Page 23 of The Curse of Ophelia

Tolek met my numb gaze, turning to see who had caught my eye, and his lips parted, expression freezing. With a quiet exhale, he mumbled something that sounded like “Holy hell Spirits.”

Lucidius Blastwood, the Revered Mystique Warrior, leader of our people, and Malakai’s father, stopped before us. There was something different about him—an aura I could not place.

His authority chilled me—every spot save for the tainted web on my wrist, but something cold and furious curled within me. Based on the way he tensed beside me, Tolek was experiencing the same rage, but his features remained calm.

“Ophelia,” Lucidius greeted me, and his authority saturated that one word, seeping into the air around us. “Happy birthday.” He extended his palm, and I placed my hand in his, the contact turning my fingers icy. He raised our hands in a silent salute before speaking words I was unprepared to hear. “I wish my son could be beside you on this of all nights. He is certainly missing out, wherever he may be.” His eyes gleamed in an unsettling way. Not mourning or misery, but disappointment in his heir and a swirling depth I didn’t recognize.

Though Malakai’s strong jaw, dark hair, and green irises so looked like his father, they could not be more different.

I took a deep breath and pulled my hand back from his, ensuring that my sleeve had not rolled up. I nodded gracefully at him, fluttering my dark eyelashes in an innocent impression. “Thank you, sir. You know I miss him dearly, but I do hope we will be reunited soon.”

Lucidius’s jaw tensed as he raised his hands before him, shrugging slightly. “As do we all. Though I fear that time has come and gone.”

“That may be your fear.” My patience was wearing thin, but I kept my voice light, pretending we weren’t discussing the possibility of his own son’s death and his hopelessness at his survival. “But I do not share it. Malakai is the strongest warrior among our generation.”

A disturbing smile spread across his face, eyes darkening beneath hooded brows. “Ah, how I wish I could carry the hope of the young once again.”

“I wish for your sake that you could, as well, sir.” My words were becoming bitter. “He and I will see each other again, soon.” The finality in my voice implied the end of the conversation.

“Mm-hmm,” Lucidius hummed. He bowed to me slightly, clasping his hands behind his back before nodding in Tol’s direction. “Vincienzo” was his only acknowledgment of his son’s friend before he left us.

When he was out of earshot, Tol leaned closer to me and whispered, his breath hot against my neck, “I know that we’re supposed to honor him, but that man makes my blood boil.”

I turned my face toward Tol’s so that our cheeks were an inch apart. Though still reeling from the encounter with Lucidius, I whispered, “I hear wine cools boiling blood nicely.” I pulled back to flash him a mischievous smile.

*

Hours later, long after the clock had struck midnight and my birthday had officially passed, the grand room was emptying. My head spun from the bottles of sparkling wine Tolek and I had stolen from the kitchen, racing to see who could finish theirs first. The bubbles had coated the evening with an intoxicating, golden hue. For the first time in years, I felt gleeful, and I was certain it was not strictly due to the alcohol.

In another life, tonight would have been a dream. I would have worn my official Mystique Warrior leathers and held the evening in Damenal. I would have danced with Malakai, possibly Tolek and Cypherion, too, reveled with Rina and Jezebel, and fallen into my bed with my partner at the end of the night, questioning my luck in this life.

Instead, I was facing a cursed fate, but accepting that path had relieved my shoulders of the weight of life, and I was able to enjoy myself. I would find peace in another life, and potentially rejoin Malakai if he had truly fallen to the fate others believed. The thought sent my heart swelling.

The air buzzed with a heavy feeling of expectation. Though I didn’t know what caused it, my stomach fluttered nervously, like it knew a secret I was not aware of. I bounced around the grand room on the balls of my feet, floating from that unnamed sensation, until the clock chimed three in the morning.

I kissed my family good night and stumbled into my darkened bedroom.

“Ouch,” I muttered, clumsy fingers scratching my skin as I tore off my corset.

When the dress pooled around my knees, I stepped out of it, kicked off my heels, and crawled into bed in only my undergarments. The sheets felt cool against my body, especially the burning spot on my wrist. I was grateful to the alcohol for dulling that pain.

It could have been my drunken mind, but the air seemed different tonight. Delicate. Like the atmosphere was a precious realm of glass, waiting for someone to come along and gently send it shattering to the ground. A cool night breeze fluttered across my flushed cheeks, lulling the thoughts from my mind.

But I had barely reached the shallows of sleep when a blinding light flashed through my room. I scrambled to my feet atop my mattress in search of a weapon that wasn’t there.

I squinted through the golden light that poured into every corner of the previously dark room, disoriented but prepared to fight. The rays resembled physical sunlight, but brighter. Inhuman and unnatural, yet the purest substance in existence. Through the burning beams I saw a figure that brought me to my knees.

An Angel.

Chapter Ten

Light flooded my vision where I knelt on my bed. Every inch of bare skin it touched heated, my blood pumping faster in response to the ancient source of magic. Angellight—the substance of myth that no living warrior was blessed to see. Or so legends told. Born of the magic of the mountains, it was pure power only the seven Angels ascended to.

I remained in only my undergarments, my comforter pooling around my knees.In an attempt at respect for this honored being that found its way into my room, I grabbed a knit blanket from the foot of my bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. Though the window was open, a night breeze ruffling my curtains, the room was warm from the Angellight.

My head pounded from a combination of the wine, light, and shock. How in the fucking Angels was this happening? And why? All I could do was bow my head gracefully. My blonde waves blurred my field of vision, but I peeked up through my lashes, afraid to lose sight of my guest. One shouldn’t make eye contact until summoned—it was defiant of me. But I could also argue that it was rude to appear in someone’s bedroom in the middle of the night.

The Angel hovered inches off the ground. An embarrassing assortment of garments and books lay strewn across the dark wood floors. My armoire was flung open, my vanity cluttered with the combs, jewelry, and cosmetics I had used earlier that evening. Had I known I would be visited by an Angel tonight, I may have tidied up.

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