Chapter 67 Aya
Aya
“She killed him. It wasn’t me. She did it,” Abner blubbers, wildly pointing in my direction, but no one believes him.
They tie him to the wheel, and I look on in glee.
I spent the last three years tormenting the town of Adams. The Bell family became pariahs, and Abner ran through the streets screaming that a witch had killed Pastor Marcus.
They didn’t arrest him, though. Instead, they shunned the Bell family. But that wasn’t enough for me.
What they’ve done—what this entire town was responsible for—I’d reap all their souls and lay them at the feet of Oya.
It’s the least of what they owe.
“She did it—it wasn’t me,” Abner continues to plead his case.
“You’re right, Abner,” one of the men holding him down snarls. “The invisible witch killed half the men in town for the last three years.”
Smirking, I bask in the glorious setup I’ve orchestrated. Vision after vision, I ended the lives of those who believed having a dick somehow made you a god.
Even the men here, strapping him to the wheel, are guilty.
I let them spin him, cracking the metal rod against bones with such force that they had no choice but to break. Each time they ask him to tell the truth. And each time he screams about it being a witch.
When they spin him for the fourth time, I get to work. First, the five men in the back of the crowd. They murdered an entire family so that they could take the daughter as a communal wife.
Hatred sizzles my blood because she was ruined and forced to not only marry one of these vile, disgusting men, but she was also forced to bear a child for each of them.
Since they like to do things in a group fashion, their end should match their proclivities.
Stringing them up, I spin them like a wheel, ripping their dicks and hearts out. “Why are you doing this?” One of them had the gall to demand.
“Why, I’m your fairy deathmother, of course,” I snark, jamming my nails into his eyes and making the next idiot eat them. “I hear the eyes make you smarter.”
You’re having too much fun, Aya. I tease myself before returning my attention to the one eating the eyes, as he throws them up.
“Tsk…tsk…tsk,” I admonish, tilting my head. “Now, why would you not enjoy your last meal?” Angered, I tear open a hole in his stomach, exposing his digestive tract. Then I signal the chunky-looking mush on the ground inside. “There, now you can’t say I starved you to death.
A collection of gasps alerts me to my audience. “Dammit. I thought for sure I’d get to kill these five before you noticed me,” I sing-song, dodging the body barreling at me.
Rolling my eyes, I flick my wrist and hang him with one of the dead men’s large intestines.
Screams of fear batter the atmosphere as chaos ensues, giving me a headache and dulling my mood.
Yawning, I decide to make them turn on each other.
Looking at Abner, barely alive, I shake my head. “Maybe next time they’ll believe.”
Scared eyes bulge, and I can’t help but laugh before digging my nails into his throat. The squish of blood under my nails as I wrap my fingers around the muscles in his throat. Then I yank it out and drop it to the ground, sparing none of them a backward glance.
It’s too bad history won’t record the fact that a couple of hundred men died today. They’ll pretend it was some war and these men bravely sacrificed their lives for their country.
History is told by those with power. It’s why you won’t find my name in Salem unless you know where to look. They tried to wipe me from history, but I’ve never been one to be cowed into silence.
I’m still encouraging myself when I feel the familiar tug— the one that yanks me when someone new possesses the damn amulet. But instead of it being back to the Bell property, I am shoved forward, time passing literally before my eyes until I’m before a man in strange clothes.
“Who are you?” I snarl, exhausted by the constant moving around.
He smirks, but says nothing. Instead, he places the amulet into something I can’t make out, and my skin feels like it’s been shredded from the inside out as acid is injected into my body. A scream rips from my throat, and everything disappears except the pain.
Present Day
“No,” I shriek, catapulting upright.
Chest heaving, desperate for air, but each breath burns my dry throat.
Water.
Sweat knits my brow as awareness of my surroundings calms me. The familiar scent of spiced rum fills my nostrils.
“Enitan?” My words are both parts pleas and hope. I long to see my love.
“Asaya,” he murmurs. “I dare not believe it’s you. Please, Oya, be kind to me.”
Tears stream down my face at the fissure in his voice.
Before I can comfort him, I’m thrust into a vision. A fire blazes, and in its midst, the Ojú-inú rests in the hands of its keepers.
“We need you to be free. The fates demand it,” they hiss.“Time waits for no one, Asaya. And your time is nearly up. Find her and realign what was and can never be again, but what must be.
I don’t get time to process the words before I’m thrust back into my body. An urgency like nothing I’ve felt since my creation.
Opening my mouth to speak, something replaces my voice.
“Asha Bailey holds the key.”
Asha? The question of who that is and how to find her in time swirls until the voice takes over again. “She is you, and you are she. Bind her to you, and you shall be free.”
Then I turn to Enitan in time to witness the tears of joy sliding down his beautiful face. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around him, but the thought is usurped.
“Go and find Asha Bailey. Enitan. It’s time to right what was wronged.”
Frenetic energy pours off me in waves, much like they did in Salem. I feel the power flowing through me as my runes come to life.
“Go,” I order, and he’s out the door before I’m hoisted into the air.
I can feel whoever this Asha person is, but I still can’t make out her face.
Remembering the look on that devilish man who brought me here, my anger renews.
We shall kill him. Rutherford Venom’s days are nearly at their end.
I know without searching that he’s the man from Salem, Tennessee, and Maine.
Once a weaver of magic, Rutherford was given immortality until he was corrupted, and a corrupted weaver’s mind corrodes.
His thrust for power sustained him for a millennium, but magic has a price.
Be it good or be it bad, you can’t take without giving.
My body stiffens.
She is here.
I watch as the woman I’ve been waiting for nears.
My body hums as I take in my missing part of me.
“Close the door,” I command Enaitan.
He does as he’s instructed, shifting to his panther form to guard us as I stretch my hand out.
“Come to me, Asha.”
The yearning cannot be hidden in my tone. I need her to feel whole.
At first, it was about getting back what is rightfully mine, but as I watched the years of Asha’s life play out before me, I realized this was about so much more.
Don’t fear the breakdown, for wholeness can be felt even when your broken pieces are scattered. You will rebuild—grow into the power that is before you as you heal from what was lost.
Binding with Asha is as much about self-love as it is about connecting with the missing piece.
I had to lose myself to see my purpose.
I had to lose myself to find my power.
I had to lose myself to discover the strength found within me.
My journey had to be done alone because even in a room filled with people who may love you, your battles—the ones that lead to the most significant growth come from within.
Without breaking eye contact, Asha strides to the middle of the room, unzipping her clothing until she’s bare before me. The need in her gaze matches mine.
“I’ve been searching for you.”
“I’ve been searching for you.”
We both say, echoing and seamlessly.
Leaning forward, I press my body against hers until our lips connect. Slow and sensual, the plushness of her soft lips against mine makes me greedy. The kiss is a claiming— raw and as dirty as I like it.
I slip my tongue into her mouth, and our tongues move in sync before I grip her hair, pull her back, and break our kiss.
“This,” I glide my palm over her breasts, cupping them one at a time before plucking her nipples.
My hand continues its path down her stomach and between her legs. “Is mine, Asha,” I breathe. “Do you understand?”
Asha’s brown eyes blaze with want as she slips her hands between our bodies, and three fingers push inside.
We both groan, and the room shakes. The feeling, vibrating through me as I prepare to reconnect to what was lost.
“Are you ready for this, Asha?” I ask.
There is no binding of souls—no reaping can be had without expressed consent.
Something the vile men who have taken what wasn’t given misunderstood. It’s why they had to be sacrificed.
“Yes,” she whimpers as my lips wrap around her nipple, and my fingers spread her open, finding her clit with ease as if our bodies have already known each other.
Needing more, I reach for the winds, and they answer, lifting us high above the ground and defying the laws of science.
Once we’re high enough, I twist us, temporarily disconnecting, until my pussy is in her mouth and hers is in mine.
Her fingers re-enter, reconnecting what was momentarily lost.
“More,” she groans. It’s filled with such want that I clench around her fingers.
I nip her clit, greedily sucking until she’s squirming. But it’s still not enough. I want her a mess before me—shattered in bliss until her back bows.
My tongue forks, splitting until it’s wrapped around her clit, and swirling to match the pace of my finger, pumping into her pussy.
A crackle of lightning brightens the room before thunder booms, roaring when it recognizes we’re coming home.
I can feel magic as it binds us together. Each moan—each shiver of our bodies—a spell, weaving what was untethered.
Panting, I ride her face unabashedly, bouncing on the digits thrusting at a brutal pace. “Fuck me harder,” I growl. Then I snake part of my tongue into her pussy, replacing my fingers, drenched in her arousal.
Ready to soar, I flick her clit with the other half of my tongue.
“Fuuuccck,” she groans, when I pinch the bundle of nerves between my fingers and double my efforts, “Ahh…Ah..Ay-y-y-a.”
“Shh-itt,” I mutter when her fingers curl up, hitting just where I need them to be.
Then, we’re both coming, tipping over the edge, and crashing into our oneness.
Our cries— a decree—a signing of an invisible contract. One that disintegrates upon signing, leaving no get-out clause.
I chant until it’s done. Until forever is bound as one, unifying what was stolen. Etching back what was never meant to be severed.
“She is you, and you are she. Bind her to you, and you shall be free.”