspects of them, but have never felt the all-consuming pull to another. I’ve never feared not finding a woman to love. If we don’t find our soul bond, our magic could eventually lessen or become unstable, and we will start to age slowly, but it’s usually hundreds of years after birth. I’ve seen it happen before, yet it’s something I haven’t thought about much. For the first time, I allow myself to think about a woman who is made to complete me.
Archer did the spell, and I should have, even though it is said that trying to locate your own bond never works. We believe in fate and the idea that things happen when they’re supposed to. I don’t like the feeling I have. Knowing she is out there struggling with her magic. I’ve been lying to myself. There has been a feeling in my gut for months that something is off with my magic. My tattoos have been glowing for longer than Archer knows, as if they’re searching for a spell that isn’t there.
As much as I dislike Mom’s love story being told to me in nauseating detail, having someone who is meant to be just mine is alluring. I want a woman in my life who will love me, all of me. The women I have been with don’t really know me, since I can never be my true self. Once in my long life, I revealed my magic to a human. I was young and thought I could force the soul bond. She was beautiful and kind. The horror on her face will always stick with me. She didn’t believe me, and when she demanded I show her, I did. It was a mistake. She was terrified. That was the end of our young love, and my parents had to ask a relative to change her memories. Since then, I have been careful never to reveal my true nature. Any relationships I have now are superficial. I love women. Their ability to nurture, the curves of their bodies, and their kind hearts. My skin vibrates, eager to meet the woman who calls to me.
Once I meet her, my body, soul, and power will be drawn to her. It will be uncomfortable to be away from her. Our need will not go away until we join our power and complete the soul bond. The magic doesn’t care that we are strangers and know nothing about each other. Our knowledge will come with time. Completing the bond is fairly simple. We must both accept our joining and be willing to complete each other. The magic does most of the work. Our intention to combine our magic can’t be faked. The bond can be denied, but you will feel the loss forever. The universe is never wrong. Shifters and vampires use their biteduring the claiming; we don’t use our teeth unless we find it a turn-on. They have their animals to guide them in the process; we have magic.
A tattoo of our combined magic will appear on both of us, signifying our lifelong bond. We will be able to find each other with it, feel each other's emotions, and know when one of us is in trouble. A soul bond is powerful and should be respected. As a team, not many would be able to beat us.
Those with magic can be soul-bonded to a human. They do not have magic, but have the possibility of it. Something within them, their soul, calls to the witch or warlock. The process is more intense. The human will gain powers after the soul bond is complete. Just like shifters and vampires, making humans believe you and commit to the bond can be difficult.
I’m grateful my bond is a witch. I won’t have to explain our world. Merging our magic is a pleasurable experience, as long as she is willing to trust in it, in me.
I finish throwing clothes in the bag, grab a shirt, and go to the bathroom. I should shave, but I like the scruff. My hair is dark blonde and falls into my eyes. I usually don’t pay attention to things like a haircut. My light green eyes are bright and show the power I hold. When around humans, I dim the color to a more realistic tone. I run my hands through my hair, popping my magic from my fingers to smooth it. The strands drop back, brushing the top of my eye. Some things magic can’t fix. I pull on the long-sleeved black shirt, which only makes it worse. Hopefully, she will enjoy my hair. I like it messy. My jeans have rips in the knees, not because I bought them that way, but from years of use. I don’t give much thought to my appearance unless I am in a business meeting.
“You need a haircut,” Archer drawls, leaning in the doorway.
“I like it. If she is my soul bond, she will too.” I turn to him, lifting a brow.
“She is.”
