Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
Delilah
“What was that?”
Above me, Archer groaned, pulling out slowly, and I felt the movement of his body everywhere.
I couldn’t believe it had come to this. I’d started the night so angry. At him. At myself. I’d worked up a fairly impressive steam of rage, ready to confront the demon who had taken such liberties with my very soul.
But then he’d turned up, full of concern and broody, gruff demands, and like a weakling, I’d caved.
Really, we had always felt inevitable. Archer was like the tide, steady, constant, and powerful. I was a fool to have thought I could resist him.
But a mate? Was that even possible?
The vibration in my chest said it was, even if my brain was staunchly refusing to believe it.
“That, my witch,” Archer said, his big body flopping onto the bed beside me. “Was you.”
“Me?” I asked, feeling beneath me for the blankets.
Now that the moment was over, being naked felt awkward, even if my body was barely visible in the pale sliver of moonlight that came through the windows.
Wriggling under the covers, I pulled them up nearly to my chin, refusing to think about the fact that Archer could probably see in the dark. “How could that have been me?”
“It’s all been you,” Archer explained, his arm coming around my shoulders and pulling me against him.
I stiffened, the contact startling. He’d never been this affectionate, our interactions being mostly full of spite and insults, but now it seemed like he couldn’t stop touching me.
As he curled me into his bare chest, my cheek resting against his warm, strong muscles, a feeling of contentment washed over me, and it took a moment for me to recognize it as Archer’s feeling, not my own.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered into the darkness. “Any of this.”
“I know,” he replied, his fingers trailing a gentle path up and down my spine. “There’s a lot that I don’t have the answers to. But I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Where do we even start?”
“With your magic.” His reply was instant, almost as though he wanted to put off the other topics as long as possible.
I couldn’t help but agree. The sudden appearance of magic within my formerly barren body seemed a much safer topic than the massive elephant in the room that was Archer announcing I was his mate.
At that thought, my heart constricted, the idea of us being destined not nearly as off-putting as it would have been only days ago. As though he could feel my hesitant acceptance, Archer tightened his grip on my shoulders, like he was trying to eliminate any space between us at all.
I didn’t hate it.
“When did you first notice your magic increasing?”
I scrunched my forehead, trying to remember.
“Boston, I think.” Looking back, I pictured that first kiss, the moment that Archer and I had shared in the backyard, how that spot inside me that had always felt like an empty well had begun to fill.
“It was so gradual, I wasn’t sure what it was at first. For my whole life, I’d only been able to do little things.
Minor magics that other witches could do without thought.
For me, they were always exhausting, taking all that I had just to form a simple parlor trick. ”
“Show me.”
His words were gentle, a plea more than a command, and that tiny flicker of warmth in my chest shivered in appreciation.
Raising my hand, I whispered, “Lux.”
The ball of witchlight that flared in my palm was instantaneous, bigger and brighter than anything I had ever conjured before, and I let out a little scream as I released it.
“I—” I stuttered, shocked, as I blinked away the strange afterimages the witchlight left behind in my vision. “That’s never happened before.” Usually, my witchlight was small and dainty, a firefly in the dark.
That had felt more like an eclipse, so bright it was blinding, and excitement fizzled inside me at the thought that I could create such a beautiful symbol of power.
Archer hummed thoughtfully.
“What else can you do?” he asked. “Earlier, you lit the candle. Could you do that before?”
“Yes, but not very often and not that easily.”
“Try it now,” he urged.
Turning my head, I stared in the general direction of the candle, wondering if I could do it like that a second time. Usually, I had to concentrate, my entire focus on the wick, and I was exhausted by the simple act.
Now, I didn’t even move my hand. My mind effortlessly conjured the image of the candle when I knew it sat, on the desk next to my opened grimoire, and the next thing I knew, the flame leapt to life, looking more like an explosion than a candle.
“Holy Hell,” I muttered, feeling a tiny smile grace my lips as I used Vine’s favored expression.
“Indeed.”
“How is that possible?”
“I think,” Archer began, then paused. On the desk, the flame had settled down, still burning brightly but no longer a threat to the beautiful house.
Reaching for the pendant around my neck—the small clay bauble and the first piece of the Fallen Key hanging as though they belonged together—I stared at the steadily burning candle, picturing the proud smile that would have graced Heidi’s face if she could have seen what I’d just done.
I missed her so. A wave of sorrow passed through me, and Archer’s arms tightened in response.
“I think you may have been bound,” he went on, not commenting on my sudden melancholy, for which I was grateful.
“What do you mean?”
Archer reached up, his big, claw-free hand curling around the back of my head and drawing me back to lay on his chest once more. Once I’d settled there, he resumed his stroking of my spine, his eyes on me as he spoke.
“It appears that when you were a child, someone locked your magic away from you, preventing access. But I also believe that binding is unwinding very quickly.”
“Who would have done that?”
“My best guess is someone involved with the Order.” He paused, as if considering whether he should reveal more information, before continuing.
“For the last several weeks, we’ve been encountering several bound witches, each attempting to perform illegal summonings in my territory.
We’ve questioned them, but their bindings are powerful, and so far, we’ve been unable to uncover who is behind them. ”
“And that’s bad? The summonings, I mean.” I asked, still unclear on the intricacies of the Shadow Brotherhood.
“It’s…concerning.” He paused, as though he was holding information back, and I tried not to let my irritation show.
Giving my body one final squeeze, Archer released me and rolled off the bed, sliding back into his lounge pants with a sexy bounce that had all my internal muscles clenching in appreciation.
Looking around, I took in the tattered remnants of my dress with a frown.
“I’m very quickly running out of clothes,” I lamented with a sigh.
Archer ducked down and scooped his t-shirt off the floor, holding it out to me with both hands.
I reached for it, but he pulled it away, giving me a pointed look that I somehow understood.
Leaning forward, I allowed him to slide the shirt over my head, working my arms into the holes as he watched, a gleam of dark satisfaction in his eyes.
It was a satisfaction I could feel in my own chest, too, his masculine pride at seeing me in his shirt resonating through me. His clear possessiveness pulsing beneath my ribs at being the one to have put said shirt on me.
It was strange, but so very flattering at the same time that I didn’t stop to question it.
I also didn’t want to think about the fact that Archer could probably feel the flicker of slightly embarrassed joy that shot through me at his covetous gesture.
Not one bit.
“I believe this is all connected,” he finally continued gruffly, beginning to pace the room but not taking his eyes off me at the same time. “The summonings. The Fallen Key. You.”
“Me?” I asked, my hand once again going to the pendant that hung around my neck. The two pieces felt warm against my palm, even through the shirt.
“You most of all.” When I continued to stare in confusion, he went on.
“Too many things have happened in quick succession for it to be just a coincidence. First the bound witches performing summonings, then the reappearance of Asmodeus.” He stopped, his eyes going wide as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually said the words out loud.
I knew of Asmodeus, of course, but not his connection to Archer or why he may have been missing.
Not wanting him to stop talking, I rolled my lips together and nodded, indicating his secrets were safe with me.
Shaking his head, he offered me a surprised grin that melted my heart just a little before he continued.
“The return of the Order of the Broken Veil, followed closely by the Storm-bringer, who somehow managed to escape from his prison in the Void.” He ceased his pacing, turning to face me.
“Finally, the assignment to track down the pieces of the Fallen Key, which lead me directly to you.”
I could feel my cheeks heating, and I looked away, staring once again at the flickering flame.
Climbing off the bed—because clearly I couldn’t sit there a moment longer, surrounded by the memory of how he’d taken me on it, without blushing—I made my way over to the chair where Pandora waited patiently, her snack demolished, her tiny nose twitching as she listened to our discussion.
Scooping her into my hands, I took her place on the chair, letting one finger idly stroke her little spines as I sifted through the simmering heat that was building in my chest—and other places—at his words, and the clear intention behind them.
He wanted me. Badly.
And I felt the same.
The truth was clear, I just didn’t understand it.