Chapter 13 – Rorik
After reluctantly calling one of my dayside assistants over to help the shifter I knocked out, I bring Aurora to my bedroom, well, her bedroom now, and lead her into the walk-in closet. Her scent engulfs me: floral, peonies I believe, and fruity with a hint of vanilla.
It’s such a familiar scent. One that sends a relaxing wave over my body, makes my cock twitch, and my heart ache.
A heart that’s waking up.
My heart beating is new but not exactly surprising. Millie’s heart began beating after mating with Teddy. It’s part of the blood mate bond.
But Aurora and I haven’t completed the bond yet.
I also didn’t get my heartbeat back after mating with Brynn and Eden.
This woman is different, and I have no doubt it has something to do with her being the daughter of the woman who turned me into a vampire.
I ignore the unhinged way my body reacts to Aurora’s scent and push away her hanging clothes to reveal a wall. Placing my palms on the plaster, I push and it opens, allowing me to slide it out of the way.
“What the hell? You have a hidden room?”
I won’t tell her that I can access this room from almost any location in the penthouse. She won’t like that I could sneak into her bedroom while she’s asleep.
Unless… she would like me to watch her sleeping.
This hidden space is as big as the main bedroom suite. There are floor to ceiling bookcases brimming with books, some centuries old.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, scanning the room.
Her eyes light up at the Victorian décor as she walks to the dark green balloon-back chairs and chaise lounge where I’ve sat many times poring over books trying to find a cure for my curse.
I hadn’t realized until now how the green walls in here match her eyes.
Green has been my favorite color for decades, and I’m wondering if it’s because of Aurora.
She walks to one of the bookcases next and grazes her fingertips over the books’ spines. She leans in and sniffs, then turns to me with a smile.
“I love how books smell.”
She slowly makes her way around, focusing on trinkets and other items I’ve collected over my long life. Her fascination is nearly overwhelming. These belongings are part of my history. My memories. My story.
Would she want to know about the sword I have hanging on the wall behind my desk that I once used in a fight with a king? A fight I won and gained control of an entire land? A land that I sold years later to add to my growing wealth.
Or the rings I have in a case that once belonged to royalty that I may or may not have stolen?
She turns away from the bookcase to view the rest of the room. Spotting the mahogany chest behind the chaise lounge, she lifts the lid and peeks inside. It’s where I’ve stored photos and paintings from famous artists and ones I cherished despite never finding fame.
“I could spend days in this room,” she says with a sigh.
“What’s mine is yours, Little Lamb. I have nothing to hide from you.”
It’s not entirely true. I fear that when I tell her about all the horrible things I’ve done, she’ll run away and vow to never see me again. Or her memories will return, and all the things I’m sure her mother told her about me will convince her to refuse our bond.
But if she asks, if she wants to know about my life, I will tell her.
Everything.
I clear my throat, emotions I haven’t felt in a very long time threatening to take over, and point to the stack of boxes.
“I found these items in a hidden room at the warehouse where monster hunters had set up their headquarters. The hunters your mother recruited.”
Her heart rate picks up, possibly remembering the time just weeks ago when the hunters kept her captive to be their servant.
“The ones she sold me to?”
Instead of fear or sorrow, her voice holds animosity.
Does she realize how strong she is? All the shit she’s been through, yet she doesn’t let it paralyze her with fear. She’s angry. Angry with her mother and the hunters. I can only hope she wants her vengeance, just like me. Would she fight by my side?
“There are a lot of books. Some in a language I’ve never seen before, which is surprising for as long as I’ve lived.”
“How old are you exactly?” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips.
“3,032. I was twenty-eight when your mother cursed me to this life.”
She makes a choking sound. “Rory, I’m forty-three.”
My heart thuds two beats back-to-back at her saying my name again. Rory. Not Rorik. Not the name that was written in supernatural history books. But Rory. A name I’ve been using since I was a child. One that I use to distance myself from the monster known in legends.
“You say that as if being forty-three is supposed to mean something to me.”
She purses her lips. “You’re immortalized as a twenty-eight-year-old man. You will never age, and I already have too many wrinkles. Time will only add more.”
I join her at my desk where she stands shuffling through the pages of a spell book. She stops to turn towards me.
I cup her cheek, and she closes her eyes at my touch. Leaning in, I run my nose over hers.
“I could always turn you.”
She inhales a sharp breath and steps back out of my hold.
“Hard no. Captive. I don’t want…” she shakes her head.
My heart thuds three times.
If she doesn’t want to be turned, I won’t force her.
But it also means we can’t be together. Aurora’s mortal, most witches are.
There are a few who age slower. Powerful ones like Ciara and New York City’s coven leader.
And even though Aurora exudes power, I believe it could be because of the spells her mother has cast upon her.
I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between humans and supes. Immortal beings have an energy about them that’s ethereal. Unlike humans who only smell delicious when scared and/or turned on.
Aurora doesn’t have that ethereal energy, but I also can’t rule out Ciara having something to do with that. It’s possible that whatever spell stole her memories is blocking other magical components.
I close the space between us and take Aurora’s face into my hands.
“I would never force you into a life-changing decision like that.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “How do I know that? You captured me. Held me prisoner for a month.”
A month and a week, but I won’t say that out loud.
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t regret it, but I am sorry.”
She rolls her eyes, a smile peeking through her hesitation.
“You’re an awful man.”
I boop her nose.
“I’m your awful man.” I turn away from her because if I don’t, I’ll scoop her in my arms and do something ridiculous like take her into the living room so we can cuddle on the couch and watch a sappy movie. “Now, let’s get to work.”
The last box of items from the hidden room at the warehouse was delivered while we were at the club last night. I brought them into my office after putting my little lamb to bed—and reassuring the gargoyle babysitter that I would do her no harm.
After our little show in the middle of the dance floor, Peyton decided to back off and let fate take the wheel. She’s still going to be in the building, for now, but after speaking with Thorne, they agreed to give us space.
Apparently the shifter I knocked out this morning didn’t get the memo.
My mind returns to last night. After I dressed Aurora in sleep clothes and removed her makeup, I stood there and watched her sleep. Despite my body begging to curl up next to her, I was a good vamp and slept in my own bed. Well, my temporary bed because I will find my way to Aurora’s side.
I open the lid to the first box and pull out a stack of papers. “These are the writings I was talking about being in a language I’ve never seen before.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“I’m fluent in thirty, but familiar with dozens more. The internet now makes it easier to identify languages I come across that I don’t recognize.” I hand Aurora the papers. “This language is completely unfamiliar to me.”
“How is that possible?” Aurora asks, taking the stack. She sifts through them one by one.
“Your mother could be using an ancient language well before my time. Perhaps one she learned through a god or a demon who she made a deal with.”
“What kind of deal?” She glances up, eyes wide.
“One that would amplify her powers. It’s not known who created black magic but even the most powerful witches don’t use it.
It can be consuming. Enough to eventually kill the witch using it.
If your mother has been using it for this long, then she likely struck a deal that offered protection from the impacts of casting such powerful, dark magic.
But deals come with stipulations, and if she’s failed to satisfy the terms, whatever she was given can be taken away. ”
This could be one explanation into why her magic is weakening.
Aurora’s eyes fall back to the papers in her hands. Her brows crease, her lips pursed.
“What is it?”
She shakes her head.
“Nothing it’s…”
I step closer, cupping her cheek. She closes her eyes—I love when she responds to my touch like that—and my sad little heart flutters.
“These papers are glowing. And there’s a hum. Very low, but it’s there.”
“The magic is calling to you.”
“H-how? Shouldn’t I be able to feel my magic?”
“Not if your mother suppressed it like your memories. I sense a great deal of power within you. I’m not convinced it’s solely from the spell that took your memories. I believe you have your own magical abilities.”
“But if I’m a witch, shouldn’t I be immortal like my mother? Or, I don’t know, not feel the aches and pains that come with age?”
“Even the witches who live long lives feel pain and get ill. They can implement spells to prolong the aging process, like your mother, or protect them from injury and illness. But they’re not immortal. Most witches can die just as easily as humans. Others are harder to kill.”
“But you can’t die? How does that even work? What if someone tears your heart out of your chest?”
I wince and gulp. She watches my Adam’s apple bob along my throat. “It grows back. Slowly. Painfully.”
“Decapitation?”
“It can’t be done. I’ve tried, believe me. Nothing will cut through the skin.”
“How?”
“Because I’m cursed, and curses are not only cruel but also stubborn. They don’t need to make sense. They have no rules.”
But curses can be changed over time. They can be reversed. I spent centuries searching for ways to undo mine, but with no luck.
Perhaps Aurora is the key.
I point at the papers in her hand. “These writings are protected by a spell. If your memories return and you can access your magic, you may be able to lift it so we can read the words.”
She sets the stack down and turns away from me.
“Aurora,” I say, and she shakes her head.
“I’m fine.”
I won’t push her to speak about how she’s feeling. But I have been in her position before. I know what it’s like to lose memories. It leaves a hole. An emptiness.
Aurora walks to another box and lifts the lid.
She gasps, and I have to stop myself from scooping her up into my arms and pulling her away from whatever startled her.
She lifts a necklace out of the box and holds it up. The pendant is a heart with a floral-shaped symbol etched into the gold.
“I remember this,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “It belongs to my mother. She always wore it, and when I was a kid, I desperately wanted to borrow it to play dress up. Pretend I was a princess for the day.”
She can be my beautiful princess.
“She wouldn’t let me touch it. Yelled at me anytime I asked.
One day, when I was a teenager, she left it on her dresser.
I picked it up and was seconds from clasping it around my neck.
” Tears pool in her eyes, her voice hitching.
“My mother zapped me with magic. Some spell that froze me in place for days. I…”
I pull her to my chest, and her tears fall.
“I was still conscious. My body still worked. Bodily functions. I just couldn’t physically move to go relieve myself. I was so embarrassed. When she finally released me, I collapsed from the lack of food and water. I almost passed out.”
I kiss the top of her head, rubbing my palm up and down her back. She’s keeping me calm, centered, because it’s taking everything in me not to lose my fucking mind.
Ciara is going to die for what she did to her daughter. My mate. Even if killing her means the end of me, at least her daughter would finally find peace.
Someone in the New York City coven has to know something. I need to question them all… and if they refuse to help, I’ll kill them.
“You’re shaking, Rory,” Aurora whispers.
She shivers, but I’m not sure if it’s because of my cold skin or because she also senses my anger.
“I’m sorry your mother did that to you,” I say, hugging her tighter to me.
She relaxes, and her warmth and softness help soothe this rage burning inside me.
She feels so right in my arms.
I’d stay like this for eternity, but a soft glow between us forces me to pull away from Aurora. She has the necklace tightly secured in her fist. Slowly, she opens her fingers, and light fills the room.
“What does this mean?” she asks, holding out her palm as if the necklace is seconds from detonating.
“I’m not sure,” I say, stepping back.
The magic pouring off the necklace is giving me a near-debilitating headache. Similar to what I felt at the warehouse finding the hidden room.
Taking another step back, the throbbing pain fades and the emitting glow isn’t as strong.
I step forward, and the light sparks up again. Another step, the headache returns.
“Huh.”
Aurora’s head snaps up to me. “What is it?”
“I believe this necklace is connected to me in some way.” I tap my chin, curious. “Set it down on the desk and slowly walk away.”
The same thing happens. The emitting glow fades the further away Aurora gets.
“That necklace is also connected to you.”
To us.
Could it be the key to finding her mother? To ending her life?
Or could this necklace finally release me from my curse?