Chapter 68 - Carina
Sixty-Eight
CARINA
Waiting for the sun to set feels endless, and the moment it does, I’m on the front step, bouncing in anticipation of Harlow’s arrival. Mom and Jasper are nearby, not speaking to one another. Or, more like, Jasper refuses to talk to Mom, but he’s come to see Harlow.
Minutes after the last of the dredges of light seep from the sky, two blurs appear from the forest. My eyes take a second to register the fact that Harlow is in front of me, after weeks of her being gone—which should seem like nothing after going years without her, but it’s not.
She wraps me in a hug that has me gasping for breath with her newfound strength. With a small, “Whoops,” she pulls back to study my darker purple eyes and black hair.
Harlow got the cooler version of being a hybrid. Being a half-vampire, half-witch, her red hair gained black streaks, and one eye darkened to black while her purple remained a pale shade. The shifter side of me must not be strong enough to keep the Dark version of me at bay.
“What happened?” She wraps a strip of my hair around her finger, frowning as Alec greets me with a tilt of his head, like the vampire king he is.
“Twilight Grove happened,” Mom replies, coming forward to give Harlow a hug and then shake Alec’s hand.
“I want to know everything, but I’m also getting the sense I’m here for another reason.” Her guess ends in a higher tone, multi-coloured eyes flicking between mine.
Mom takes the hint and leads the others inside. Alec lingers, hesitating as he stares at Harlow with an unnerving level of hunger and desire.
“I’ll be alright,” she murmurs to him, urging him to follow Mom. “I should be more worried about you than you should be about me.”
With an eye roll and a heated kiss that tears my attention to the forest, Alec unwillingly trails the other two inside, leaving us alone in the yard.
“We could stay here or go elsewhere,” she offers.
“Let’s walk.”
Our walk doesn’t take us far. Turns out, between the knotting of my fingers and the twisting in my shirt, my feet don’t have the energy to go any further than the Sinclair house—her old house.
Harlow seems fine with it and turns for the path to lead me up to the wide porch where she drops onto the first step.
“So. Care to tell me why you reek like a wolf? Or can I presume it has something to do with the bite on your neck?”
My fingers brush over the long-healed mark, which is nothing more than a small scar. “It’s practically healed.” And hidden by my clothing for the most part.
“Healed?” Her brows lift, amused. “Have you looked in the mirror? It’s red.”
Ryder did mention something about my mark being permanent, so other shifters would always be able to see it and know he laid claim to me. Maybe vampires, with their crazy good vision, see what I don’t.
Harlow sniffs the air, pulling her nose in. “In fact, this whole place smells like shifter.”
“That’s because…well,” I sigh, dropping onto the step beside her, “may as well tell you everything.”
For the third time this week, I launch into the complete story, beginning with Treaty Day for her.
Every little detail left out of Mom and Jasper’s story for the sake of my own embarrassment, I admit to Harlow.
Everything with Ryder, including our initial meeting, and the time together in the camp.
Every moment, every fight, every time he tried to get rid of me, but I returned.
Even though most of our life was spent apart, Harlow, in the short time I’ve known her as an adult becomes my greatest confidant.
“And that’s everything,” I finish, positioning my elbows behind me. “I wanted to ask how you control the Darkness.”
“You want to talk magick, but I’m more invested in this.” She pushes my hair aside to press into my mark, and call it silly, but I flinch away, not wanting anyone’s hands to touch what’s mine.
Mine and one other person’s.
Harlow laughs, pulling away. “Hint received. Alright, well, I don’t really have to think about the voice because it so rarely bothers me. Every time I drink blood, I’ve come to figure its satisfied.”
“I wonder if drinking blood is a form of blood magick,” I muse, thinking back to Sloane’s explanations of the different kinds of magick—Dark and Light.
“Could be. I’m a creature of Darkness, so I believe merely by existing, I appease it. You, however…perhaps it’s your shifter side?”
“I’ve taken to believing it’s because I’m home with the coven.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Both may be true. Time certainly helps. In the beginning, you were emotional and weakened by what happened. It makes sense the black magick targeted your soul while it could.”
“I hurt him.”
Harlow doesn’t blink at the topic change. “I think you hurt him more by leaving than you did by knocking him back. If shifter connections are anything like the Bride bond, all I know is Alec would lose his ever-living shit if I tried to abandon him.”
“You did,” I point out. “And Mom brought you here. He followed.”
“Exactly. It’s worse now, though, I think, since I’m his kind too.”
And I’m Ryder’s.
She knocks into my shoulder. “We’re both hybrids. Have to say, when you started talking, I never guessed that one.”
“A bunch of crazy pasts between the two of us.”
Her musical chuckle surrounds the house that once heard screams of murdered witches—another act by Twilight Grove’s hand.
“What now?” She leans forward until view again, elbows on her knees.
“Nothing. We hide from Sloane.”
“I meant with the shifter.”
My eyes slide to her, and then the yard. “You’re looking at it. This is it for me. It’s safer for everyone involved.”
“Do you love him?”
I think so. I’d never said so aloud. Is it possible to fall for someone after a week?
“Maybe.”
“Then don’t let one witch steal the future you could have. If I did that, I wouldn’t be a vampire right now.”
That can’t be it. Sloane may be a singular witch, but she’s not exactly the average one either.
Normal witches don’t plot soul-altering plans with others.
If I was selfish and went back to Ryder, it might seem like Soane loses, but by winning as much as she has so far, she’s already stolen all the better futures for me.
“Mom won’t let me leave.”
“No offense, and I love Morgan, but fuck that. You’re of age and well able to do whatever you want. Guess it comes down to asking yourself what that is.” She lifts to her feet, stretching a hand and effectively ending the conversation at a point that forces me to consider her words.
A moment after we re-enter the house, the door flies back open and a figure—recognizable only by the penetrating energy she carries—appears.
Freya, the First Witch.
Bright purple hair identical to her eyes rests in a braid over one shoulder.
A zip-up jacket, leggings, and brown hiking boots complete the outfit.
There’s never been a time Freya dressed her age—which is dawn of time old or something—or looked anything like a witch.
She’s always extravagant and always changing her hair.
She stops in front of me, grinning like a child hyped up on a year’s worth of sugar, and picks at her coat.
“You like? You’ve inspired it with all that forest camping you’ve done.
Gotta dress the part.” She flicks her braid over her shoulder, whipping Alec in the arm with it as she twists.
“Sorry, bloodsucker, no hoodie representing you this time. I have a new favourite duo. Not really, ’cause I’m not allowed to have favourites, but anyway…
Didn’t I tell you two to stay in the castle?
” She scowls at Alec, before sliding in front of Harlow.
“Although, it is lovely to see my favourite and only witch-vampire hybrid. How’s the fire, fire witch? ”
Harlow bursts out laughing much to Mom’s horror, who’s hovering nearby, waiting for Freya’s chaos to settle so she can slide in and be the proper High Priestess for her guest. She’s yet to figure out that Freya isn’t really interested in ‘proper.’
“Freya.” She dips her head low, barely earning a flick of a finger as she’s too busy scanning the room.
“Wait, you vamps being here may actually work, but someone’s missing.
” She pauses, gaze drilling into the far wall.
“Ah, never mind, my mistake. We’re all here.
Good.” She claps her hands together and twirls for the couch, dropping heavily onto it and spreading her palms across the cushions.
“Here’s how this’ll go. Like a few weeks ago when I came by to explain the fate of our beautiful and powerful Harlow and her vampire dick—I mean, king—let now be your question-and-answer time. Go.”
Not waiting to be told twice, I bypass Mom who’s still working on inhaling since the First Witch entered our home, and rest on the coffee table’s edge. “Did you know my bio father is a shifter?”
“Sure did.” She holds up a hand to inspect her nails—a deep green that match the colour of leaves.
“Do you know who he is?”
“Sure do.”
“Will you tell me?” Anticipating, I lean closer.
“Sure won’t.”
Anticipation crumbles.
“You’ll learn soon,” she adds. “Not soon-soon, so don’t get your hopes up, but soon-ish. I won’t linger on this topic, so skip to your next.”
Huffing, I do what she demands, not wanting to lose my chance. “Why has the Darkness stopped affecting me? After the other day…”
She glances between her fingers. “You’re quite powerful, Carina Hargrove, nee Brooks. One, your body was adjusting, and admittingly, not well. Two, your shifter side makes it possible.”
“Told you,” Harlow mumbles.
“After all”—Freya lowers her hand to her lap—“Shifters are Light creatures, so you’re the perfect balance. Even more balanced than Harlow is.”
“And? So are witches.”
“That’s because of Hecate’s path. When we follow Her, we follow Light. But Sloane was correct in everything she told you. Magick itself requires balance and we’re capable of both. You and Harlow are examples of that.”