“Are you still in contact with any…member of your family?” Josiah asked, eyes steady on hers. There was still a pleasant smile on his face, but something shifted enough in his tone for her to smile wider—and pretend harder.
“Not as we speak,” she spoke truthfully. “My sister’s dead and I have not communicated with my mother in years. It’s just me.”
Josiah seemed to like this answer. He nodded approvingly. “Splendid, splendid. Shall we go out and explore, then?”
Just as Lolita was about to stand up, Red raised her finger slightly. “I have one question.”
Josiah smiled encouragingly. “What is it?”
Red leaned forward. “Who is the real leader here, Josiah?”
She could sense more than see his smile freeze, and his wife sat back. There was a moment of charged silence, making Red’s inner-self tense a bit in preparation for an attack.
Then Josiah chuckled, sending a shiver down Red’s spine.
“That…you will find that out once you are truly immersed in our purpose, Miss Denver.”
She nodded her head, filing that away. Meaning her guess was right.
The real leader of this deadly coven was still invisible.
And she needed to find that person, and find her mother, before it was all too late.
*****
The tour they showed her took up most of the hour, as it was accompanied by more boring chatter and a display of the spells being practiced by the more experienced members of the coven. As it turned out, there was a narrow passage Red had missed, leading to another open area where most of the witches were now. No wonder the camp site itself had seemed empty.
She watched as they kept on with their spells, listened as Josiah explained that these were in preparation for the upcoming uprising they were planning. She didn’t need to ask where they were planning the uprising because everyone knew that both headquarters of their most hated creatures were in New York.
The question was when this would happen.
She was taken later to a different area where more recruits were sitting on chairs set up in the middle of the soiled ground, with a raised platform in front. Josiah excused himself as he stood onstage, welcoming them earnestly. She watched as he slowly weaved a tale of downtrodden and persecuted humans and witches, all because no one was brave enough to stand up for their rights and protect them.
Until now.
His charisma exuded in waves now, making Red believe that he was using his magic to enhance it and hypnotize the listeners. She could feel it in her bones, had to use her own magic to fight it, at the same time maintain a neutral expression.
After the speech, he then introduced his wife and his children—a girl and a boy who looked exactly like him, and would follow his footsteps in the future. Then the new recruits were asked to step into a so-called cleansing bonfire, where they told of their horrible encounters with the enemy and vowed their loyalty to the coven.
It was mesmerizing when those who passed the bonfire rejoiced.
It was also chilling when those who weren’t in it for real burned to ashes right in front of them, their screams echoing in the sky.
Red’s stomach heaved at the smell of burning flesh, but she pushed herself to stay still and watch every second. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Josiah sometimes watching her, excitement glinting in his eyes.
This was pure evil, right here.
Two hours later, she found she couldn’t take it anymore. As the proceedings went on, Red pretended to have a headache and excused herself, telling Lolita that she needed to have a nap to make up for her very long trip. She went back to her tent, fully expecting to find Henrik inside, impatient and demanding answers.
But the tent was empty.
The earlier man’s words flashed in her mind—then, the implication of what they did to those who weren’t on their side.
It wasn’t pretty.
Her eyes widened as she realized exactly where Henrik had been taken. Then she was running for it, fury and worry mixing in her until she wanted to vomit it all out.
No. God, no.
He didn’t have his strength to fight whatever they were doing, and it was all her fault.
She hoped she wasn’t too late.
CHAPTER TEN
When they first tried to lead him to the tent, Henrik had been calm at first. After all, there was nothing wayward or outwardly hostile with how the man was treating him, other than not really speaking to him at all. Half of him was maybe expecting some kind of aggressiveness soon, but the other half of him was confident that he was really just to wait for Red to return from her meeting with the leaders.
His instincts only kicked in when he felt a bag go over his head—and by then, it was too late as he felt something harder than Red’s earlier spell go down on his head and knock him out cold.
When Henrik woke up, he found himself in a prison cell inside the same tent he’d entered. The difference now was that he was in shackles, and it looked like it wasn’t over yet.
He was right.
Three men entered, including the scarred one who’d ushered them inside the coven. He wasn’t so neutral or nervous now as he eyed Henrik with both amusement and what looked like condemnation.
Before Henrik could say anything, much less stand up, the three strangers in robes entered the cell, just far out of his reach for him to do anything. He calmly asked them what they thought they were doing, eliciting no response as they merely stared at him. He tried to rattle the chains, but it held strong, and now he was starting to become angry at the indignity of this.
Then one of the men raised a hand, and an invisible whip came across his back that had him kneeling and bending at the sharp pain it caused. All indignity was forgotten as a second hand was raised, and another whip was sent his way.
And then it was raining whips, and Henrik had never felt pain like this.
He tried to shift, as instinct dictated by nature to defend himself against the assault. But nothing happened, and a certain frustration welled up inside him that made him dig his nails in the sand to brace himself for more whippings to come.
Then a voice appeared, clear as day and fiercely angry.
“Who gave you the authority to hurt my prisoner?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Henrik saw the man who was in awe of her slip out of cell and bow at her with a glint in his eye.
“Miss Denver, I treated your prisoner to what he deserves—”
“What’s your name?”
He hesitated. “Jericho.”
She stepped forward, and he could see her now—head barely reaching Jericho’s shoulder, but head held high as she looked him frostily in the eye.
“You will release my prisoner right now, or you will know the wrath of Red Denver.”
It seemed like the tent dropped temperature as a certain kind of hush filled the air. Henrik realized later that this was fear, pure and basic, rendering his assaulters frozen in place.
“I’m giving you five minutes,” she snapped.
Then she was out of the tent and leaving him alone, without even glancing in his direction. Not more than a minute later after the tent flap closed, he found his shackles removed—but for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to get his limbs working to attack them as pain radiated in every part of his body.
Two arms dragged him out of his prison cell, then towards the same flap Red had exited from. He could see trickles of his own blood on the ground, trailing after him and drying like dark etches on the soil. Then he was outside, and the harsh sunlight was directly in his face as he tried to get his bearings back.
Red took hold of his arm, yanking him with her. The movement had pain radiating down his muscles, but he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.
“Your man Jericho tried to hurt my plaything,” she announced, her voice like liquid fire in its fury. “There is something I don’t like about that, Josiah.”
A handsome man in his thirties st
epped forward to make assuring noises. “It’s all a mistake, Miss Denver. We do apologize. We have plenty of slaves to accommodate your needs—”
“What I need is this one. I’ve already pre-programmed him to fulfill my every desire, and I don’t want anyone messing with that. Understood?”
The man named Josiah hesitated, almost doubtful. “Desire?”
Red smiled slowly, like a creepy Cheshire cat. “Let me show you.”
She yanked on Henrik’s arm again, slowly this time. Henrik found himself slowly facing her, their eyes meeting as more witches came, surrounding them. There was a gentle nudge from her magic, though her eyes never changed in its casual arrogance.
This was an act, and the next words out of her mouth confirmed it.
“Henry?”
He tilted his head in question.
“Kiss me right now. Make it the best.”
Shock filled his system at what she was requesting. There were some gasps from the crowd, but they both ignored it as they locked eyes on each other, each saying quietly what couldn’t be said with words.
This had to be done.
He felt the gentle nudge of her magic again, not necessarily an order but more of a pleading.
It said something along this line: please, don’t mess this up.
She needed to find her mother.
He needed to find Malik’s killer.
And so they had no choice in the matter.
Without allowing himself to think it over or to analyze the consequences—knowing they had barely enough time before suspicion gripped them like a vicious claw—Henrik stepped forward.
Then he pulled her towards him and placed his mouth on hers.
There was a loud roaring in his head, brought about either by the lashing given to him or the absurdness of the situation they were in—and the danger of it, visible in every corner and just waiting to strike at any wrong movement. It didn’t matter. She stilled at his initial touch, then perhaps realized that doing so was not the kind of action everyone watching expected.
That was when Red opened her mouth and accepted the kiss wholeheartedly.
Something inside him pounded, and later on, he realized it was his blood beating a primitive sound. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, an action that needed no consent in this day of seizing the moment.
Her taste exploded in his mouth, a combination of the coffee she had for breakfast, something minty and her essential taste itself. It roared through his head, seeped into his senses like a slow touch igniting something deep inside.
His hands moved to bring her closer as he deepened the kiss—as he all but assaulted her mouth, drowning in the heat she provided.
She was instant fire, and he was drowning in it.
And he wanted more.
Dimly, he heard warning bells in his head, even while his primitive instincts demanded more of her taste. His mind supplied him with images of what kind of more he wanted: limbs tangled, his mouth drifting all over pale skin, hearing her moan in surrender at every touch.
It was like a douse of cold water, even while they kept kissing. He felt her pull back first, her breath catching in her throat like a sexy little sound before he finally saw her face.
Gray eyes swirled with shock before she smoothed her expression into one of smug satisfaction. That was the expression she presented to the crowd as she nodded at them.
“As you can see, I have complete control over a shifter who obviously hates me,” she intoned. “And it is the most wonderful feeling in the world, I tell you—to be able to control and make a useless creature do anything you want.”
Josiah, who had been speechless throughout the spectacle, finally cleared his throat and spoke. “But he’s a weak shifter. I’m not sensing any power here.”
Red raised a brow. “And how do you think that happened?”
Silence.
Then realization hit the crowd, and murmurs arose. Josiah stepped forward, his face serious.
“Are you telling me it’s possible to…take away their strength and control them?”
Red smirked. “Like a puppet. And I can teach your recruits how.”
The murmurs grew louder, even while Lolita called a hush as Josiah thought this over. A minute of suspense floated in the air, emphasizing every clamp of Henrik’s muscle as pain singed in his nerves.
Then Josiah smiled, holding out both hands in a warm gesture.
“Welcome to the coven, Miss Denver.”
“Call me Red, please,” she responded, almost cheerfully.
Then she was dragging Henrik towards her tent and making a wonderful show of being rough—an action he felt deep in his bones.
*****
Once the tent was secure, and he felt her brand of magic shifting subtly in the air, he collapsed on the ground and tried to stifle the groan from coming out. His head swam with images, then blankness, as he felt dizziness take hold and blur every bit of his senses.
He felt more than heard her voice, gently whispering that everything was going to be all right.
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, she kept saying.
Then he was taken under by a spell that felt like a soothing lullaby.
When Henrik woke up later, there was no more sun, as they were enveloped by the darkness of night. He was still inside the tent, but in bed this time, surrounded by blankets and a dim light from an unknown source. The silence outside determined that everyone was asleep. A quick flex of limbs made him realize that the pain was now gone—all of it, and only magic could do that.
Her magic.
A glance at his side revealed Red beside him, sound asleep. He gazed at her profile for a long time, at the lashes that curled above her cheeks and her steady, rhythmic breathing.
His hand itched to touch. In response, Henrik fisted it determinedly. Close quarters and too many revelations were bringing emotions to the surface, and he knew this instinct to protect her was only brought on by the guilt of how he treated her before.
Never again.
He stared at the ceiling. They still had a long way to go.
And it wasn’t going to be easy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The coven welcomed them like they had been members for years—or rather, they welcomed her, and treated him with a certain kind of tolerance that was only out of fear of her. Red was fine with that because it meant they left him alone. Any attention on him, however brief, always made her nervous, especially after what happened when she’d turned around and left him alone.
She vowed to herself it would never happen again—and so wherever she went, he went too, until there was no such thing as personal space anymore and they simply had to live with it. Despite the act, there were still a few questioning glances thrown their way, some of which Red tried to deflect as much as possible.
Josiah was among those.
The coven leader was more subtle at it than most, covering it with charming smiles and pleasant talk. He really was a smooth-talker, sometimes making Red forget the bigger picture and thinking he was just a nice, affable guy.
But of course, he wasn’t.
During the day, Josiah made it his personal goal to have her meet the new recruits, giving her the floor to teach them the basics of attacking. Because she didn’t know any complicated spells, she taught them how she worked her magic—the use of the flow and how to direct it properly. Josiah had wanted to start with the mind and body control, but Red had firmly refused, saying it was an advanced method and starting prematurely would kill the power host right away.
“You can’t teach them that,” Henrik muttered to her when everyone was preoccupied. “Those attack skills will be our undoing. You can’t—”
“I don’t have any choice,” she muttered back, careful to keep her gaze serene. “It’s basic stuff. They’ll know about it eventually.” At one of the recruit’s fumbling, Red walked over and forced herself to look the boy coldly in the eye.
“Do you want to die, boy?”
He was a teenager, just around fifteen, and the way he trembled didn’t sit well with Red. He tried the basic attack once more, still fumbling. Red moved even closer to reprimand him once more—
Thud.
The boy was down, bleeding on the ground. Jericho stood beside him, entirely pleased with himself. He kicked the boy in the stomach, making Red’s own stomach lurch.
“Stop that right away,” she intoned, trying to remove any hint of desperation in her voice. Instead, she coated her words with ice, and Jericho’s eyes flickered with nerves. “Do not interrupt me when I’m teaching.”
“Don’t mind him,” Josiah said from behind. “He's just imparting a lesson to weaklings.”
“That is not the kind of lesson I want to impart,” she said easily. “But suit yourself. It would perhaps do them good in the end.”
She forced herself to turn around and not look back, even while her own words horrified her.
“Henry, let's go,” she purred belatedly.
Henrik vibrated with disapproval, but he didn’t say a word as he followed her.
During the night, the leader couple gathered with the tenured members by the campfire, and most of them questioned the idea of having Henry there with them. Some said it made them uncomfortable. But Red refused to budge, not wanting to put him in the tent without her, especially in the dark, when people like Jericho existed. So she gave them her practiced sly smile, and told them they had nothing to worry about at all.
There was a particular witch named Ruby, whose appeal reminded her of Mya, who took a particular interest in him.
“Well, since he’s here and all,” Ruby said just as slyly, red hair curling around her face, “Why don’t you make him perform…tricks?”
Red stiffened, but told herself to relax. She felt everyone’s eyes on her, and knew she had to ask. “What trick?”
Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know. Sit. Stay.” A smile. “Please the women.”
There was no hiding which woman Ruby was referring to, considering she was already eyeing Henrik as if he was a tasty morsel. Ruby had a reputation—that of luring men into her tent and using blades and blood to get a rise out of them.
Dragon: The Clan Legacy Series Page 45
