Dakota angrily walked back to his car and then drove to his house. It was a long commute to the academy every day, but after his dad was killed, he’d moved back home. He would never have left his mother in his childhood house alone.
Especially not with Mitch still living next door.
She sat at the kitchen table looking through old photo albums when he entered the house.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, hi, Dakota.” She shut the album quickly and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I'm sorry; I wasn’t expecting you home for another hour or so. How was the party?”
“Boring.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “How are you?”
“I'm fine, honey. I just wanted to see his face before I went to bed. How are you doing?”
“Sober. If that’s what you were worried about.”
“Dakota, I know you would never drive drunk, so no, that’s not what I was worried about.”
“I'm fine, Mom.” He did his best to hide the anger in his voice. Lately, it was rare for him to feel anything but anger.
She nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I'm gonna head to bed. Early morning.”
“Are you sure you should be going back to work?”
“I need some kind of normalcy, Dakota.” Her voice caught on emotion, so she cleared her throat. “I can’t keep sitting around here every day waiting for him to come home.” Her eyes filled, and she covered her face as her shoulders shook.
Dakota knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her.
The sound of sirens pierced the night, and Dakota raced to the window. Three police cruisers and an ambulance pulled into the driveway at the Carter residence, and both Dakota and his mother raced out to the front yard.
When he saw them wheel in a stretcher, his heart stopped, and it was as if time stood still. He held his breath and could hear nothing but the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.
Had they found Ana? Had she come back?
Or worse, had she never left?
His stomach twisted and bile rose in his throat. He and his mom stood in their front yard for what felt like hours until the first responders came back out.
They watched in horror as a body bag was wheeled out the front door. “Oh no!” his mom exclaimed, then covered her mouth with her hands.
Dakota’s stomach twisted, and for a moment it was as if he could see her lying there. Broken by a man she should have been able to trust. He swallowed his fear and ran for the nearest officer. “Who is it?”
“It’s not Anastasia, Dakota,” the man replied. He’d worked with Dakota’s father, so it was no mystery who Dakota thought it might be.
Mitch stepped outside. “Monica.” He growled angrily. He’d known it was only a matter of time before Mitch killed someone, and he felt guilty that he was relieved it wasn’t Ana.
“I’ve got to head to the station.” The officer nodded toward Dakota’s mother, who was standing with her arms wrapped around herself.
Mitch stepped from the house, grief plastered on his face for anyone to see, but Dakota saw through it, and when Mitch turned to smile toward him, Dakota promised himself that if the murdering son of a bitch didn’t go down for this, then one day he was going to bring the bastard down for good.
19
Terrenia
Anastasia
Days turned into weeks, and before Anastasia knew it, she was back to training. Tony had taken over for Gregory, since he was still not speaking to anyone. He stayed locked in his room, drowning his pain in Terrenian whiskey… something she desperately wished she could justify doing.
But she didn’t have time. Anastasia was determined to become faster and stronger, paving the way to her revenge. Maybe then Gregory might be able to find it in his heart to forgive her.
The last time she’d laid eyes on him was at the funeral. It had ripped her apart to see the villagers saying goodbye to a woman who meant so much to them. A woman who had begun to mean so much to her.
Tony took a seat beside her on the steps to the training cottage. “You’re doing well.”
Despite the fact that he was twice her age, he was strong and fast, and an opponent who didn’t hold back. It was also nice not having to worry he was going to snap and kill her.
Whenever she sparred with Maximus, there was always warning bells going off in her head.
“Thanks.” She took a drink from her canteen and nearly groaned as the cold water slipped down the back of her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she rose to her feet.
“Anastasia.” Tony touched her shoulder gently, and she turned to face him. “You have to let go of the anger.”
She remembered Gregory telling her that as well, only now it felt as if their conversation had been a lifetime ago rather than mere weeks.
“What happened was not your fault,” he continued.
“How can you say that? I was there, Tony. I didn’t move fast enough. I should have charged the second I got into the house, but instead, I froze. I always freeze,” she added angrily, thinking back to all the times in her childhood she didn’t stand up for herself.
He folded his big arms. “Then you would both be dead. They were going to kill her. They wanted you both, but because you were smart, you managed to not only single-handedly take down a Brute, but also made it out alive.”
“Barely. Had you not shown up when you did, I would be dead, too.”
“It still counts.”
“Gregory hates me.” The tears burned in the back of her throat, but she refused to let them fall.
“He does not,” Tony assured her. “He could never hate you, Anastasia. You are all the family he has left.”
“Annabelle was his family. I’m just some girl he brought through a portal. I’m supposed to be some big prophesized hero, and yet all I seem to do is bring pain to those around me.”
“You are foolish if you believe that, and you and I both know you aren’t a fool.” He turned back toward the training cottage. “Now, go home and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Anastasia headed down the path that led home. The villagers were working steadily to get the fence finished, and it was nearly completed.
She stopped just before the last turn in the path and stared up at the fading sun. What was Dakota doing right now? She closed her eyes tightly, wishing that he were beside her. She could use his support, although she wasn’t sure even he would recognize the person she was becoming.
“Pondering your life? Or your guilt?” Maximus’s voice cut through the quiet, and she opened her eyes to stare into his arrogant face. His eyes, if possible, seemed even colder than they ever had before.
She rolled her eyes and started to step around him since he blocked the way to her house, but he moved and stepped in front of her again. She turned to head back toward Tony, but stopped. Maximus’s two friends, Alastair and Sebastian, blocked her path.
“Where are you going? Have someone else you want to get killed?” Maximus asked with a smirk.
“What do you want, Maximus?”
“Oh, see Al, Seb, and I were just wondering how it was you slept at night knowing you ruined the lives of the only people who took pity on you. You deserved what you got growing up,” he snarled.
She tightened her fists. He was looking for a fight, but she’d be damned if she gave him one. “Please. Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” she spoke through gritted teeth.
He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. “Make me.”
She tried to move past him, but he blocked her again, and Anastasia felt something inside her building, growing as the anger surged through her. There was a flash of light, and Anastasia slammed him to the ground. She straddled him and pressed the blade of her sword against his throat. A tiny trickle of blood crept down his throat, and she watched it with fascination.
Maximus’s eyes were wide in his pale face.
“You should be afraid,” she growled. “Do you have anything el
se you want to say to me?” she asked, letting the blade creep across his throat. One little push and she could end his miserable existence.
The power of her strength crept through her veins, and she absorbed it like a drug.
She wasn’t sure why, but Dakota’s face came to her mind. She wondered what he would think if he saw her right now, and the thought of him pulled her back to reality.
“You have no right to speak of Annabelle or of Gregory, and you have no idea what the fuck it is you are talking about. Maybe you should learn to keep your mouth shut.” She sheathed her sword and got to her feet to finish her walk home.
As the cabin came into view, she heard footsteps behind her, and she spun, expecting a fight. Gregory stood behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. She studied the lines of grief etched all over his face. Youthfulness was ripped away from him when his wife died. His beard had grown tremendously and now came down to his collarbone. His hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, and he wore dark pants with a gray robe.
“You almost killed him.” They were the first words he had spoken to her since Annabelle’s death, and the pain in them felt like a punch to her stomach.
“I know.” The guilt began to settle in, but the fact that Gregory might be disappointed in her was what hurt the worst.
“You did well.”
Anastasia’s jaw dropped slightly. She’d expected him to scold her, to tell her she shouldn’t fight with anger. Anything but condone her actions.
The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “He taunted you. He had no right to say what he did.” The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “You had every right to attack, and while I am mildly disappointed that you allowed your anger to take over, I am proud that you were able to get it under control, especially under the circumstances.” He walked past her, and she followed him into the cottage. “I am sorry that I have not been reachable.” He rubbed his hand over his face.
“You don’t need to apologize. I'm the one responsible. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”
“Oh, Anastasia, is that what you think?” His eyes filled with tears, and he touched her face gently. “Oh, child, what happened is not your fault. Annabelle would not want you to blame yourself, and neither do I. They would have killed her whether you had given yourself over or not. Only then, I would have lost you both.” He turned to stare out the window. “I should have been here for you. I’ve been so wrapped up in my loss that I didn’t pay attention to the fact that you lost someone too. I know that you cared for Annabelle, and you must know that she loved you. You were so much more to her than you know, Anastasia. To both of us.”
“Gregory, I—”
“What did you feel?” he interrupted.
“Feel?”
“Right before you attacked Maximus, what did you feel?”
“Anger.”
“What else?”
She thought back. She had been so angry. Angry for what happened, for what the bastard had said, and for the fact that she believed it. But looking back on it now, it hadn’t been only anger that she had felt. She'd felt power, a sort of humming building in her veins.
“I felt powerful.”
He nodded and turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “As if you had control over everything at that moment, and yet… no control at all.”
She nodded.
“It’s time for bed now. You will start training with me again in the morning.”
He headed for his room. Once in the doorway, he stopped and turned. “If you need to talk to me, Anastasia, please do. I will do my best to be here for you from now on.” Gregory disappeared into his room, and the door shut gently behind him.
20
Anastasia
“Where’s Maximus?” Anastasia asked as she entered the training room.
Gregory opened the windows to let some fresh air fill the musty space, then turned to face her. “Maximus will no longer be training with us.”
“Why not?” A small twinge of guilt wrapped itself around her heart.
“He was a nuisance,” Gregory said it so nonchalantly that Anastasia’s guilt began to grow.
“If this is about yesterday, Gregory, I attacked him first.”
“Because he cornered you. Anastasia, violence is not something that should be taken lightly. You shouldn’t enjoy causing someone pain. Maximus enjoyed it, and I will not be responsible for training a monster. Truthfully, I should have stopped working with him a long time ago.”
She opened her mouth to argue with him, but stopped herself. Gregory was right. Since the day she met Maximus, he’d done everything he could to antagonize her into fighting.
Still, he would only harbor an even larger grudge against her now.
Gregory moved to stand in front of Anastasia, and she began unsheathing her sword.
“No, leave it. We are going to try something new today.”
Confused, she removed her hand from her sword and watched him. Something was different, he looked almost excited.
There was a small light in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since Annabelle died.
“Last night you said that you sensed power.”
“Yes, well, it’s hard to explain.”
“Do you recall how you ended up on top of Maximus? How you were able to take him down and have your sword pressed to his throat before either Alastair or Sebastian could get to you?”
She thought back for a moment. “No, I guess I just saw red. He had been taunting me, and the next thing I knew, I had him pinned.”
“You used magic.”
“Magic,” she repeated.
Gregory nodded.
“I don’t have any magic.” What he was saying was crazy. Wasn’t it?
“We are who we are, Anastasia. Dismissing it will do you no good. In fact, I would venture to guess you’ve been using it your entire life. Haven’t you ever made anything happen before? Something that makes no logical sense? When you were angry, perhaps?”
Anastasia thought back to all the strange things Mitch had blamed her for over the years. The books falling from shelves, plates breaking whenever she’d been angry. How the night he’d nearly killed her, she’d somehow managed to throw him away from her.
“I see in your eyes that you know what I’m talking about.”
“But you told me that your magic was hereditary. Neither of my parents had any.”
His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened. “There is so much more to you than you know, Anastasia. I watched you from the beginning to the end of your confrontation with Maximus. I know what I saw, and you are going to have to accept it.”
“From the beginning?” His admission shocked her. She knew he had seen the end of it, but how had he been watching her the entire time?
“I have followed you home from Tony’s every night. I had to make sure you were safe.” He closed his eyes and turned around to face the desk. “I couldn’t lose you, too.” He almost whispered the words. “I just couldn’t face you after what happened.”
“Gregory, what are you talking about?”
“You look too much like her.” His voice was shaky, cracking with emotion.
“What?”
“I’m so sorry, Anastasia.”
“Sorry for what? Gregory, you’re scaring me.” She started toward him but stopped when he turned to face her, eyes wet with tears and full of fear.
“We should have told you the second you’d decided to stay, but she worried you still needed time to get acclimated, and before we knew it, three months had passed.” He began pacing the small room. “We were going to tell you the night that… the night…” he stuttered, and she knew which night he was talking about. “We were going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Annabelle and I had a daughter. Just before her first birthday, she was taken from us and sent to live in another world by her uncle—my brother—who feared her power. It was prophesized that she would be the one who would destroy him, ending t
he Darkness he would spread. He believed that he would be destroyed because I refused to stand by his side and use my magic to further his goals, and he believed the reason I refused was because of my daughter. When he took her, he intended to kill her, but couldn’t bring himself to destroy something so powerful.
“Even as an infant, he sensed her strength. So, instead of killing her, he sent her to a nearby world, believing that doing so would force me to tap into my magic in order to find her. He believed that if I did that, if I got a taste of the power that runs in my blood, then I would turn dark and we could rule together. He believed that I would raise my daughter to be like us, to use her great power to conquer the worlds he wanted so badly to control.”
Her heart had stopped. She tried to listen to everything that he explained, but it all rang so true that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t suspected anything before. Honestly, she wasn’t even too surprised, and it didn’t take long to piece everything together.
She thought back to all the times Mitch had made comments about being stuck with the “little brat” and how he wished he had said no. She had always assumed he wished they had terminated the pregnancy, but as it turned out, it must have been he wished they had never adopted her. Monica would always tell him not to worry, that it would all be worth it in the end.
She remembered looking him up on the Internet when she was ten years old, trying to see if there was anything she might be able to learn about him that would help him to like her, to want her around. She’d been confused when she found nothing. In fact, the first mention of him wasn’t until just before she’d been born.
It had seemed then as if he’d come out of nowhere. Now she realized he must have struck some sort of deal that placed him where he was.
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