21 Jasper #3
“For tonight, you invite me in. I’ll watch over you both, make sure you’re safe. Tomorrow morning, you’ll convene your coven, and I’ll tell you all what you need to know to bring Ludmilla down. From there, we plot over the kitchen table.”
“And Birdie?”
He considers for a moment. “I won’t deny it will be difficult to avoid trying to drain her too.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never wanted to claim any soul as desperately as I want hers.”
I tense, fighting the urge to punch him in the cowled head.
“She’ll stop you,” I challenge. “She did it once. She’ll do it again.
” That’s what we’re both betting on, right?
I’d be lying if I said this was only about saving my own life.
It’s hasn’t even been a week, but she’s already under my skin.
The memory of her kiss haunts my lips. The feel of her in my hands . . .
I don’t want her hurt. I don’t want any part of her diminished by this creature who feeds on souls. “She’ll stop you,” I say again.
“I certainly hope so,” he replies. “Though, I fear it too.”
This gives me a small feeling of relief. Some karmic justice at last. The wraith just admitted he wants the one thing he can’t have. Seen in a certain light, Birdie represents that for me too. Apparently, I have more in common with a wraith than I thought.
Stepping forward, I hold out my hand. “Right then. We have a deal. You let me live, and I’ll help you take down the witch currently ruining both our lives.”
As he reaches his hand out towards mine, I pull away. It’s pure instinct. So is me saying, “But I want one thing from you first.”
I sense his wariness as he tucks his skeletal hand back inside the folds of his robe. “What do you require?”
Holding his gaze, my mind races. I didn’t actually have anything prepared. I just feel like I need some kind of leverage over him, something to rebalance these scales. If he can pull me in with a curl of his bony finger, I need to claim back a little power of my own. “I want your name.”
“Impossible,” he hisses, his shadows looming larger as they wrap around him.
“Hey, you want my help? Want me to trust you with my soul, the souls of my coven, and every person on this island who relies on me? Then give me something of value that’s as precious to you as all these souls are to me. Give me your name.”
“You don’t know what you ask—”
“I know what names mean to your kind,” I say over him, daring to step closer. “Tell me, and we have a deal. Tell me, and I’ll kill the witch keeping you bound. Don’t tell me, and you can fuck off forever. It’s your choice.” I hold out my hand again, waiting.
Ever so slowly, the shadows around the wraith expand, wrapping us both in a cocoon of darkest night.
They stroke up the fabric of my jeans and brush the back of my neck, featherlight and teasing.
All the sounds of the night disappear. There is only me and the wraith.
My traitorous soul thrums with eagerness, happy to be wrapped in this creature’s darkness.
I can’t see him, but I feel the cool wind of his breath on my face. Leaning in close, he strokes his knuckles along my cheek in a lover’s caress. “My name . . . is Dáinn.”
I stiffen as his fingertips brush the pulse point at my throat. “Not good enough,” I pant. “I want the whole thing.”
The bony fingers of his other hand wrap around the one I still have outstretched.
Squeezing my hand tight, he binds us together in this devil’s deal.
There’s no sinew or skin to hold the bones together, yet his grip is firm.
This creature is all magic, ancient and powerful.
He breathes in deep, and I feel my soul lift again.
I can’t see within the depths of his cowl, but I know he’s smiling in triumph.
“You feel it, don’t you? Your soul really is desperate for me. Such a lovely little thing . . . so delicious. My sweetest, golden apple.”
I grit my teeth, swallowing a curse. “Just give me your full name, asshole.”
He breathes in again and I shudder. His voice simmers with magic. Each word is a lick of fire down the back of my neck. “You want my name, mortal? Earn it. Help me. Show me your loyalty. For now, to whisper the name of Dáinn is far more than you deserve.”
I grunt, still trying to pull away.
He squeezes my hand, tight enough to break the bones. “Do it, sweet witch. Say my name.”
“No—”
“Say it.”
Gasping, the name leaves my lips on a hoarse whisper. “Dáinn.”
Magic wraps around my tongue as I speak. To know his name is to know the creature. One more bond connects us now. Soul to soul. Name to name. I taste his essence in the sound, like smooth whiskey and toasted marshmallows, beachfront campfires and sun-warmed blankets spread out on the sand.
Home, my own magic whispers to me with a thrill. Speaking the wraith’s name aloud feels like coming home.
This is so fucked.
Dropping my hand at last, the wraith’s shadows swirl around us, revealing us once more to the starry night and the golden glow of my family homestead.
Adjusting the front of his robes in a move that feels all too human, he gestures to the old house with a sweep of his skeletal hand.
“Well, sweet witch? Aren’t you going to invite me in? ”