Chapter 6
Eluned Harrow
I slammed Amabel’s door so hard the antique hinges shrieked.
Good. Let the whole damn house hear it. Let the walls themselves shake with my rage.
“Three steps ahead of my blunders?” I hissed into the empty hallway, my voice bouncing off the walls of the Bell homestead. “My blunders?”
My fingers itched to grab the hideous clay sculpture perched on the hallway table. Some Bell family craft project, no doubt. I wanted to watch it shatter into a thousand glittering pieces. Just like Amabel had shattered my pride.
The hawk attack had been perfect, vicious and unexpected, until Serafina’s new pet dhampirs had interfered. Not my fault.
Not. My. Fault.
“Always so damn perfect.”
As I stalked down the hallway like a caged animal, my bare feet made no sound on the polished wood floors, which somehow made me angrier. I wanted to hear myself exist. I wanted to leave marks.
The walls seemed to close in around me, trapping my fury inside my skin where it bubbled and burned. Michigan nights were supposed to be cold this time of year, but I was burning alive with rage.
“Wait, Eluned. Watch, Eluned. Don’t act, Eluned. Don’t breathe unless I tell you when and how, Eluned.”
My twin’s voice echoed in my head: “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I’m consistently three steps ahead of your blunders.”
The words sliced deeper than she knew. I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars, willing the hot tears not to fall. Eighteen years of being the lesser twin, the reckless one, the liability.
“Mother would understand,” I whispered to myself.
She never told me to dim my fire. She used it, directed it like a weapon. While Amabel calculated, I acted. That was our strength… until she started treating me like a child.
I kicked at the wall, leaving a scuff mark on the cream paint. The tiny act of destruction sent a thrill through me, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to break free of this suffocating house with its suffocating rules and Amabel’s suffocating control.
“Three steps ahead,” I snarled, punching the wall this time. Pain shot through my knuckles. Perfect. At least pain was something I could feel, something I could control. “I’ll show her three steps ahead.”
The memory of the hawk attack played in my head. The screaming, the blood, the moment of pure, beautiful chaos. It had been my idea. Mine. And it would have worked if Amabel hadn’t insisted we hold back, that we just “send a message.”
I raked my fingers through my long brown hair, tugging at the roots just to feel something besides this burning humiliation. My reflection caught in a hallway mirror, soft features twisted into something wild and dangerous. Good. Let the monster show.
“I’m done waiting,” I told my reflection. “I’m done watching.”
The house felt too small, too structured to contain what was building inside me. I needed out. I needed night air and darkness and something or someone to tear apart with my bare hands.
I paused at the top of the grand staircase, gripping the banister so hard my knuckles turned white. A whimper floated up from below. Hannah. New hire. Mousy brown hair, trembling hands clutching a silver tray. Still naive enough to wear kitten heels in a house of stilettos.
Something wicked bloomed in my chest. Here was an opportunity, gift-wrapped and trembling. I needed to hurt something, and the universe had provided.
“Evening, Hannah,” I purred, stepping closer.
Her eyes widened, prey sensing danger. She clutched the linens tighter, knuckles whitening.
“Is there something you need, Miss—”
I descended slowly, savoring the way her throat jumped. I was two steps above her when my bare foot shot out.
The tray went first, clattering down the stairs like a discordant xylophone. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise as she followed, limbs flailing. I counted the impacts. Hip, shoulder, skull. Each thud a middle finger to Amabel’s precious order.
“Oopsie,” I giggled, electricity buzzing through my veins.
Hannah crumpled at the bottom, a trickle of blood painting her temple. Not dead. Her chest still rose and fell. Just wonderfully broken. As I needed her to be.
I skipped down the stairs, humming “Pop Goes the Weasel” as I stepped over Hannah’s unconscious form. The front door groaned as I wrenched it open.
“Better get an ice pack, Hannah-Banana! Or does your head already feel like a smashed melon?”
The night air hit me like a lover’s slap, sharp and thrilling. I threw my head back and laughed, the sound scattering into the darkness. The front yard of the Bell homestead gave way to wild grasses that tickled my ankles, then to the deeper, darker woods beyond.
This was better. This was where I belonged. Not in Amabel’s pristine, controlled world, but here where anything could happen.
“ ‘You’re an impulse-driven idiot who’s lucky you haven’t gotten yourself killed already,’ ” I mimicked my twin, spinning in circles until the trees blurred. “She thinks she’s so clever.”
Twigs snapped beneath my bare feet, sending delicious little shocks of pain up my legs. I welcomed it. Pain was real. Pain was honest.
The deeper I went, the lighter I felt. Branches caught at my clothes and hair like desperate fingers, but I danced through them, laughing when they drew blood.
“Once upon a time, a girl wandered into the woods and never, ever came out…”
I stopped in a small clearing, moonlight painting everything silver. The perfect stage.
“FOSTER!” I screamed into the night. “FOSTER COLLINS! Get your mangy ass out here!”
Birds scattered at my voice. Somewhere, an owl hooted in alarm.
“Don’t make me wait, you mangy boy,” I called in a singsong, spinning again. “You know how I get when I’m bored!”
I knew he was there already, watching from the shadows. Foster Collins never strayed far from the Bell property. Mother made sure of that.
“FOOOSTERRR!” I howled, throwing my head back. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
He hated me calling him like a dog, which was why I did it. His real power wasn’t in his muscles or his teeth, but in that carefully controlled temper. And I loved nothing more than watching it snap.
The shadows to my left shifted, and there he was.
Six-foot-five of muscle and menace, materializing between one heartbeat and the next.
Foster Collins looked like he’d been carved from midnight itself, his dark skin gleaming in the moonlight, those thick black curls framing a face that was all hard angles and barely restrained violence.
“Call me like that one more time,” he growled, his voice a rumble in the clearing, “and I’ll rip your vocal cords out.”
“There you are!” I clapped my hands in delight. “Did you miss me, Foster?”
His jaw ticked. Those thick arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining against his shirt. Most people would tremble before him, this wolf who answered to no alpha, who killed without remorse.
Most people weren’t me.
“What do you want?” He sighed, already bored. “Some of us have better things to do than entertain your midnight tantrums.”
I skipped toward him, circling like prey taunting a predator.
“But you came when I called. Like a good doggy.”
His eyes tracked me, dark and unreadable. I knew he didn’t like me, knew he only tolerated me because Mother kept him on a leash even longer than the one she used for me, but I also knew he found me entertaining. A diversion. Something to amuse him between assignments.
“I need you to do something for me,” I said, stopping in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Not interested.” He turned to leave, and I darted forward, placing my hand on his chest.
“Send a mutt to Serafina.” The idea sparked in my mind, brilliant and sudden. “Or the baby. Hmm. Which one? Which one?”
“The baby?” He went still beneath my touch. “Messing with babies is bad luck.”
“Not to hurt,” I clarified, although the thought had crossed my mind. My grin widened as I imagined Serafina’s face. “Just to watch, Foster. Just to see.”
“Find another toy to play with.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I flicked some glittering insect from his collar.
“Imagine the look on her face if she knew we were watching that baby.” I pressed closer, my fingers walking up his chest. “After sacrificing herself to the leeches to make the brat safe. Ooo, yes, yes, yes!” The words tumbled out faster as the idea took root.
“Send a mutt to spy on the baby and her new parents, Foster!”
“You’re playing with fire.” His giant hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling my touch away from him.
“That’s the point,” I breathed. Amabel would never approve. Amabel would say wait, watch, be patient. I was tired of waiting. “Send a wolf. Just to watch. Report back. Nothing more.”
For a moment, I thought I saw something like pity in his eyes. But that couldn’t be right. Wolves didn’t feel pity, especially not this one, and not for little witches who danced too close to their teeth.
Then his dark eyes narrowed, the moonlight catching in them like twin pools of oil.
“You clear this with Arabesque?”
“Oh, don’t be boring.” I waved him off, spinning away from him in a half-dance before pivoting back. “Mother’s busy. Amabel wants to wait, watch, whisper. I want to rip.” My laughter sent bats skittering from the pines. “Come on, Foster. Isn’t it exquisite?”
The forest seemed to breathe around us, leaves rustling like whispers of disapproval. I didn’t care. The night air felt electric on my skin, champagne bubbles in my veins.
He crossed his arms, muscles bunching beneath his shirt. A wolf pretending to be human, but I could see the beast in the way he carried himself.
“Feels sketchy even for you,” he said, shaking his head. “Spying on a baby? That’s low.”
“It’s just watching!” I insisted, twirling a strand of hair around my finger.