by Jamie Magee
“Your boy is down the hall. It would be right for you to attend to him,” Thrash said turning his attention back to the fire that was now vibrating the room. Thrash was sure it would explode at any moment and all but willed the supernatural force to take him with it. The pain had to be far easier to bear than standing this close to his female.
When he took a step closer once again, she said, “Let it go.”
When Thrash ignored her, a wall of what looked like water appeared between him and the fire. With a growl, he turned to face Evanthe head on, a move he regretted as soon as he did. This female could stop any male in his tracks with her otherworldly beauty. Her eyes were so rich and deep as they peered into him, her hair was just as thick and long, doused in waves he could get lost in. And her lips, God those lips, there wasn’t a softer thing in the universe; they were the sweetest pink, full and begging to be tasted.
“Female, you and I have words that need to be spoken, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather discuss them as soon as I discern whether are not we are all about to implode.”
Her gaze trickled over his stern expression. “You’re angry with me.”
Thrash’s upper lip twitched, “The understatement of the century.”
“I have never had a choice in my life, you of all people should understand...”
“Understand what?”
“You know the curse and blessing of the seventh.”
Thrash swore under his breath as he glanced back to the growing threat behind the wall of water she had put up between them and the fire. The better part of him said this was all an illusion. He had drifted to sleep, and this was one of many unsatisfying bouts with Evanthe. In his Zen, they had fought out her hiding Sebastian’s existence from him a thousand times over, not once had she mentioned him being a seventh son.
In today’s era, the title meant little, basically nothing. In his time it was more, so much more. If there was one trait Thrash had picked up from Talon and Reveca, it was to move on, change with the times or die with them. What his birth order had been in Thrash’s mortal life was the last thing on his mind when he discovered he, a man without a life, had a child.
“If you’re trying to tell me you were protecting him, I’m sure you could come up with a more straightforward way of insulting me.”
“It wasn’t about you,” Evanthe said through gritted teeth, the fierceness he loved so much was shifting to the surface. “Your children are weapons. Zale would have killed them. The seventh is one of the few powers he feared.”
Everyone focuses on the seventh, the magic and power they have. In truth, all the sons carry a power unique to them, unexplainable and divine, a foreshadowing of all that the seventh will have. Thrash had never seen his brothers use their gifts, he was too young. What good were they anyway? None of them survived much past Thrash’s birth. No matter how volatile the world was then, they should’ve as far as Thrash was concerned. Sometimes, he’d pretend they had. It’s not like their bodies ever came home, only word and effects of theirs.
“It’s all myth, Evanthe. And if you think for a second I fucking fear Zale, you don’t know me at all.”
“It is you that knows nothing,” Evanthe said losing her anger. “Some I forced you to forget, most you did on your own.”
“I should’ve known of him,” Thrash roared.
“Of only him?” Evanthe asked bracing herself for his ire.
What the fuck did she mean by that? Thrash’s thoughts said as his body stopped him from stepping forward.
No, no...he did not like that look in her eye at all...
Chapter Three
Evanthe eyed the wall of water; her powers had taken most of the warning sensations away. The roar the fire had when it took on a life of its own was hardly noticeable, even to immortal senses. The vibration of its power and the stones falling apart under the fire could be felt, but easily explained away when one took the time to discern whose roof they were under and how many beings of power were lurking now.
She’d meant to distract Thrash, let the war spoil rise, and then beseech him to look beyond who he was today and to who he was born to be. She should’ve known it would never be that easy. This male complicated the air itself. He added so much charge to the gravity around him that any fool could feel the rush of awareness grab their attention when he was anywhere close.
It was worse for Evanthe, far worse. Even though Jamison had warned her how painful her approach to this warrior would be, Evanthe didn’t care. She had been waiting too long and day by day the windows away from her twin brother Zale were growing smaller and smaller. In time he’d sense the power in the air too when he paid her one of his unexpected visits, he’d end her happiness before it ever had a chance to plant a seed.
Zale had hunted Evanthe’s elusive lover, a seventh son, since he was a boy, only five years of life. He didn’t care for their parents to speak of the great man with wondrous power gained by birthright who would take his sister from him. He needed her. Twins were a gift from the Gods and to each other, opposite in every way. When in agreement, few could withstand any power play they made. The magic was too defined, too balance.
Most think Reveca’s power was the jolt that landed them all in Gaia, that if she hadn’t decided at the last moment, she would put forth any effort as the witches fled their homeland they never would’ve made it. Evanthe knew they would. Gaia, the young, untested dimension was where the roots of the Rapture would be tested, where they would stand strong. The written word said it was the land Queens would be born upon. It was the land where the impossible would become possible. Heaven and hell would be so close no one could gauge the difference of where they stood as they moved from town to town.
All of it was true.
The written had said more, a story Evanthe had known since before she could remember. Her prince was there, no force, not even the end of times, could keep her from him. The words, no matter how short or long they may have been, could never explain how rich and painful the love affair would be. They could never express the sacrifice...
“Female,” Thrash rasped no longer worried about what the fire was hiding, or rather bringing to life. “What did you say to me?”
More than she should, more than he was ready to hear. She wanted to be there when he met Bastion for the first time, she dreamed of every emotion she’d see across his face. Of course, in those dreams Bastion was a babe, then a little boy, and now so close the stance of a man that all boyhood was gone. He went from a glorious secret; the symbol of a long fought war won, to a secret—a trick a witch used to toy with the brusque biker.
“Zale is someone to be feared,” she managed.
Thrash’s anger consumed his expression. “Not to me.”
“Now you say so when you think he’s harmless.”
“I would’ve said so any day of the fucking week from the time I knew who he was until this day and beyond.”
So many unsaid words rested between them, just as many on his side as hers. When she first approached him, he was too depressed to understand his power, it was much the same year after year. All those moments were hidden now. A slash Zale had used against Evanthe made it so, a simple spell—words uttered in possessive jealousy— was all it took to blind Thrash to Evanthe.
All would’ve been lost if it were not for a violet-eyed Voyager who sealed time, protecting the most precious moments from ever being erased from existence. His actions ensured there was always a chance to restore the moments in Thrash’s mortal life he had forgotten. They also ensured that if Zale ever did discover Thrash was more than a wealthy warrior from a strong bloodline and chose to stop him before he ever began, he’d have no way to do so.
The time traveler asked for a simple payment for his actions, “When you find me once more, long from this day in the heat and stench of the swamp, make me well, then leave me be...”
It wasn’t hard to wonder why he’d want such a thing; the knowledge rested in his soul was more valu
able than any nation. He had stroked the course of the war with his power all the while knowing at its climax he would be blind. Or was he?
Evanthe had watched Shade closely since the day GranDee pulled him from the swamp, and they both worked to save him, in the end having no choice but to seek Reveca to pull him back to life. There were times when she saw the man she knew in his eyes, her savior, far more when she didn’t.
Saving Shade was a debt Evanthe owed Reveca, saving Thrash was another. Zale had never laid eyes on the male Evanthe adored. He’d heard rumors of him, across the globe, there was little he could do to hinder Evanthe. Still, he managed to employ a spy to steal a garment from Thrastion’s family home, after Zale created his spell he sent his spies toward Evanthe and her happiness, have him drink this...
The coven stepped in, they clouded the perceptions, muddied the truths. When it was over, no one could explain to another soul who Thrastion was, or where his bloodline reached. The coven stole his fame, but they saved his life, and when he did fall on the battlefield Talon ensured he was brought back. A man, a new life, a new everything...
It was centuries later when Zale came to Evanthe enraged. He’d never been known to be one to let any conflict go unanswered, much less forgotten. It had taken him time, and more than likely hostile trips back in time with his Voyager prisoners leading the way, but he’d found Thrastion’ family home, he’d read of his power. Incensed he spilled her blood and called forth the darkest of magic, its purpose was to find this mortals seed, to destroy it.
The spell had no hope of working, but Evanthe let herself think of the possibility of its success, the tears spilled as her heart broke, both actions giving Zale reason to believe he was right all along. Evanthe endured the mystical beating to the point where her abolishment from the Gaia realm was eminent. Jamison and Saige arrived not a second too soon. Others from the coven were not far behind. Zale was imprisoned, persecuted. To this day Evanthe is sure Zale didn’t believe Evanthe was as blameless as she claimed to be, and rightly so. The written word promised his twins sisters greatest works would be created in darkness, would thrive there, and once unveiled would be an unstoppable power.
Evanthe looked down at the vile in her trembling hands. “Would you take this,” she asked Thrash.
“Poison me? Really? Do you not think I’m not sick enough, have endured enough.” Thrash said with a quick glance to the fire behind the wall of water, something was there, something was rushing to surface, one breath he thought to stop it, the next he only wanted to make sure it safely rose in one piece.
“It is rosemary oil,” Evanthe said calmly.
Thrash chuckled. “Female, I need no oil to help me remember my agony. My mind could not be any sharper than it is, under threats, I thrive.” Everyone knew rosemary was the one a powerful element to protect the mind.
“Do you remember the maiden who you met at your mother’s table when you were sixteen, the weeks after?”
Thrash scowled. There was little he chose to remember about his mother. She was a fine woman, brilliant and strong. Not a single flaw Thrastion could recall. What he did recall was his family home burning, all of it, the lands around and the stone itself fell into rubbish. His mother perished with it. The towns far and wide blamed witches for it, said the seventh fell at their hand.
All lies, Thrash was nowhere near his home but leading one of Talon’s legions. Talon was a man Thrash admired when he was mortal, looked to as a brother. Thrash never questioned Talon’s ability to stand strong on the battlefield, or how quick and powerful he was. To Thrash, he was the one warrior out there who could keep up with him.
Once home, faced with the end of an era and wretched rumors Thrastion had little choice but to try and break free from Talon, everyone knew his woman was a witch. It wasn’t hard to wonder where the witch rumors had come from. Even though Thrash knew Talon had Reveca in his control far more times than she was able to sway him, if he stayed, his family name would be stained for all of time.
“You’ve lost your home,” Reveca said to him one night as Talon shadowed her. “Why lose the family you have now?”
“It is their honor I must protect.”
Reveca glanced back to Talon who shrugged. “His father passed, as well as warrior brothers, his mother was all he had.”
How many brothers Thrash had was something Reveca was never told, not by Thrash anyway. He didn’t like the way people looked at him when they knew. His father’s influence over their town had kept the number of his sons as unspoken knowledge, especially after he only claimed the living ones when the years went on.
Somehow, Thrash knew Talon was aware of who he was, there was a look in his eyes that said as much. Thrash had been an immortal for longer than he could recall when Talon did finally ask him if his blood was as pure as Talon had assumed when Thrash nodded, Talon grinned. “Aye, that is why the witch is entranced by you...” he was speaking of Evanthe. A statement that proved to be more false than true, Evanthe wasn’t taken by anyone.
“And if I were to take these rumors away, if I were to erase the pain, where would you be then?” Reveca had asked.
It was never wise to barter with a witch, every fool knew so...
Thrash was just a boy, hardly seventeen with no family and no home, wisdom was a gift he still lacked.
“In return for?” he asked.
“Fight with our legions,” Reveca said easily. She grinned slowly. “You have a beauty about you, a grace,” she glanced to Talon. “He asked for nothing, but he’s asked for your peace.”
Thrash stared long and hard then finally offered a shallow nod. As the next days went by the rumors faded, then no one spoke of his family at all. There were nights when he questioned if they were ever real.
Thrash’s only desire was for his family name to be pure and restored...the trick he never saw coming from the witches was that the only way a family could ever remain pure was for them to never exist. He thought of fighting the outcome, but in the end, it was easier to seek a death on the battlefield, a death that turned into a new life, one where it was best his bloodline was forgotten.
The maiden at his mother’s table? Were there not always maidens at his mother’s table? Most were his brothers’ widows, females who looked at him like a blossoming rose they were just waiting to come of age. There were others, sure.
Thrash’s hard stare bore into Evanthe telling her whoever she was speaking or accusing him of having relations with didn’t even make a ding in his loosely jogged memory.
“How about the nurse who found you at seventeen and stitched the slash on your calf?” Evanthe asked.
Thrash was not tracking this convo. A nurse? Is that what she was calling those scared girls in the villages who would sew flesh like it was a new throw for the bed? Any time a nurse was near Thrash he could assure you he was out of his mind drunk, he never went to any healer unless the pain was stopping him from going back to the fields and finding a faster way to die. The spirits were the pain relievers of the day.
Again, not his fault if he hooked up with one of them. And for fuck’s sake why would Evanthe care? It’s not like she knew him then, he was a weak immortal.
“Or the maiden at dinner when you were eighteen, the trip you took home just to see if it were true—and your family was nothing more than a distant memory.
If it was a trip home, then he was for sure not at fault, every female wanted a shot at him, not for his panty-dropping good looks, money, or bloodline, but for the shot at being strong enough to carry seven sons, the greatest of honors in those days.
“How about the barmaid whose shop was not far from your legions camp, you met her when you were nineteen leading the Southern siege for Talon’s great war. Perhaps you recall the blacksmith’s daughter you met when you picked your horses up when you were twenty, the night after.” Evanthe stepped forward. “Do you remember the girl who snuck into your tent when you were twenty-one and begged you not to fight Reveca’s battle, begged yo
u to stay back...was that not the last night of your immortal life?”
Thrash tossed another concerned glanced to the fire and the power he felt swelling within it then moved his hard stare back to her. “I can’t say that I do, witchling. If you intend to stand there and point out every female I may or may not have rutted over my life all in the name of calling me an unworthy son of a bitch, I’d just assume fast-forward to the end so I can point out no matter how I may have treated females now and again, I didn’t deserve what you did to me.”
“Please,” Evanthe said reaching the oil toward him.
Thrash eyed her then the bottle, “What is this about...” he asked as a pit in his gut started to twist.
Evanthe walked toward him with the exact royal grace that had always made him feel unworthy to even look at her. “Inside you know,” she said serenely.
Not liking were a lick of this was going Thrash stepped back; some things were better left unknown. For months, he had gone out of his way to see Evanthe as the saint the rest of the Boneyard knew her to be, to see her through the eyes of their son, a good woman with the best of intentions at heart. Hell, yes. He was pissed at her, but there was a wide line between being angry and hurt by someone to putting them on an unforgivable list. He could not bear the idea of Evanthe ever being someone he had to call an enemy.
“I’d rather hear it from you than remember whatever shit you’ve pulled on my own,” he said trying not to sound as vulnerable as he felt.
Evanthe stopped just before him, noted his heaving chest, how intense his eyes were, all signs that he was wholly there with her, taken by her. “I set out to do nothing on purpose, nothing that would hurt you. I was honest with you from the beginning. We had plans...”
“Did we,” he snapped. Not once could he recall her ever committing to him. “I recall it differently. I recall you cleaning up your brother’s messes and making a sport of running from me every time it became real between us.”
