Chapter 2
It’s been seven years since I last saw the Heir to the Bauer family.
Back then, my vision was too blurred with hot tears of rage to make Valentin out clearly.
The teenager I once loved is a shadow of the man invading my shop.
Everything that made him so damn delicious has unfairly improved with age.
His lithe body moves like a smoothly coiled snake as he strolls towards me, his long legs carrying him up the three steps from the door to the main landing, his pace unhurried.
His short, nearly black hair is meticulously groomed, the crystal light dancing on the sheen of the pomade.
His blue eyes are the same glacial pools that captivated me so completely when I didn’t know better.
I risk a quick glance towards the entrance.
No army of weavers storms in to capture me, which is good, all things considered.
Not that they could get through my wards with the password activated.
The only other person who could pass through is still off on his acquisition for another week.
Whether that is a curse or a blessing is yet to be determined.
I quickly scan the stacks and note the continued absence of a certain irritable black cat. If Jinx didn’t bother waking from her nap, then I shouldn’t be in immediate danger.
The click of Valentin’s polished shoes echoes too loudly on my bookshop floor. My throat works, my heart kicking into a hammering rhythm. My former lover stands before me, the counter the only thing separating us.
I half expect my breath to mist from the way Valentin’s icy blue eyes glow in the dim light.
Valentin’s gaze slides up and down my body in that cold, calculating way that reminds me so painfully of his father, the Preservation Councilor.
A small smile, which used to make me weak in the knees, transforms Valentin’s cold face into something affectionate.
I should’ve known changing my hair and eye color wouldn’t work on him.
The velvety smooth quality of his voice turns the sound of my name into a devastating weapon, “Tori.”
“Fuck you.” I didn’t mean to spit the words out, but rage roared to life the moment his voice dared to make my insides shiver. “Say what you want and get out.”
Valentin’s charm oozes off him as he teases, “So harsh, after seven long years. Not even an offer of tea or refreshments?” He clicks his tongue. “Your hospitality skills are lacking.”
I used to dream of what I would do when facing Valentin again.
The fantasies ranged wildly from stabbing his perfect face with a letter opener to riding him with abandon in the back room.
I’m fairly certain the second one is not going to happen.
My teeth grind, and the books shrink back in their stacks.
“What do you want, Valen?”
The use of his moniker makes his eyes flare, the sight sending a stone dropping in my stomach.
It was a slip of the tongue and might’ve cost me something in this damn game I know he’s playing.
Tension tightens within me as he leans on the counter to rest on folded arms. It brings him closer to me and I fight the urge to step back. Or worse, step forward.
He offers his most charming smile, his head tilting endearingly again. His teeth are as perfect as the rest of his appearance. In contrast to the dust bunnies that drift among the overstuffed bookcases, there’s not a speck of dust or stray hair on his charcoal gray three-piece suit.
“What if I told you I came to see your new place?” His icy eyes scan the back counter, gliding around the walls to linger on the books, a few of them leaning out like nosy neighbors.
The air shimmers, the tang of magic sharp on my tongue.
“Peripeteia is an unusual name. I imagine those tittering humans have issues pronouncing such a thing.”
Silence stretches as Valen takes his time examining my face, then my masculine short, cropped hair. I suck in breath between my teeth and set my shoulders. If ambushing me with a fake acquisition was a clever ploy on his end to throw me off, then fuck him and his sneaky games.
The sick ripple of violation harshens my tone. “There’s no way you risked the streets of Havenport to see the shop I opened four years ago, or you would’ve done it much earlier. Get to the point. What does your father want?”
His nails drum on the wood, then he huffs a small, seductive laugh. “Fair enough. Visiting is not my only reason. I was given permission to invite you to return to the Astrum Forest. Father would happily host you, of course.”
“Would he? I must’ve missed Vincentius’ previous attempts to reconcile,” I snap.
Anger roils inside me, but under that is a blind, cold fear. There is no reason for Vincentius Bauer the Third, the head of the Bauer family and Preservation Councilor, to call me back after years of silence.
It can only be one thing.
They must know I broke the first rule of magic: weavers must never curse another directly. It is an abhorrent attack on the magic itself—a corruption. And corruption, like all abominations and deviants, must be purged.
The Order has hunted deviants like me since the first Archweaver declared us a flaw in the Tapestry of Magic. Within my soul are two magic threads instead of one. Duals are rare and most perish before they can even cry.
Besides, everyone knows about the Raveng Horror. A five-year-old Dual’s magic spiraled out of control and razed his family home to the ground, his combined magic sources twisting his loved ones within. The Raveng family line ended in that one moment of unforeseen horror.
And then I was born. The first Dual to survive birth since Raveng. My father chose not to purge me. Instead, he watched me grow the way a man watches the smoldering fuse of a bomb, searching for any evidence to prove that I might destroy our family as well.
He was watching for the wrong destruction.
Instead of detonating, I thrived, and was even declared a magical prodigy.
Then, seven years ago, I used all my power and knowledge to commit the vilest kind of crime a weaver could do: I cursed my brother, my father’s precious son who he named Alasdair, the protector of mankind, to a slow rotting death of madness.
After, I fled the Order and I never looked back.
I struggle to keep my breathing even, to keep my eyes from widening or flicking away from Valen’s intense stare.
It would be a sign of guilt and I can’t afford that.
There’s no way they’ve discovered my curse.
I covered my tracks too well. Staying calm and figuring out what the Bauers want is the only way out of this alive, which means I need to play Valen’s fucking game.
If Valen notices my panic, he doesn’t show it.
Instead, his gaze peers unflinchingly into my soul, touching the magics there, like I did with the apprentice’s wand.
It’s been so long since I’ve been in the presence of a weaver powerful enough to do that.
It opens an old wound, one I didn’t know was still there.
My hands twitch, the urge to curl them hard to resist.
Valen’s gaze flicks away when he notices my discomfort. My rage spikes, my face heating, and I fight to regain a neutral composure. He answers my question unaffected.
“Of course, he would welcome you back. Father never had anything against you.”
Breathing isn’t calming enough. My traitorous hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. My books are still, quiet in the magical static of my growing, unguarded feelings.
Oh fuck, I’m going to lose control.
No. I cannot allow that. In an act of desperation, I turn my head sharply away.
Not seeing him helps me breathe, helps me find my composure.
The crystals’ soft lights glowing in their glass cases catch my eye and I pause, something clicking into place within my mind.
This isn’t the Order discovering my crimes; this is my revenge in action.
Cruelty slithers inside me, my smile changing, my power and confidence unfurling once again. I touch my heart and say in a falsely sympathetic croon, “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re here because of the Archweaver Heir? Is dear Alasdair not the Heir you were hoping for?”
Something cold washes over Valen and a muscle in his jaw flickers. “No, he is not.”
I want to laugh. The mirth builds and builds, trying to escape. Alasdair, my stupid, reckless, untalented half-brother. The Named Heir to the Archweaver, the successor to our father, the future ruler of the Order, must be royally ruining things within the Astrum Forest.
Oh, it’s too good. I giggle, my hand lifting to press to my lips. My magic ripples with it, smothering Valen’s vast presence for one glorious moment. He sucks in breath, tasting and feeling my power, his gaze shifting. The ice melts away, leaving behind a heated, sinful glint.
There are only two ways weavers look upon me and my Dual Threads: disgusted horror or unfiltered veneration. And Valen has always, unflinchingly, been the latter.
The change in him is hypnotic, his appreciation addictive.
Memories surface of the two of us, when all he did was look at me with that open wonderment and carnal hunger.
Like a moth to a flame, I cross my arms and lean on the counter as well.
It brings us too close, but the heady rush of adrenaline is well worth it.
My smile grows. “Well, surprise, surprise. Alasdair continues to be a massive fuck-up. Is your father displeased that he’s not the malleable pawn he hoped for?”
I search Valen’s face.
“What did my dear brother do to piss off Councilor Vincentius so much that he sent his son into the city to seduce an abomination like me back to the Order?” Cruelty harshens my smile. “Does it have to do with your sister?”