Page 12 of Cosmic Power

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Luther demanded.

“No. I need to go. I need to find her.” Void went to leave the room and Luther blurred in front of him.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on. What do you mean she’s not a normal female werewolf?

“I said she’s not to Barnabas.”

“Again, what does that mean?”

Void sighed and rubbed his temples. “It means that she holds more value to Barnabas than your average female.”

Anger thundered through Luther. “Stop being evasive and explain properly,” he snapped.

Taking a deep breath, Void ran his fingers through his hair, worry flashing on his face. “I think—,” he swallowed and cleared his throat, “I think Barnabas is her father.”

ChapterFour

“No, Mum, I don’t wanna go to school today,” Zamorra groaned, rolling onto her side. Something touched her face and she slapped it away. “Five more minutes, Ma,” she whined, rolling over again.

The ground was hard, a lot harder than it should be. And cold. Ice cold. Her body shivered and she stretched out, reaching for a blanket but her hand slapped against solid concrete.

What the fuck?

Something zapped her in the face and her eyes shot open in shock. The room was pitch black and all she could see was a small green pixie hovering above her, surrounded in a cloud of green pixie dust.

“Navi?” Zamorra questioned, her mind a total haze. “Wha-what the fuck is going on?”

An assortment of memories bombarded her all at once. Her friends, bound and gagged in silver. Maddox, holding a knife to her throat. Leilani. Barnabas. Roman, almost being killed by some piece of jewellery.

Zamorra shot up from the ground, her breathing erratic and panic flooding through her body. “Son of a bitch!” she hissed, looking around the room.

She had been kidnapped from Luther’s mansion by her worst enemy, shoved into a car and taken to a remote location where a light mage was waiting for them. All she could remember from there was stepping through a transportation portal and then...nothing. Nothing but darkness.

How long have I been out for? And where the fuck am I?

The faint glow surrounding Navi caught Zamorra’s attention and she focused on the pixie, trying to get her chaotic thoughts in order. “How-what-how did you get here?”

Navi responded in her ancient language that Zamorra still didn’t understand —Sylvan—as she twirled a hand in the air, releasing tendrils of her pixie magic. It morphed into tiny translucent people moving at a fast pace. One of them opened up a portal and while the others disappeared into it, an even smaller minuscule person darted in quickly behind them just before it closed.

“You-you followed us? From the mansion?” Zamorra asked, frowning. She didn’t remember seeing the pixie at all.

Navi nodded and immediately turned invisible, reappearing in half a second.

Understanding dawned on Zamorra. “Ah. You stayed invisible when all that shit went down with Maddox, Leilani and Barnabas?”

Navi nodded again, her wings flapping so fast they could barely be seen as she hovered in the air a few feet in front of Zamorra.

Slowly getting to her feet, Zamorra looked around, checking out her surroundings with trepidation. She couldn’t see a damn thing, which was weird. Her shifter senses gave her the ability to see in the dark, but it was like they weren’t working. “Can you bring a little light in here?”

Navi clapped her hands together and spread them out wide, emitting a ball of bright green light in the open space between her palms. She flung one hand left and the other right, splitting the ball in two and making them shoot to opposite ends of the room. The small magic balls of light hung in the air in the far corners of the room, illuminating the small space just enough for Zamorra to be able to see.

She was in a prison cell. There was no better way to describe it. Roughly six by eight feet, with solid concrete floors and stone walls at least ten inches thick. The small space was completely bare; no furniture, nothing except two iron cuffs securely fastened to the back wall.

It was silent, so quiet, Zamorra could hear her own heartbeat thumping away in her chest, hear the breath expelling from her lips. She walked to the bars at the front of the cell and wrapped her fingers around the cold metal, preparing to rip them straight from the hinges when her hands instantly burned, sizzling like a piece of bacon on the frypan.

“Shitfuck!” she hissed, yanking her hands back.

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