Sneers and whispers followed my every step as I shuffled forward into the center of the room. Morgan Le Fay lowered a hand to Ronan’s head, running her fingers through his black hair like he was her most prized pet. The silver of his eyes glowed white hot with rage, but he didn’t move. He didn’t shudder. He stayed still as a statue, because to do anything else would provoke her ire, and then she’d fuck with me.
Unfortunately for both of us, it looked like she was going to anyway.
“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” she said softly, not looking at anyone in particular, but instead staring out the long window that overlooked what I could only assume was the Underworld. It was dark out, and the glass was streaked from snow that melted against it, creating a depressing, dreary image.
“Because you’re bored already,” I replied, unable to keep some of the bite from my tone. If only the searing pain would ebb . . .
The Morrigan smirked, then cackled. “If my servants were half as observant as you, they’d likely live twice as long,” she said. “But now that I have you, there isn’t much need. At least for a few decades. Or until you break . . .” She trailed off, her eyes flicking downward as Ronan tensed. I wanted to tell him to quit playing into her hand because his reactions were the real reason I was here. By myself, I was just a human to her. Expendable. Replaceable. But with Ronan, I was a bargaining chip. An ace up her sleeve for anytime he acted out.
“We had a deal,” Ronan said, his voice a quiet hush of night in an otherwise vibrant party.
“That we do,” Morgan Le Fay murmured, her pale fingers fisting in his hair. “You be good, and Piper here doesn’t get hurt. Not physically, at least.” Her lips curled up at the corner in a cruel smile. “Still, it’s such a momentous occasion. I want to celebrate. After thousands of years under Lucifer’s thumb, we are finally free. Tonight marks the emancipation of not only witches, but every supernatural in the world.”
I frowned, and her smile sharpened.
I wanted to ask, and yet I didn’t. Morgan was baiting me with tiny pieces of information, trying to draw me out—but I was a hunter, and I knew when I saw a trap.
My lips pressed together, both to keep from speaking and to hide the wince that ran through me when that searing sensation traveled up my abdomen all the way to my sternum. I slowed my breaths, trying to keep myself on my feet, but the world was swaying.
Irritated I didn’t bite, Morgan Le Fay snapped her fingers, and a tray of desserts appeared in front of me. Cake and cream puffs and crème brûlée, each piled together on tiny plates and crammed on a gold platter that suspended in the air.
“Don’t drop it,” Morgan said, a wicked glint in her eye as the tray started to fall. My hands whipped out, faster than I thought I’d be able to, considering my state. I caught the platter and righted it. My breathing was sharp and uneven.
“I take it I’m supposed to serve you,” I said, my tone steady but grated. She scrunched her nose.
“No, you’re supposed to serve them in any way they wish.” She jutted her chin toward the males at the back. The pleasure slaves.
I would have snorted in derision if I weren’t so focused on not dropping the damn gold-plated serving tray. It would figure that I wouldn’t be there to serve the witches of upper society, but instead their slaves. I was only a human. Worthless in their minds, apart from labor.
The image of my mother on the warm pavement, the vampire bites on her neck so stark against her light skin jarred me. She was so pale . . . cold to the touch.
She was told to serve them too.
Told that her human body was only worth what her blood could afford and her hands could clean.
My breaths ramped up, and I stuffed the image down as I shuffled forward presenting the tray.
One of them reached for a cream puff, then paused. “Feed it to me.”
I lifted both my eyebrows. “Feed it to you?” I repeated.
“Is that a problem?” Morgan chimed in.
Breathe, I coached myself. In. Out. In. Out.
“No problem,” I answered, hoarsely.
I angled my arm to hold the tray with one hand and picked up the cream puff. My hand shook slightly as I extended my arm. He opened his glossy lips, and took half a bite, then chewed slowly before swallowing.
I hoped he choked on it.
However, fate was not on my side because he opened his mouth again, this time swallowing the rest of it and sucking the tips of my fingers softly.
I snatched my hand away, and a growl rumbled through the room.
“Are you sure?” Morgan asked, no one answered. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to the servants, to Ronan, or to me.
Chancing my odds, I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye. “I’m sure, right, Harvester?”
Snow fell. My chest felt like it was being ripped open and blood was pounding in my ears, but you could have heard a pin drop.
Except Ronan didn’t answer. I got the feeling if he spoke, all that would come out were death threats and worse—but the non-answer didn’t help either of us.
If anything, it was only going to make the situation worse.
I wished I could communicate and tell him to shove that alpha male bullshit down long enough to agree, but I couldn’t, and he wouldn’t.
“Right, Harvester?” I repeated in a harder tone. Sweat dotted my temple, and despite the cold, I felt hot. Burning. But not with rage.
“He can speak for himself, human,” Morgan replied, back to referring to me by my species. “Continue as you were.”
I turned back to the men before me. The next one took a seat on the couch. His muscles gleamed in the low light as he moved to sprawl his legs out and then patted his thigh.
My lips parted, but despite the slight trickle of conversation that had restarted, I knew that no one was actually lost in their discussion. All eyes were on me. I was the entertainment.
I clenched my jaw and swallowed my pride, perching on the edge of his knee. A bare hand came up to grasp my leg. He pulled at it, tugging my legs apart so that I straddled him.
“Stop,” Ronan bit out.
“I don’t believe I asked your opinion,” Morgan replied, a satisfied smile curving her lips. “I asked for entertainment,” she added toward the slave.
The man I was sitting on leaned back and wrapped an arm around my waist. Sweat slicked my skin and my fingers trembled. As much as I disliked this, whatever was happening inside me was far worse. My stomach twisted and turned like my organs were being pulled out.
“I want cake,” he demanded. His jewel-green eyes moved from the platter I held to my parted lips.
I switched my hold again so I could pick up a piece with my hand, but then, he said, “Chew it first, and feed it to me with your mouth.”
A sound like thunder shook the room, but it wasn’t the storm.
My eyes flashed from the piece of cake to Ronan as I tried to convey a look of warning that he completely ignored.
“Get your hands off—”
I took a bite of cake and chewed twice, the sweetness nauseating me. That made it easier for me to press my lips to his, letting my gag reflex force the food into his already open mouth. He flung his arm outward, pushing me off of him. Both the tray and I toppled to the floor as he choked. I pulled myself up onto my elbows, noting how no one moved to help him or offer him something to drink. He was still a servant to them, even if he was technically getting to play master.
I lifted my head and met Ronan’s hard gaze.
His eyebrows creased as if he was finally seeing that something wasn’t right.
“Tell me, Harvester, do you like seeing your atma this way?” Morgan asked, speaking as though the warlock wasn’t still coughing hoarsely. Her leg curved over Ronan’s shoulder and down the length of his bicep, angling so that she could press her foot into his groin. “Lucifer dressed her like this. I would have thought you’d share his taste, but it seems the human is a poor excuse for a mate, othe
rwise you’d be hard.”
It was only then that I noticed the room was spinning.
Shaking.
But no one seemed alarmed.
Could they not feel it?
When Ronan came for me, Sasha had realized it was him when the Underworld began to break apart. We knew. We all knew, but this time, it was like no one noticed.
I pushed myself up on my knees and pressed a hand to my head, trying to steady myself.
“Abuse is not attractive,” he said, his voice rough. “And I am not my brother. Her pain only calls my rage.”
“Hmm,” Morgan hummed thoughtfully. “How boring. Lucifer didn’t know how to keep it in his pants, and you’re practically neutered.” She scrunched her nose in distaste. “Perhaps I’ll find another demon to take as a pet. Oh, I know. I could have a whole harem. One for every kind of magic. Now that would be interesting.”
“Another demon?” I rasped. I was sweating bullets now. The skimpy dress clung to my skin uncomfortably, and the sweltering heat bearing down on me wasn’t from this world.
I needed to latch onto something, anything, because my heart was beating faster. Racing toward that inevitable stop.
“Yes,” Morgan purred, seemingly happy that someone asked her. She really was batshit, and more than a little narcissistic. “You see, my line is doing a little siphoning spell tonight. Right now, in fact. As we speak, Lucifer is being drained of his blood so that my heir can open a portal to Hell. We’ll take the source of magic for ourselves, and with it, control every demon in existence—”
“Morrigan,” one of the witches said. Her voice sounded like a slur. “I think something’s wrong with the human.”
Really? What gave her that impression?
If I weren’t on the verge of blacking out, I might have said it. As it was, my consciousness was slipping, as was my control.
“Maybe she’s hungry. Feed her the cake she so carelessly dropped on my Persian rug.”
“Me?” I vaguely heard the same witch's voice ask.
“You are the one so concerned about her,” Morgan Le Fay replied acidly. Meanwhile, my head was swimming. The room spun, around and around—
“Eat this,” someone said in my face. Bile rose in my throat.
“No,” I breathed, pushing the hands away.
“No? No?”
For a moment, I floated. The pain drifted away, carrying all my worries with it. I sagged forward, my face hitting the ground. My muscles uncoiled and the nausea faded.
For a brief second, there was relief.
Then a hand grabbed me by the hair and hoisted me up.
“How dare you refuse my hospitality,” Morgan hissed in my face. Her light brown eyes narrowed. She tilted her head. A quizzical look appeared. “Your eyes . . .”
Her face smoothed, and I knew without a doubt what she’d seen.
The hand holding me suspended let go.
My knees slammed back into the floor, and I caught myself as my palms slammed into the ground. Pain ricocheted up my arms. Exhaustion weighed me down.
I registered the snap of fingers, followed by the words, “Bring me chains. The second set made for the Harvester.”
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry.
All of this could have been avoided.
But instead, I did everything right. I swallowed my pride, I begged, I fought, I won—and she still figured out that I wasn’t a human.
And now I was going to be chained.
Cold metal wrapped around my wrists and ankles.
“You were good,” Morgan Le Fay said. “Very good. I didn’t think he’d done it. You were a mere human. Unworthy of a demon’s blood. But you must have some in you for your eyes to change. Tell me, Witch Hunter, what is your gift? What are you?”
She crouched in front of me, cupping my face between her hands.
“Tell me,” she commanded, and I felt magic in that voice. A siren’s call reminiscent of Lucifer himself, but if I could deny the devil, I could deny his bitch.
I spat. A wet glob hit her smack in the face.
To say I’d not learned my lesson after doing the very same thing to Lucifer was an understatement.
Agony tore through me. A searing, undeniable pain.
I blinked past it to see Morgan pressing a knife into her arm, drawing thick lines down her bicep to her elbow.
“Try to use magic all you want. Those chains were created from the blood of Lucifer, the Harvester, Crom Cruach, and my late husband, Dagda. Any descendants or creations of the four will be rendered powerless.”
I gasped, the acid eating through me.
And then I started to laugh.
And laugh.
And laugh.
“To think . . . you thought me a-arrogant. You sh-should remember. Don’t talk shit . . . until the deal . . . is done.”
Lightning struck in the distance. Thunder rolled. The winds kicked up, and a howling scream pierced the ears of all who resided in New Chicago.
But my heart, my stupid, human, heart—it didn’t simply stop.
It felt like it was being torn out of my chest.
My skin was being flayed from my body.
My bones cracked under the immense pressure.
I was dying, or at least it felt like it.
For all my self-control, or lack thereof, this change wasn’t on me, and I tried my damnedest to shove it down. But nothing would.
Not the chains.
Not the Morrigan.
Not Ronan.
“Think of Bree, Piper. If you do this—”
I lifted my head, and no one was laughing. The words halted on his lips.
“I can’t stop,” I whispered. My voice didn’t even sound like mine. There was nothing human about it.
Only rage.
Only hate.
Red tinted everything.
And then there was fire.
24
For so long, the city of New Chicago was shrouded in darkness. Magic brought that here. It created the divide and plunged us into a new dark age. The fall of technology was the fall of humanity. We were regarded as property. Bodies to be used. Never-ending sources of blood and sex and labor.
Supernaturals took my world from me. They took my family. My future.
They created an abyss inside of me that nothing could fill.
Or so I thought.
Then there was light.
It was as if a switch had been flipped. A handle turned. Power flooded my system. Magic filled my veins. It hemorrhaged from my pores—and there wasn’t a power in this world or the next that could have stopped it from exploding out of me.
Everything turned white.
Fire raced down my arms and torso, eating away at the scrap of a dress. It leapt from me to the floor to the walls. Glass shattered. No one even had time to scream.
The chains around my wrists and ankles melted instantly, pooling to the ground like liquid mercury.
My abdomen contracted as I forced myself to sit up and then to stand. I didn’t even need to fight. I simply needed to exist.
The body could only take so much before it shut down, and mine? It had passed that point. The pain had become so all-consuming, so unending, that I didn’t feel it at all . . . because I became it.
My brands glowed red hot like the end of a poker pulled out of a fire. A sizzling warmth spread through the small of my back, telling me that another one had just formed. That my name and my soul and everything I was had changed once more.
I looked not at Ronan, but at Morgan Le Fay. She kneeled before me. The skin on her face blistered. Pieces burned and others melted. Black wispy strands of magic drifted off of her.
And for the first time, she didn’t smile or laugh.
On the contrary, she seemed remarkably calm for a dying woman.
“How?” she whispered, not in fear or awe, but raw jealousy. Her light brown eyes raked over my brands with acute interest. “You were human. Even if he changed you . . .”
&nbs
p; “He didn’t change me,” I replied. “I changed myself.”
Crimson brands curled around my pale flesh as I grabbed either side of her face.
My blood was turning to acid. I hardly felt it, but I knew from the pockets forming and healing on the surface of my skin that her curse was at work.
“If you survive this, I’ll be back for you,” Morgan Le Fay said, her tongue darted out to lick her blistered lips.
“No, you won’t.” My voice was an echo from above and below and all around. “Whether I die or not, you’re not coming back from this. You’re not hurting anyone ever again. Certainly not me.”
She grinned maniacally even as the fire ate away at her.
My hands clenched into fists. Her skull cracked.
Like an egg under pressure, the fissure spread before it popped. The light left her eyes as the flames engulfed all that was left of the Morrigan.
Her remains slid from my fingers, but they never hit the floor. Her bones dissipated in a shower of ash and black smoke. I uncurled my fingers, letting the blackened particles fall.
My skin split. Blood flowed. Gaping wounds appeared as her curse came into full effect. But I didn’t fear it.
Life was hard. So fucking hard.
Twenty-six years flashed through my mind. The beginning. The end.
I had a lot of regrets. A lot of red on my hands. A lot of horrible things that I did to witches and warlocks and supes in the name of my family. Some of them probably deserved it. Morgan Le Fay certainly did. I wouldn’t regret killing her even if it meant my own death. There would be two less monsters in the world.
But if there were an existence after this, I would feel guilt there for the people I didn’t save. The ones I couldn’t help.
“I’m sorry, Bree,” I whispered into the flames as I fell to my knees. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I’m the reason you need to be saved. I’m just . . . sorry.”
“No,” a voice responded. A hand reached for me out of the flames. Nails tipped in black, he hooked them in the concrete and dragged himself forward.
A lone figure of shadow in an otherwise world of light. Beautiful. Horrible. Pristine white filled my vision as the fire pouring out of me eclipsed and died like a sun going bang one last time.
Haunted by Shadows: Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Two Page 16
