Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
sinner
Athena’s magic tugged at my bones. It was undeniable.
Unmistakable.
I would recognize it anywhere—that tickle at the back of my neck. That pull at my lungs that told me the other half of my soul was out there.
Alone.
But the sensation that washed over me was different in many ways. And it rocked me to my core. Shook the earth beneath my feet.
I froze, and Alexander and Karlyle almost ran directly into my back.
“God,” Alexander huffed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t even speak. With her presence in my head like this, I could do nothing but search for her.
I closed my eyes. Sensing her. And—something else. Smoke. Rage. Fire.
No. That wasn’t coming from the bond.
That was real.
Something was on fire.
My mind raced, and words to explain wouldn’t come, so I just ran.
And ran.
And ran.
“This way!” I yelled.
They followed—of fucking course. They hadn’t left me alone since they found me. Why would they now? They’d probably trail after me even if I were leading them to their deaths.
I couldn’t be bothered to consider whether that was a good thing or bad thing. Not with Athena’s presence igniting my bones.
My phantoms purred, spun, jumped inside my chest. They felt her, too.
Mine, they hissed—not with words, but with their essence. She belonged to them just as much as she belonged to me.
“She’s close,” I called out.
I sprinted down the short streets of the crumbling city, letting the pull deep in my stomach guide me to her.
She was using her magic. A lot of it.
No, we hadn’t completed the claiming, but it didn’t matter. It never had. I could feel her, I could still sense her, and she was draining a dangerous amount of magic from herself.
Dammit, Athena. Where are you?
I turned another corner, Alexander and Karlyle tight on my heels, and stumbled. The street was filled with smoke.
Though I couldn’t find any flames.
What the fuck was this?
Alexander sucked in a harsh breath. “Is she here?”
I turned in a circle. “I don’t fucking know,” I snapped. “I felt her, but it—”
“It what?”
Fuck. I wiped the sweat from my brow and peered into the smoky mess ahead of us. I would run into a burning building for her—that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that I didn’t know which building.
Was she here? Did she need help? Or was she the one burning the buildings to the ground?
I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking know how to help her.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but you need to figure it out before we all get fucking killed.” Alexander huffed. “What the fuck is this?”
“She’s close,” I spat. “I felt her.”
Anger flooded me. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t tell him to follow me like a lost fucking puppy, and I sure as hell didn’t need him asking stupid fucking questions while I—
“Take a breath.” Karlyle rested a hand on my shoulder. “Take a breath and focus. She’s your claimed. She’s yours. Follow that feeling.”
Fuck. He was right.
Panic was getting to me.
But I was close—I wouldn’t let her slip away now.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed all the bullshit from my mind. I ignored the fire and the smoke, forgot about the fucking war games and Alexander and his annoying fucking breath.
All I wanted was Athena.
All I needed was Athena.
Fuck. Where are you?
My phantoms rolled and pushed under my skin. They wanted out. They wanted to find her themselves.
I didn’t fucking blame them.
She was so close, I could almost taste it in the air.
I focused on that pulling feeling that connected me to her and willed it to grow. Strengthen.
And it did.
My eyes shot open.
“She’s this way.” I took two steps with my torn-up fucking boots, then stopped dead in my tracks.
No.
This couldn’t be real.
Couldn’t be fucking happening.
There was no fucking way my father was standing in front of me.
But…it was him. He stepped away from the smoke, dark eyes locked on mine. He was dressed in the Ministry’s uniform—black cargo pants and boots. His hair had gone almost completely silver, but the rest of him seemed the same.
Wicked, cunning, and fucking disgusting.
My stomach curled in on itself.
“Hello, Elijah.”
His voice sent a shudder through me.
“You’re dead,” I spat. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. I’d left his lifeless body to rot in that dry dirt.
My very not-dead father smiled, exposing his rotted front teeth. “You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?” he said. “You thought I wouldn’t come back for my revenge?”
“Revenge?” I took a step toward him—no longer afraid. Real or not—my father was standing right in front of me.
Real or not—I’d kill him again if I had to.
I’d do it a hundred times over.
“What makes you think you’re the one who deserves revenge? I think Margaret and I are the ones who should be haunting you.”
He laughed, the familiar sound sending a wave of nausea through me. “That bitch? You’re still protecting her, are you?”
“Don’t say another fucking word.”
“Why?” He approached me, his smile turning into a look of disgust. It was an expression I was familiar with. One he always turned on me. “Afraid I’ll say the truth? Afraid I’ll let everyone in on your little secret?”
My heart pounded against my ribs. “Stop.”
It was too much. He was getting too close.
“This isn’t even real,” I reminded myself.
“Oh, it’s real,” he said. “It’s as real as it was back then. Tell me, son, does it feel good? Letting everyone believe you’re the powerful one?”
I clenched my fists until I was sure they’d bleed. “Stop talking.”
“You almost had me fooled, too, honestly. I really thought she was the innocent one. The good one. Turns out, she was the one with that wicked power.”
I wanted to tune him out. I’d been burying the truth for years. Since that day. I’d buried the truth along with my father and I’d never looked back.
Neither of us had.
It was how we’d survived for so damn long.
“I would’ve kept believing it, too. But then she had to go and kill me with that little power of hers.”
I stopped breathing.
“That’s right,” he said. “I know all about it. How she’s the one with that shadow magic you carry around. She’s the only reason you have magic at all. I know she’s ten times more powerful than you’ll ever be, and I know you’ve been covering for her all her life.”
“ENOUGH!” I couldn’t have controlled my power if I wanted to. My phantoms were more protective of Mags than they were of me. For years they had defended our secret. The truth we’d buried. They hissed and whipped in the wind, digging into my target’s flesh.
Yes, Margaret might have gifted me this magic, but these phantoms were mine.
And they would kill at my will.
No differently than they would kill at hers.
“Margaret might have killed you the first time, but it should have fucking been me!” I screamed, my voice cracking. My hold on my phantoms slipped, but I didn’t care. “I should have been the one to fucking kill you!”
I’d held on to that truth for way too fucking long.
No, I wasn’t the one who’d killed our father.
Margaret had.
It was the first time I’d seen what her power could really do. The two of us alone knew the truth. That’s how we’d kept up the charade for so long.
A small piece of her magic—those phantoms—lived inside me, but they ultimately belonged to her. We were kids when she’d given them to me. When the little black snakes of smoke crawled from her fingertips to mine.
To protect you from the nightmares, she’d said.
But she had no fucking idea what she would become.
What I would become.
Now, I was the nightmare.
Margaret hadn’t used her power since that day. It made it easier to forget the truth, to live in the lie.
That kept her safe.
And it meant she didn’t have to relive that horror.
The horror of my father trying to force a claiming on her…
She was so young. So innocent.
And he was desperate for power.
He’d lost his mind. He was willing to force his own daughter into that horrid claiming without her consent.
So she’d be stronger. So he could force her to do his bidding.
I fucking hated him for that.
And I hated him even more for making her kill him.
Margaret was too good. Too kind. She didn’t need the guilt on her shoulders.
So I took it. I bore it.
I’d gladly carry that horror with me forever so she wouldn't have to face the truth.
I blinked away the memory and focused on the task at hand—killing him like I should have done the first time.
But where my phantoms connected with flesh, my father did not bleed. Like a shape in the smoke, he reformed, surfacing again and again as if he hadn’t been touched.
“No,” I breathed.
He smiled. “Thought you could get rid of me that easily?” he asked. “Not this time. Not anymore, Elijah.”
“It’s not real.” I pushed more black shadows at him. Die, die, die. Die like the coward you are. Rot in fucking hell, I don’t give a fuck. Just die! “It’s not fucking real!”
More shadows. More death. More phantoms. I pushed and pushed and pushed. Years of anger, hatred, and forgotten truths purged from me.
Someone screamed, painful and hoarse.
I realized a moment later it was me.
But I couldn’t stop.
The truth poured from me along with my magic. I was no longer a man in control, but a man tortured. Manipulated. Played with.
All because of the monster standing in front of me.
The monster who would not die.
It’s not real, I told myself. Soul-bleeding shadows roared from my veins. It’s not real.
It’s not real.
It’s not real.