The Witch of the Prophecy

by Victoria Jayne

  Inhaling through her nose she allowed nature to fill her senses. Where the warm sun had baked her skin, an occasional cool breeze eased it. Grass tickled at the tops of her exposed feet. The scent of dry grass and earth wrapped her in a tight hug.

  Typically, the sort of meditation Divina practiced allowed her to connect with nature and soothed whatever ailed her. Unfortunately, the ache in her chest lingered. Resting wouldn’t ease it. Something else was at play; another thing out of her control.

  Ten futile minutes of meditation did nothing to ease the ache. If anything, it graduated from barely felt to mildly annoying. Rubbing her sternum, she refused to consider anything other than biology.

  “Acid reflux,” she said, making a mental note to get something to relieve it.

  Reluctant to open his eyes, Rori woke from his heavy daytime slumber haunted by the previous evening’s events. Every moment he thought he had found clarity was followed by a revelation or wrinkle that only served to cloud the waters once more.

  The witches had planned for him to come into Divina’s life. They had wanted him to show her the way of the witch. They told him to leave her.

  The idea had been to leave her vulnerable and in need. In her hour of need, she’d seek out her coven. She’d go to the Ember Witches for instruction and protection. They’d teach her, or so they all had hoped.

  Divina hadn’t followed through on the plan made without her knowledge.

  Rori broke her heart and his own for nothing. Lies and manipulations were his reward. Promises of a throne weren’t an actual throne. Nor was a chair worth what he had given up.

  Slow to get out of the bed, he ran his hands over the sheets. They hadn’t been changed since he and Divina had made love the other evening, so her scent clung to them. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend she laid next to him again. It felt like a lifetime ago that they’d shared the bed.

  Sighing, he glanced to the heavily curtained window. Though he couldn’t see it, he sensed the night was young. Witch blood had faded from his system, leaving him famished.

  With no interest in blood, he scrubbed his face with both hands. The gurgling of his stomach and the dry cracking of his throat indicated that, while he may not have an interest in blood, his body needed it. He had no choice when it came to feeding. To not feed meant weakness.

  Rori’s gaze drifted toward the bathroom door. Reminded of the shower, the last place Divina had been, he was tempted out of bed. The idea of her slick, naked body lathered just beyond that door caused the slow pump of his heart to skip a beat. Placing a hand over his chest, he closed his eyes wondering if she’d given him a gift or a curse.

  Hunger pangs stabbed through his gut, reminding him to feed. Another reason he needed to get out of bed. To keep his strength, he’d need to face the night.

  Even though he’d done it before, the idea of going out to face the dark world without Divina kept him in place. How could he go out there, drink, and play the part of a strong vampire when he’d squandered his chance at eternal love?

  He’d had what others dreamed of all their lives, and never got, no matter how many centuries they roamed the earth. Love had been in his grasp, and he’d let it slip over the promise of a fucking chair. That’s all it was, a gaudy—most likely—uncomfortable chair.

  The manipulative cunt witches dangled the power of an old antique in front of him and he caved. He’d given up Divina, his life of happiness, for a fucking velvet cushion. He’d have to go on without her because he’d been seduced by some old mortal hags.

  Or did he? The thought crept into his mind too easily.

  Choices. The word sprang into his mind like a bright beacon on a foggy night.

  Esmine had said he chose power over his mate. They may have pushed him in that direction, but he should have chosen Divina.

  Tiny tendrils of hope sprouted within him at the possibility he could rescind his previous choice. He could choose Divina. Thumbing his nose at the prophecy, meant he could have Divina. He didn’t really want to be emperor, anyway.

  Flinging the covers off himself, Rori swung his legs over the side of the bed and he sat up. Staring into the mirror, he locked eyes with his own image. His hair was a mess, skin graying slightly, and he felt cold. He’d need to do something about that.

  The question about his ability to rule popped into his head.

  In all the time he’d known of the prophecy and his role, he’d never questioned his ability to lead his kind, or all kinds. Chasing the throne since before Klaus met the sun, he’d taken the witches at their word and purposely ran into Divina. Rori had flirted with her and seduced her, all to do their bidding and to get himself on a throne.

  Doubting a throne was worth the pain he’d caused Divina and himself fueled him. The first time, he justified it because the witches said if he didn’t, the humans would find out about all the other kinds. All beings other than human would be persecuted, hunted, and tortured. Rori didn’t want that on his head.

  Now, though; now he wasn’t so sure. He could protect Divina from humans. He could whisk her away to some remote place. They could live out her days together. No one else mattered to Rori, just he and Divina. If the time came, he could change her. Rori’s heart once more skipped a lazy beat.

  Dismissing Esmine’s words of caution regarding the emptiness of a changed witch, Rori assured himself their love could fill any void. He’d be enough for her to feel whole. The chance at eternity with his Divina was worth any risk.

  Renewed hope filled Rori. He could have Divina.

  Let Perci have it. Let Selene take her seat at the witch table. Divina didn’t need a damn coven. She had done well all on her own. Plus, she hated the fucking witches. Rori hated the witches.

  He could have his Divina. Esmine confirmed it. It was his choice. He had the choice of the throne or his love. He picked his love. Damn it all to hell, he wanted his Divina.

  Chapter 34

  With the sun dripping, pink and purple hues painted the sky. Exhausted, Divina flung the old pickup into park when she pulled up to the vardo. After the long walk to civilization, she’d gotten a cab to get to the diner and her truck.

  With throbbing feet, she stood before her wagon. Waiting for the relief of being home to take hold, she inhaled deeply. It had once been a source of great pride for her. She closed her eyes waiting.

  Nothing.

  Opening her eyes she peered at the wagon as if it were a stranger. She had restored that thing as a way to connect to her roots. The roots Rori had said were hers. Now, it only reminded her of the sham the concept had turned out to be.

  Sure, she was a witch. That wasn’t the sham part. Rori was. Their love was. Or, well, her love for him was real, but his for her, that was manipulation. Either the witches had spelled him, too, or he had played her for a heartbeat. Both ideas turned her stomach

  She knew he was a bastard. She should have believed herself this time. Tears filled her eyes as the pain thumped in her chest. Since he walked into her life nothing had been authentic.

  Her emotions warred inside. Waffling from regret to anger to mourning, Divina didn’t know what to feel. It all manifested into the tendrils of ache coiling around her heart since she left Aric.

  Yanking open the door to the vardo, she scanned the inside. Never one for collecting things, she appreciated the minimalist nature of the tiny home. Stepping inside, she swiped at the tears on her cheeks.

  Lifting the mattress of her couch/bed, she pulled out a large bag. Stuffing all her clothing inside, she swallowed more tears, preventing them from falling. She went toward the cabinet, undid the bindings, and sorted through the herbs. She would need those.

  The only way to fight spells was with spells.

  Divina was a witch—that wouldn’t change. Practicing her craft was her priority. Everything else had to take a back seat.

  Everyone told her about the power within her. They talked of her potential. Well, she had every intention of developing that power. Thos
e bitches wouldn’t know what hit them.

  Taking a shopping bag, she emptied the herbs from the cabinet. The book Rori had given her sat on a shelf before her. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Pausing her frenzied packing, she lifted the book in both hands. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the scent of old pages and leather, and memories rattled through her threatening to fall, a new stream of tears.

  Biting them back, Divina flipped through the old pages and found the picture. The two of them were together, happy, and with blue tongues laughing at her. Frowning, heat plumed in her aching chest and filled her cheeks.

  There was a time she had pulled this picture out and felt sad at what she had lost.

  Taking the picture from the book, Divina regarded the two blue tongues and the happy couple. The temptation to tear the picture up, burn it, and rid herself of the memory forever coursed through her.

  Instead, she looked away and closed the book with her other hand, holding it by the spine. The picture fell from her fingers onto the floor to be forgotten. She planned on forgetting Rori and how she had been introduced to being a witch.

  She didn’t need to look back anymore. Divina needed to look forward. Forward didn’t include a coven or a vampire. Forward included Divina dictating her own life.

  After packing up the few belongings she needed, Divina left the wagon. Tossing the few bags into the cab of her truck, she climbed in the other side. Without looking back at her wagon, she closed the cab door. The past was done. No need to look upon it again.

  Her gaze fell on the large tome given to her by Josephine. The book from the Ember Witches would be her guide now. She would learn all she could from it.

  She’d take them down than by using their own secrets against them.

  Turning the key in the ignition, Divina shifted her attention forward. The sky darkened to blue and navy with the setting sun. She needed to get moving.

  Part of her believed Rori would come back. He had to. If he wanted the throne, he needed her. He needed her and the wolf. Well, he couldn’t have her. He made his choice. Now, she made hers.

  With the thought of the wolf, of Aric, her heart skipped. The pang of pain in her chest intensified. Rubbing her palm along her sternum offered no relief, yet she did it reflexively with each new ache. Gritting her teeth, she attempted to ignore the sensation.

  Pressing her foot on the clutch, she eased the truck into gear. She was through with people making choices for her. She’d decide on Aric in her own time. Bite or no bite, her life was hers alone.

  Turning out of the lot, she jammed down hard on the gas pedal. The roar of the engine gave her a thrill and the tears she had cried dried up. The excitement of forging on into uncharted territory replaced her grief with anticipation.

  Peeling out of the lot was like peeling away from her old life. Turning onto the road and going who knew where presented her with a world of opportunities. She had potential all right, and she sought to fulfill it all if for no other reason than to spite Rori and the fucking witches.

  Without a care where the road led, she forged on. The need to get away consumed her. She had to get out of New Orleans. Putting it all behind her and moving forward was more important than breathing.

  Fuck the prophecy. It wouldn’t dictate Divina’s life. Not anymore. It was Divina’s turn to do what was right for Divina.