by Nadine Mutas
No sounds of Thorne fleeing. Instead, his heat brushed against her back as he stepped closer, his anger and anxiety a palpable push against her skin. “Will you be okay?” His voice close to her ear, sending pleasant shivers down her spine.
“Yes. Just go!”
“I will find you later.”
He retreated, and she focused on her aunt again, who was studying the area behind and around Anjali as if she could will her vision to pierce through Thorne’s shadow cloaking.
Thorne walked backward, his eyes on Anjali and the witch who was her aunt—Madhuri was her name, if he remembered correctly—until he could hide behind the corner of a recessed doorway. He wanted to make sure Anjali was going to be safe, but he didn’t want her to know he was still here. The shadow swirled around him, agitated by the uproar of his emotions.
“You just let that demon go,” her aunt said, bitterness and disbelief spiking her voice. “I can’t believe this. You of all witches. I thought you wanted to avenge Penelope’s death?”
“He didn’t kill her,” Anjali protested, “and he didn’t injure Serena either. He’s not the demon we’re looking for.”
“And how do you know that?”
A short pause, woven with tension. “Because I’ve been with him for the past two nights.”
If words could spark a firestorm, hers would have done it. The air charged with the force of the older witch’s magic, loud enough to make Thorne’s ears buzz.
“What do you mean?” Her aunt’s voice was deadly quiet.
“I’ve spent the last two nights with him. At his place. We never went outside. There’s no way he could have done it.”
The silence that followed was razor-sharp.
“You mean to tell me,” Madhuri whispered, “that you’re…involved with a demon? A shadow demon?”
“Yes.” Anjali’s voice was soft but steady.
Her aunt paused for a moment, power crackling in the chill of the night. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few days.” She was silent for a second, then added quietly, “I’m in love with him.”
Anjali’s words shot through him like a thousand-volt shock to his system. He staggered back against the door, his mind rattled to the extent that his shadow cloaking flickered.
“Have you gone insane, beta?”
“He’s not evil.” Despair laced Anjali’s words. “He’s been protecting me for years, has saved my life on countless occasions. He’d never hurt me.”
“And what about your family? Other witches? He’s a shadow demon. Just because he’s into you doesn’t mean he won’t use his powers against others.”
“No, no, he wouldn’t do that. He knows it would hurt me, and he’d rather cut himself than see me hurt. Believe me, I know.”
“So you say. And have you thought about the future? What if you break up? What if this misguided relationship ends on a sour note between you two, and he’s hurting and angry, his pride bruised? How can you be sure he won’t lash out then, and hurt others just to hurt you?”
Thorne’s pulse thundered in his ears, his stomach sinking so fast nausea swamped him. What would Anjali say to this? She’d surely think her aunt was right, would think him too dangerous to be with, what with his reputation and his demon nature. Why would she ever believe—
“He’d never do that.” Anjali’s voice sliced through his maudlin thoughts, through the chill of the night, unshakable conviction fortifying her words. “He’s not like that. His heart is good. I know he’d never hurt one of us, not even if things don’t work out between us. He could have become an assassin with his erebos power, but you know what he chose to do? He collects information on other demons and otherworld creatures, like a private investigator.”
“So choosing not to kill for a living is supposed to endear him to me?”
Anjali uttered a sound of frustration. “Mausi, please believe me. He’s good. There’s light in him, I feel it.”
“He’s a demon.”
“And maybe not all demons are evil, have you considered that?” Anjali’s quiet voice threaded through the night. “You’ve met Rhun, Merle MacKenna’s husband. He’s not evil.”
“Quot erat demonstrandum,” her aunt shot back.
“No, there’s nothing left to be proven. He helped save Maeve, and Merle vouches for him.”
“Which only goes to show how much love can blind us. Don’t be blinded by your feelings for this demon.” A pause, then, “We should get back to patrolling, but mark my words—this conversation is not over. Let’s just hope the next shadow demon you see won’t get a pass from you, too.”
The older witch’s undoubtedly hurtful words echoed in the dark as his Anjali followed her aunt down the alley, farther into the demon-held part of the Pearl District. Thorne slumped against the door for a moment, his skin vibrating with a tension he had no outlet for. His mind spun with what he’d heard.
I’m in love with him. The novelty of this idea scrambled his thoughts, swirled his emotions in a maelstrom he could drown in. He and his witch had shared many intimacies these past two nights, physical and emotional, had muttered words of appreciation and trust, but neither of them had spoken out loud what had formed between them.
That his Anjali could truly, honestly love him—it was as mind-boggling as it was intoxicating.
He’d tell her how he felt when he saw her later this night, would shower her in the verbal affirmations he hadn’t yet been able to make. She’d never have to doubt that he, too, had fallen so deeply in love with her it eclipsed any affection he’d thought he held for her before.
As he headed back to his apartment, he remembered Anjali’s rigorous belief in his goodness, the way she’d defended him in front of her aunt, and—for the first time in his life—he felt that maybe she was right. Maybe there was good in him, and it was enough to deserve to be loved.
He had just closed the door to his apartment behind him when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Unease prickled over his skin.
In the blink of an eye, he pulled the shadow around him and moved to the side, away from the spot where he’d stood in case the intruder had seen him and attacked. That way, they’d miss him, unable to tell where he’d gone.
Raspy laughter filled the air, the sound familiar and nauseating at the same time. “Boy, your shadow won’t work for shit with me.”
No. A paralyzing mix of fear, sickness, numbing anger, and horrible memories froze Thorne in place. Cold sweat broke out all over his skin. He can’t be back. Please don’t let him be back.
A shape moved in the darkness, stepped into the sliver of moonlight falling in through the windows, and Thorne’s heart stopped, ice-cold terror gripping him tight. His grandfather’s face wore more lines, his black hair had thinned and was now streaked with more silver, but his slate gray eyes bore the same vicious glint as Thorne remembered. The last time he’d seen him, his grandfather had towered over him as he’d lain on the floor, curled into a ball to protect his belly from the kicks of the older male.
“My, my, you’ve grown into a man, haven’t you?” That throaty, scratching voice, it turned Thorne’s stomach. “And I see you’ve even got yourself a girl. A witch, no less.”
All air left Thorne’s lungs. The room shrank around him. No, he couldn’t mean…
“Well played, boy, well played. How you managed to make a chaya darshini fall in love with you, I don’t know, but it’s the best ploy I’ve seen in a long time. Never knew you had it in you.” His grandfather prowled closer, lips stretched into a sneer.
“I—” Thorne’s voice broke, so he tried again. Don’t show any weakness. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t try to play games with me. You know I always win.” His grin held enough vitriol to poison the city’s water supply. “I overheard that cute conversation your witch had with her—is it her aunt? Ah, yes, the sister of the chaya darshini we killed. Tell me, does your Anjali know about that?”
>
“Don’t you dare speak her name.” Fury bled into his vision, painting the room red.
“Hmm. I’m thinking she doesn’t, or else she wouldn’t walk around claiming you’re her knight in shining armor.”
Thorne trembled. He locked his knees and balled his hands to fists to keep his grandfather from noticing.
“I gotta say, I’m impressed at how you wormed your way into that witch’s heart. Great idea for how to take a chaya darshini unawares. Make her trust you, fall for you. But really, it’s time you cut this short. You’ve fucked her, you’ve had your fun. Now do yourself a favor and kill the bitch already.”
With a roar, Thorne lunged at the other male. Wrath transformed his blood to liquid madness, eroding all reason and sense. He slammed into his grandfather with his shoulder rammed against the older demon’s stomach. The impact drove him against the wall, and Thorne used his grandfather’s moment of catching his breath to deliver a punch to his solar plexus, followed up by a swing at his face.
The old bastard was tough, though, and he evaded that swing by ducking, pummeling into Thorne’s stomach in return. Clenching his jaw, Thorne flexed his muscles to block the blows. He grabbed his grandfather’s shirt collar and swiped out with his leg, trying to knock the jerk off his feet. It would have worked beautifully, if his movement hadn’t faltered. His grandfather’s grin—cocky, confident, mocking—made his mind stutter, his control abandon him.
Memories of the abuse he’d suffered at the hands—and feet, and belt—of the older male swarmed him. Flashes of the darkest moments of his life made him rear back, stumble against the couch.
Cowering under the bed, he shrieked as his grandfather’s hand shot underneath into his hiding spot, grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out.
“I’ll teach you to be quiet when I say be quiet.”
His grandfather’s anger-wrought face came into view as he dangled Thorne in front of him, still gripping his hair. Pain shot from Thorne’s scalp all through his body, and he flailed his arms, scratched at the hand holding onto his hair.
With a growl, his grandfather threw him across the room. He hit the wall with a crunch. While darkness wrapped him in her merciful oblivion, his grandfather’s voice snaked its way into his mind.
“You no-good piece of half-breed trash…”
Panic iced Thorne’s blood, anxiety gripping him as hard and viciously as his grandfather’s hand in the flash of memory.
“That’s right.” The growl came from inches in front of him. “You haven’t changed. Nothing has changed.”
Thorne blinked, his vision swimming with spots of light and darkness. Breathing fast and rugged, he blindly grabbed behind him to steady himself on something. His hand found the couch’s backrest.
Fingers closed around his throat. He gasped then choked against the steel grip.
“You’re weak,” his grandfather spit out. Without warning, he hauled Thorne up then slammed him into the floor. He jumped on top of him, pinning both of Thorne’s arms down with his knees. Leaning in until his foul breath fanned out over Thorne’s face—making his stomach heave—he curled his lips in a malicious smirk.
“You’ve always been weak. You’ll never be a match for me, so don’t even try, boy. You think your little romance with the witch will work out? That you’ll get a happily ever after and fucking rainbows and unicorn dust? Think again. She’ll find out about you. She’ll find out you killed her mommy dearest, and she’ll hate your guts. And what will happen then? She’ll kill you, that’s what. You wanna survive? You better leave that bitch and run for the hills.”
Thorne struggled, straining against the power holding him down, against the darkness encroaching on him.
“You’ve been poison from the moment you were born, killing my Nissa. She should have never fallen for that piece of shit human, and she should have never had you. All you ever did was ruin everything around you. And now you’ve sided with a witch. Such a fucking disappointment you are.” He spit on the floor next to Thorne, foul mist spraying his face.
“If you hate me so much,” Thorne rasped, “why didn’t you just kill me then, when I was little?” A question that had haunted him all through his childhood and beyond, especially in those darkest moments when death seemed a preferable choice to being the cancerous open wound of his family.
A growl rose from his grandfather’s throat. “I fucking should have. But Nissa asked me not to. She made me promise. For whatever misguided reason, she loved you. And I wasn’t gonna defile her dying wish, even if you deserved to be put down, for being a halfwit halfbreed if not for anything else.” He leaned down, increasing the pressure on Thorne’s throat until darkness pulsed in his line of sight. “I could kill you right now.” A whisper so full of malice, it drenched the room.
The pressure let up. Air rushed back into Thorne’s lungs with painful speed. He gasped, bucking, his hands free to fly up to his throat, massage the assaulted flesh. Light seeped back into his vision, bringing into focus the sneering face of his grandfather looming over him like a specter of death.
“But I’m not gonna.” The older male cocked his head. “I’ll give you one more chance, boy. One more chance—even though you don’t fucking deserve it—to prove your worth and redeem yourself to your race and your family. To earn your place among us. And make no mistake—I’m doing this for my Nissa, to honor her wish. But know this—” He shook a finger at him. “—if you fuck this up, I’ll show no mercy and tear you to shreds.”
Thorne sat up, one hand on his raw throat, the other propping him up behind his back.
“Here’s the deal,” his grandfather continued. “If you stand in my way, I will forget I ever made a promise to my daughter, and I’ll rip you out like the useless weed you’ve proven to be all your life. But if you step aside and let me kill the witch—” His eyes flashed with an unholy glint. “—I’ll welcome you to our family again—for real. You’ll be respected as a real member of this family, and as part of our demon community. You’ll earn your place. You’ll never be alone again.” A pause, then he added thickly, “You’ll make your mother proud.”
He leaned down a bit and held out his hand to Thorne. “So what’s it gonna be? You gonna stop protecting that witch and let me kill her?”
For a few seconds, Thorne stared at the outstretched hand, everything this moment represented a loud buzz in his head. How often had he dreamed of this when he was little? Of acceptance, of respect, a chance to clean his slate and start fresh?
He cleared his throat. “Better yet,” he said, voice rough and bruised from the attack. “I’ll kill her for you.”
6
Anjali stared at her phone, lying a few feet away on her bed. Glanced away, fiddled with the edge of her purple-gold comforter then looked back at her cell. It remained silent. Was it even on?
She scrambled over to it, checked the settings for the thousandth time today. Yep, it was on, all right. Full volume, good reception, everything fine.
And not a single call or message from Thorne.
Chest tightening with a feeling she didn’t want to name, she opened her phone’s contact list, scrolled down to the name that made her heart do a funny flip, and pressed ‘call.’ It rang and rang, the beeps echoing in the silence of her room, mocking her. His voice mail came on—a generic “leave a message” statement, not even recorded by himself—and she hung up. Again.
She closed her eyes for a moment, stomach churning with worry. What if something had happened to him? He wasn’t invincible—the slashes on his chest and side flashed before her inner eye, his skin bathed in blood evidence of his mortality—and he didn’t exactly lead a life away from danger. Swallowing, she peered out the window, at the vivid colors of the sunset brushed across the sky.
What if there was another reason he’d disappeared on her? What if the run-in with her aunt had scared him off? Had reminded him that they came from different worlds, that the rest of her family would love nothing more than to see him dead
? That was a compelling reason to break things off. Dammit.
Could she blame him? It was his life on the line, after all. What guarantee could she give him that her family would leave him alone?
The shit had really hit the fan after she and Aunt Madhuri had gotten home last night. Her aunt had wasted no time spilling the beans to the rest of the family, and the craptastic screaming fest that had erupted right after had given Anjali a new level of tinnitus.
Her grandmother Nani Shobha—Elder witch and esteemed head of the Gupta family—had looked close to an apoplexy, her cousin Kiran had sported a curled lip, wrinkled nose, and “how-could-you-even” stare, her second cousin Jaya had covered her mouth with both hands—eyes wide—and hadn’t removed them again for the rest of the screaming match, and her dad… Anjali grimaced, cringing with the memory of her father’s look when he’d found out his only daughter was dating a demon.
No matter how secure she was in her feelings for Thorne, and how much she wished she didn’t care for her family’s approval of her romantic life, truth was it did mean a lot to her. What kind of life was it going to be if your closest relatives didn’t just not approve of your boyfriend, but even wanted to see him chained in the dungeon—or worse? She would never be able to bring Thorne over, because Nani Shobha would rather be caught prancing naked down the street in front of all other witch families before she’d change the protective wards around the house to allow a demon in.
Sighing, Anjali walked over to the window, looked out on the street now swathed in darkness except for the intermittent glow of the lamp posts in front of the houses. Why did it have to be this hard? Not even mentioning Merle’s example and arguing with the evidence of the other witch’s husband Rhun being a law-abiding part of their community had swayed her family’s opinion on the matter of Thorne.
After hours of heated discussion, Anjali had simply walked out on them all, slamming the door to her room behind her. The muffled sounds of their outrage over her behavior had continued to drift up to her as she’d lain on her bed, trying in vain to reach the demon she’d been defending to her family for the better part of the day.
