Chapter 5 #2
Wilder took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I’ve been having visions and during the last vision, I blacked out and my magic fled me and stored itself safely within Byron.”
Dara’s expression remained suspiciously blank. “Anything else?”
“Nope,” Wilder replied with a shake of his head.
“He’s been having nightmares and wakes up screaming,” I supplied helpfully.
“Byron,” he hissed.
“What? You might as well tell her everything.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered ‘asshole’ under his breath.
Dara stared at the pair of us, her eyes flicking between us whilst Wilder and I waited in silence.
It was a strange feeling being the one who was being assessed.
Usually it was me doing that, staring down my targets as I waited for the truth.
I often found silence was the best method of torture.
A target could often reveal more about themselves in those quiet moments than they ever wanted to.
Not me though. I was a locked book. She wasn’t going to get anything from me.
“Shit,” she finally said. “I thought we had more time.”
My eyebrows flew to my hairline in genuine surprise.
“What do you mean?” Wilder asked.
Dara strode towards the bookshelves and pulled down a large leather tome. “What do you know about Shadow Witches?”
“That they’re legendary and often found in folktales,” Wilder said as he folded his arms across his chest defensively.
Dara huffed as she dropped the old book on the table and started flicking through the pages rapidly. “Yes, but they’re more than that. They’re witches—”
“Caught between two worlds,” I said, interrupting Dara.
She paused in her page turning and looked up at me in shock. “Yes. How do you know that?”
I snorted. “I’m an assassin for a vampire mafia boss. It pays to know.” I turned to Wilder and waggled my eyebrows. “See? I’m not just a pretty face.”
“No,” he snapped. “You’re a dickwad, too.”
I leant closer and dropped my voice to a whisper. “That means you think I have a pretty face.”
He turned to look at me, his eyes blazing like fire. “Oh my God, Byron will you—”
“Hey, focus,” Dara said, snapping her fingers. “You can flirt later.”
“We’re not flirting.” Wilder sounded positively outraged at the idea.
“Byron is right,” Dara continued. “Shadow Witches exist between two worlds but there hasn’t been one in existence for centuries, certainly not in my lifetime. Not until you were born.”
“But I don’t have that kind of power,” Wilder spluttered.
Dara hit him with a hard look. “That’s because you’re not twenty-five yet.”
That sounded ominous. “What happens when he turns twenty-five?”
“He becomes one of the most powerful witches ever to live.”
“Bullshit,” Wilder spluttered. “You’re joking, right?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The visions are influences from the other side and if you’re blacking out, I’m assuming they’re getting stronger?”
Wilder swallowed. “Yes.”
She turned to look at me. “And you held his magic?”
I nodded. “Yes. His sigil was left on my skin until it returned to him.”
Her eyebrows shot skywards. “Interesting. His magic has chosen you as his tether.”
What the fuck did that mean? “Tether?”
“Yes,” she said as she flicked through a few more pages of the book until she found what she was looking for. “Here it is.”
She rotated the book and slid it across the table towards us.
The pages were old and handwritten in some form of old English.
There was a picture in the centre that showed the process of a witch stepping into the otherworld.
It depicted the image of the witch in the middle with a ghostly shape on one side and another man on the other.
There was a circle of arrows between the witch and the man, with the words ‘vessel or tether?’ written underneath them and then under the figure of the ghost, there were the words ‘shadow realm or beyond the veil’.
“What is this?” Wilder asked as he hunched over the pages.
“It’s the journal of the last Witch Hunter, Bram Axford,” Dara explained.
“It’s from the 17th century and Bram stopped hunting witches when he realised that they weren’t all as bad as he’d been led to believe.
So, he started studying them instead. This image shows what happens when a Shadow Witch crosses over.
The theory is that they can’t take their magic into the world beyond the living, so it chooses someone to host it and hold it like a vessel, but I think it’s a combination of a vessel and a tether. ”
“What makes you say that?” I asked, tracing the lines of the image.
Dara hummed thoughtfully. “Because a tether pulls you back into the living.”
That made sense. When Wilder had been pulled under, he’d been so still. At first, I thought he’d died, but whatever was happening to him had pulled him to the edge of death. His heart rate and breathing had slowed immensely, and I’d had to keep checking on him. It had been a tense few hours.
“I haven’t been having visions, have I?” Wilder’s voice was quiet, and he sounded lost.
“No,” Dara replied. “I think you’ve been communicating with the dead. Or they’ve been sending you messages.”
Huh. Did that make him a necro-postal service?
Wilder stepped back from the table looking like a deer in headlights. “This is… well, it’s a lot.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the visions?” Dara asked softly. “I could have helped or—”
“Really?” Wilder cut in, his tone harsh. “The last time you helped, we lost everything.”
Dara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was the same shade as Wilder’s, but where his fell in jagged waves, hers were soft curls that hung just passed her shoulders. It wasn’t hard to believe that the pair were siblings, even though Dara was a few centuries older.
“What do you remember about your childhood?” she finally asked.
“Why?” Wilder looked as confused as I was.
She’d certainly asked a curious question. Why wouldn’t Wilder remember his childhood?
She took a deep breath. “Because I had your memories altered.”
Wilder stepped back like he’d been physically slapped.
“You did what?” I hissed. Rage burned hotly under my skin at the thought that someone had messed with Wilder in this way.
She scowled at me, her eyes narrowed and face fierce. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what we had to escape. I sacrificed everything to protect him, so don’t you dare look at me like I’m the bad guy.”
I clenched my fingers into the wooden table so that I didn’t reach for my gun. “Then explain it now, or so help me, I will put a bullet between your eyes.”
It wouldn’t kill her, you needed specific magic laced bullets for that, and I didn’t have any on me, but it would sure make me feel better.
“Why, Dara?” Wilder asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There were tears brimming in his eyes and the sight of that made me angry. No one got to put tears in his eyes except me.
Dara sighed and her shoulders dropped. “Our father wasn’t a nice man and what he did to you was despicable, Wilder. I had those memories altered to protect you.”
“When?” His voice was a thready tremble.
“When you were fifteen,” she answered.
Wilder’s nostrils flared as he took a deep shaky breath. “What did he do to me?”
“Wilder…” Dara pleaded. “Don’t go there.”
“The nightmares are memories, aren’t they?” he whimpered, and it made me want to hold him. He was breaking apart in front of my eyes and there wasn’t anything I could do.
“Where is he?” I snarled at Dara. “Where is his father?”
I hoped to God he was still alive, because I was going to kill the fucker for even thinking he could lay a hand on Wilder.
“Far away,” she replied. “When I realised what he’d been doing, I took Wilder and left. I sought a petition from the Witch Council, and they agreed to hide us. We left everything behind so I could keep him safe. His father was banished.”
“I have to go,” Wilder gasped, his face pale and his body shaking. He turned on his heel and made to leave the room.
“Wilder, wait,” I called after him.
He spun on his heel and snarled at me. “For once in your life, Byron, stay the fuck away.”
There was so much anger and hatred in his eyes that I froze. I just stood there and watched him leave.
“Give him time,” Dara said as she came to stand next to me. “He’s always been a runner, but he’s always found his way home.”
“What did his father do?” I had to know.
Dara sighed heavily. “He continually siphoned Wilder’s magic. Without a vessel, his magic could be taken and replenished over and over again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When our father figured out that Wilder was a Shadow Witch, he realised he’d be able to force Wilder into the world beyond and steal his magic for himself.
With no vessel to contain it, he could siphon it to boost his own power.
Witch magic isn’t like any other magic. We have our own source within us so even if we deplete our magic, over time, we can replenish it.
But, in order to deplete our magic, we would have to use it. It can’t be taken from us.”
“But Wilder’s can?”
She nodded swiftly. “Yes. He can’t take it beyond the veil so needs a vessel to keep it safe.
Without it, anyone could take it. And when he turns twenty-five, he’ll fully step into his power and be able to consciously travel between the realm of the living and the dead.
What he’s experiencing now is a mere fraction of what will happen when he’s at full strength.
When we left our Coven, the Witch Council promised they would help us find somewhere safe to set up a new Coven.
Misthaven has been that safe space for us. ”
“You’re worried your father will find you again.”
“It’s possible. Our father is a powerful man. He’s also patient and determined. I wouldn’t put it past him to discover a way to figure out where we are.”
The darkness stirred within me as I listened to her words. “How did your father push Wilder beyond the veil?”
“How do you think, Byron? He took him to the edge of death repeatedly. Now do you understand why I had his memories altered?”
Yes. I did. No one could endure that sort of torture and not lose their mind. “I’ll kill him for this. Mark my fucking words, he’s a dead man.”
“If anyone can take him down, it’s you, Byron.” Dara placed her hand on my arm. “Just keep Wilder safe. Please.”
I nodded, unable to find the ability to form any more words.
Anger had my hands shaking, and I curled them into fists.
I didn’t wait for her to say goodbye. I walked out of her penthouse apartment and called the lift.
It wasn’t until I was alone in the elevator that I finally let loose the raw scream that had built up inside me.
How fucking dare that man do that to Wilder? He had no fucking right. I paced the small space in the lift, feeling like a caged animal, and planned all the ways I was going to rip pieces of Wilder’s father apart.
Dara must have messaged the front desk because Damyr’s car was already pulled up in front of the building. The valet handed me the keys and scurried away.
I couldn’t see Wilder anywhere. Fuck!
Where was he?
I threw the car into gear, stomped on the accelerator and drove off, the tires screeching as I pulled away at a stupid speed.
As I turned onto the main road, I hit the Bluetooth button. “Call Roxie.”
The phone rang twice before she answered. “Hey babycakes, what can I do for you?”
“I need Wilder’s number.”
The ever-present keyboard clicking stopped. “I can’t just—”
“Now, Roxie,” I barked, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Fine, but you didn’t get it from me. And it wouldn’t kill you to say please.” She hung up on me and ten seconds later, my phone pinged with an incoming text. I opened it up and dialled the number.
Wilder didn’t answer the first time. Or even the third. I had to ring four fucking times before he picked the damn phone up.
“Hello?”
“Don’t hang up.”
“Byron? I told you to leave me alone. How did you even get my number?”
At least he sounded better than he had when he’d left Dara’s. “That doesn’t matter. Just let me know you’re okay. Are you somewhere safe?”
“Fuck you, Byron. Just stay away from me.” Then he hung up. I slammed my palm against the steering wheel and dialled his number again, but it went straight to voicemail. “Fuck! Call Bishop.”
“What have you done now?” my twin asked, mirth lacing his voice.
“Why do you always assume I’ve done something?” I snapped.
“Because you’re you. What is it?”
“I’m angry.”
Bishop went silent.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yes. Just trying to figure out what you mean by ‘angry’. You’ve been angry before.”
I huffed a sharp breath. “The last time I felt this angry I beat our father to a pulp.”
“Shit, Byron. What happened?”
“I found out some things about Wilder’s past and what his father did to him and I just… I wanted to break the fucker in half and peel his skin from his bones.”
“What did he do?” Bishop asked hesitantly.
I swallowed, unable to say the words.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Bishop said softly, understanding what I needed even though he couldn’t see me. “But Byron, this does worry me.”
I was instantly on edge. My twin and I were always on the same page. “What does?”
“This obsession with Wilder. We’ve finally got things right between us and now you’re changing everything again. Are you sure this is what you want?”
I didn’t like how fearful Bishop sounded.
“I know you’re worried about this, but you don’t need to be.
What I feel for you is different to how I feel about Wilder.
I’m not sure what’s going to happen with Wilder but I’m not replacing you, Bishop.
Look, can we talk about this later when we’re in the same room together? ”
“Sure,” he sighed. “Whatever you want, Byron.” Then he hung up the phone and left me to stew in the silence of the car.
I turned the radio on and let the soothing sounds of Mozart smooth my frazzled edges.
I was usually so confident in my choices, so sure of what I wanted, but between Wilder constantly running from me, and Bishop worried about losing me, I felt pulled in different directions.
How did I choose which way to go? What did I want more?
When had my life gotten so complicated?