Bloodline of the Coven

Chapter 1

One

“I had that dream again.” I hold my steaming cup of coffee between my hands as I stare out onto the city tops of London.

The air is thick and gloomy for a mid-September morning as the drizzle runs down the panes of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I turn to look at Greg who is rushing to get his tie on.

He is flapping because he cannot find his wallet again.

This is an everyday occurrence now. He has the remains of jam from his half-eaten toast just peeking on the corner of his full lips which are set in his Hercules chiselled jawline, his blond hair pushed back with one piece just loose over his deep brown eyes.

It becomes clear that he has not heard me.

“I had that dream again last night,” I say slightly louder, so he listens.

“Huh?” He looks up at me as he is rifling through the lower cupboard on the kitchen island, his confused eyes meeting mine.

“That dream, the one I keep having. I had it again, but this time it was different. You were there, but you… well, you…”

“I what?”

“You stabbed me through the heart.” I sip my coffee waiting for his reaction, my face stoic.

“Jesus, Harri, talk about dark!” He laughs to himself, taking it lightly. I guess that’s his way of dealing with the weird dreams I’ve been having as of late.

He stands up and walks towards me. His tailormade suit hugs his body perfectly.

For all intents and purposes he is a hot guy.

It was the thing that drew me into him from the start.

He has this way about him, like he was moulded to be the idea of a perfect man.

A model man. A man that would have no issues picking up women.

So, I still question why he ended up with me.

I am not exactly model material. I am plain compared.

He slicks back the loose piece of hair and walks towards me, sauntering as he does.

He smiles his sickly flirtatious smile. The one that gave me butterflies three years ago when we both graduated from Oxford and met during the after party.

It was expected for both of us to attend Oxford, as both our families had before us.

I remember a sinking feeling once I graduated that I still had no idea what to do with myself.

I sat on the stone steps on the green, out front of the admissions building, drowning my sorrows with a bottle of champagne when Greg appeared out of the darkness.

He staggered towards me with his shirt unbuttoned allowing me to see his muscular smooth toned chest. He clocked eyes with me and that grin grew over his face up to his eyes that matched with his mouth.

He sat next to me and told me a joke which annoyingly made me laugh.

We sat there all night. He spoke about his dreams of taking over his dad’s business and finding someone to be with.

Expensive holidays, glamorous parties, beautiful houses and cars.

It’s all my family have ever wanted for me, and what I thought I wanted too.

So, I’m here, in our million-pound apartment looking over central London with anything I want, whenever I want it.

But that sinking feeling never disappeared.

I’ve had it as long as I can remember. Like I have always been missing something, but what?

“Harri, baby, it’s a dream. You’ve got to stop obsessing over it.

Dr Westby said you need to not feed into these dreams and feelings you’re having.

You’re just stressed, that’s all this is.

A couple more weeks off work and you’ll be right as rain.

” He tips my chin with his thumb and forefinger and plants a kiss on my forehead.

My brow furrows. “It’s just… it feels like it’s trying to tell me something.” I look at him for reassurance.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. I don’t blame him; I must sound crazy obsessing over dreams.

“It’s just a dream,” he says, sighing. “They don’t mean anything.” He continues to look for his wallet in the kitchen. I finish my coffee watching him. His concerned face is so cute.

“Have you tried the shelf next to the front door?” I smile knowing it’s where he normally leaves it.

Greg grins at me playfully and dashes through the kitchen and into the hall where the front door is.

“Gotcha,” he shouts.

“You know, I don’t know why you just don’t use Apple Wallet. It’d stop this morning routine of rushing to find yours,” I call through to him.

“I like having a wallet. Makes me feel like a man,” he shouts from the hallway, putting emphasis on the word man in a mocking deep voice.

He hastily walks back into the kitchen to grab his briefcase, waving his wallet in relief.

“You must have superpowers. You know where everything is.” He smiles before placing another kiss on my cheek.

“I’m late, so I better go. Just try and let it go, babe.

Get dressed up, get out the apartment for a walk or meet a friend or something.

” His eyes look as if they’re pleading with me to get back to normality.

It has been a lot on him since I went off work with stress.

It started with the dreams, a recurring image of crows filling an orange sky, darting in front of my face, screeching so loud that I swear I could hear it outside of my dream state.

I’d wake up in sweats and feel too scared to go to sleep.

I’m not scared of crows, but I’m scared of the feeling I have when I have this dream.

Like I’m being warned about something, something that I can’t see.

The lack of sleep led to me not being able to keep up with workloads in my designs before I finally burnt out.

I then noticed feelings, as if something were pulling me away from the city.

An itch to leave but not sure where to. My love for creating my clothing designs diminished, which for me was when I knew something wasn’t right.

I have loved being creative since I was a child.

Through boarding school I was always found painting, drawing or reading, so my natural path was to work within something that was creative but also up to the standards of my wealthy parents.

My relationship with my parents is professional.

Nurturing came from nannies and au pairs.

My father works in finance and travels all over the globe.

My mother is a “professional shopper”. Basically, travels with my dad and spends all his money.

They’re not awful people, but for them, I am a prize for show.

It was always drilled into me that I was to be successful in life, love and money, so that their well-known legacy could live on.

It’s also why Greg and I were pushed to marry, I’m sure.

His family are the same as mine. Greg grew up in boarding schools and expectations on him were the same. Our families were enthralled when they learnt we were dating and the idea of two elite families joining was just too much of a good thing for both our fathers. So, we were engaged.

I nod at him in agreement. I do need to get out of the apartment. “Maybe I’ll call Lauren. I haven’t seen her in a while. She probably won’t even fancy it, but I’ll try, I guess.”

Greg hesitates for a moment. I always get the impression he never liked Lauren much, especially since I’ve been off work and taking some time out.

When I bring her up in conversation he isn’t interested.

In fact, Greg hasn’t really been interested in anything but money.

But, before the dreams began, I was the same.

I found I could shove all of these feelings far down inside me with money.

But there is only so much room in your body until those feelings explode back out.

“I’m sure she’d like that. She has asked about you… I believe,” he tentatively replies.

“She has?” I question.

“Yeah, she, er, messaged your mother asking how you were as she hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Your mother told her you were just going through a blip.” He shrugs and starts to put on his coat.

“A blip? Brilliant…” That’s typical of my mother. Lie so the family looks normal.

“She was just trying to protect you, and it is just a blip, isn’t it? Wedding stress, work stress, I’m sure everyone has them.” His eyes widen with wanting to get reassurance that I’m not mentally insane and just need a nap and a bit of time off.

I nod. “Yeah, you’re right, it’ll pass. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Just try, for me.” He rubs my arm sympathetically. In a world where money talks, you don’t discuss feelings that are not “normal”.

“I’ll try.” I fake a smile to ease his tension.

His shoulders drop and his frown returns as he picks up his phone. He starts to text, email or whatever he does, which is most of the time. And his attention from me is gone. But most millennials are glued to their phones, right?

“Good. Now, I’ve got to work late tonight, so don’t wait up, OK?” He doesn’t look up from his phone.

I sigh. “Again?”

He places his phone in his pocket and stares at me, annoyed I dared to question him when it comes to work, especially as I’m not currently working, or doing anything to be honest.

“Oh, don’t, Harri. I’ve got so much on, and I need to work longer while you’re off to pay for this wedding. I’m doing my best over here. You know I’ve got stress at work and home. Give me a bit of a break.” His voice carries an air of frustration.

He’s been more stressed in the past few weeks, and I do feel guilty that I’m the cause of it.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just miss you when you’re not here.” I pull myself into him. He smells like aftershave. I stroke up his chest with my hands, looking up at him with my big blue eyes. I start to unbutton his collar when he pulls my hands away gently.

“I’m already late, babe. Another time.” He pats my ass and moves away.

I’m disappointed but also relieved, which sounds awful, but for weeks I just haven’t felt the urge to jump his bones. I’ve just turned twenty-five and now have the sex drive of a menopausal fifty-year-old.