Julia swallowed hard. This was such a strange life, such a strange family. Here she was, being forced to marry someone against her will. And, at the same time, she was riddled with fear that the very same person who was making her do it would soon leave her life forever.
Family was a hell of a thing. It had the ability to break you and rebuild you. And, more times than not, it did both.
“Are you ready, my darling?” Grandfather asked, extending his arm to her.
“As ready as I can be,” she said, taking it.
The old man smiled. “Have I told you how proud of you I am, Julia?”
She blinked hard. “No, Grandfather. I don’t believe you have.”
“How unforgivable of me,” he said as the double doors swung open.
The pair stepped out into the courtyard, the sun beaming down as if it approved of this entire mess and wanted to make sure everyone in attendance knew as much.
The idea to have the ceremony at the Covington family home was born more out of necessity than anything else. Moving a wedding up was tough business, and it turned out that even witchcraft wasn’t enough to force your way into a venue during the city’s wedding season.
Still, Julia had to admit that this was beautiful—more stunning than she had even imagined as a little girl.
As her family, along with the Wheeler coven, turned back to catch a glimpse of her, it took all Julia could do not to cry out.
What she would say, she didn’t know. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was filled with emotion, and she had no idea what to do with it.
“I am, you know,” Grandfather said as they took their first steps toward the rose-accented altar. “Proud of you, I mean.”
Petals fell from flowers and magically lay underfoot of Julia as she stepped in tune with the song.
It would have been absolutely perfect if the man she was walking toward happened to be someone else.
But he wasn’t.
He was Paris Wheeler, the flame-kissed Southern gentleman who had saved her life as well as her future.
There were worse things she could do than tie herself to a good guy, but, whatever they were, she couldn’t quite think of them right now.
Her chest tightened and her breath seemed to shallow out.
“Did you hear me, my darling girl?” Grandfather asked. “I am so very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Julia said, though she wondered how proud of her he would be if he knew that she still held the potion Roman gave her on her person. It sat tucked her in her bosom, like a reminder of the man she should be marrying.
And maybe that was the only reason it was there at all.
Julia looked up at Paris. His entire body seemed to be smiling somehow as she neared him.
In stark contrast to the way she always thought she would feel as she neared the end of her wedding march, Julia deflated.
But deflation was not defeat. She could do this. She would do this. She would make her family proud, strengthen her coven, and be the witch part of her always knew she would have to become. She would put away childish things. She would put away love, at least the all-consuming variety. And maybe, just maybe, she would find something worthy of herself while doing it.
A girl could dream, right?
Her feet reached the last step before the altar. She turned to Grandfather, handed him her bouquet, and turned back to face Paris again.
She didn’t know what her face looked like, but she hoped it betrayed none of the hesitation that had colored her up until this moment. Paris was sweet and kind. And besides, someone deserved to have a nice wedding day out of all this.
He reached for her hand, and she offered it to him, but he didn’t grab it. There just wasn’t time.
In an instant that shook Julia to her core, the earth ruptured.
Like a child throwing a tantrum or a long simmering revenge finally being cut loose, the world itself broke and crackled underfoot.
Julia staggered backward as screams and cries filled the air.
Was this an earthquake?
In Georgia?
Suddenly, and with as much ferocity as the shaking, the sky rumbled.
No. This wasn’t an earthquake. It wasn’t a tsunami or even a storm. Bile rose in Julia’s throat as the realization of what was going on settled onto her. This was a spell. Dark magic. And it had Roman Blackwood written all over it.
The clouds thickened above them and then, in what had to be the most terrifying visual of her entire life, Julia watched as fire rained from the sky above.
“My God…” she mumbled as the balls of flame struck the earth, the chairs, the altar, and even some of the people.
Fire burst through the area, destroying everything it touched.
She winced as pained screams split through the air from the mouths of loved ones who had come to witness what was supposed to be a joyous occasion.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. There was nothing left to do. This was too much. It was too hard.
And it was never going to stop.
Her eyes drifted upward just as a ball of fire rocketed right toward her. There may have been time to move. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. They had lived in the feud, and now they would die in it. Adam Blackwood knew that. Aria Fairweather knew that. And soon she would know it, too.
The fire was almost on her. Julia took a deep breath and tried her best to make peace within herself. She as unsuccessful, of course. But she got the feeling that most people were when faced with their end. It was hard, she mused, to boil everything down to one sentiment. Life wasn’t like that and, as it turned out, death wasn’t, either.
The fireball twisted in midair, changing direction and striking a nearby empty chair.
Julia looked behind her to find Roman standing near the back. He was joined by every Blackwood Julia could think of, save April. His hand was outstretched, obviously guiding the fireball away from her.
Her heart jumped at the sight of him, but broke for the loss of everything else.
“Run,” he mouthed.
She turned in a slow circle. Everything was in chaos. The earth was still shaking. The house she grew up in was crumbling at her feet. Her wedding dress was ruined, and the man she loved was responsible for so much of it.
Run? She couldn’t run from this. If she did, none of this would ever end, not without a sacrifice equal on both sides. Nothing less than blood and death would put an end to this, and there was only one person who was connected to all three of the covens here today.
Her.
Julia reached into her shirt, pulled out the bottle Roman gave her, and popped open the lid. She pushed it against her lips and tilted it upright, letting the sour nectar run down her throat.
If it did its job—if it made her appear to be dead—then maybe that would be enough. Maybe her perceived loss would be enough to bring about a halt to all of this. And, even if they ended up burying her in the ground, even if she never saw the sunlight again, that would make it all worth it.
Roman fought his way toward her as the bottle fell from her lips. She tossed it away. No one but Roman was looking at her through the chaos, but she couldn’t afford to be found with it. Her death needed to look natural—like an accident.
Like a tragedy.
He was close now, though he wouldn’t make it. Her legs were too weak for that. Her eyes were too heavy.
“I love you,” she whispered as he broke through the last of the fighting.
But before he could reach her—before he could answer—the world went black.
20
Roman
The attack was last minute and more than a little haphazard. Convincing his father that now was the time to strike, while the Fairweather and Wheeler covens were all crammed together in their stronghold, hadn’t been an easy sell for Roman.
In the end, he appealed to his father’s sense of vanity. He knew that the older man was of the impression that the Bla
ckwoods were far and away more powerful than any competitor. Jumping off that point, having all of their common enemies shuffled into the same place like cattle made it easier for them to be picked off all at once.
Roman told his father that it was the most logistically reasonable thing to do. It was a good idea in terms of both war strategy and common sense.
At least, that was the lie he was trying to sell.
In truth, the reason Roman wanted to attack now was much more personal, much more relatable.
What he had heard back in the city shook his entire world. Knowing that Cassandra was in on this and, worse than that, that she planned to have Julia executed right after the wedding, was enough to send Roman on a full-tilt rage.
He needed to be smarter about it than that, though. He couldn’t just go in there, powers at the ready. He would have been blown to bits before he got close enough to Julia to even warn her.
He could have called. He could have even invaded her dream again like he did before. But things were different now, and he wasn’t sure what sort of eyes Cassandra had on her more talented cousin.
Roman had heard tell of witches who could gleam the very thoughts from another person’s mind. If that was the case, then Julia even knowing about this would put her in danger. No. It would be better to do it this way, to get in and extract her. And hey, if Cassandra and Paris got their asses handed to them in the process, then so be it.
Truth be told, this wasn’t even about the Fairweathers anymore. Sure, it was for Roman’s father and the rest of his family. But he hadn’t told them the truth about what was going on. Even April didn’t know the extent of what Roman had heard that night. There was little need to put anyone, his sister included, in more danger than they already were.
Roman had learned from what Paris and Cassandra said, though, and perhaps more importantly, from what they hadn’t. Cass was obviously the one in charge. Her demeanor and the way she chastised Paris like a tepid schoolboy said as much.
But her family wasn’t involved. She was clearly planning to take over, and who knows who she might exterminate in the process.
She would’ve been helpless on her own, though. If Roman had to guess, she must have reached out to the Louisiana coven herself. Bringing them in would give her firepower, and having Paris in her pocket would give her the leverage she needed to make sure things went her way. She was saving her magic as a last resort because for a weak witch like herself, there was no way she would have enough pull with her family otherwise.
A new coven in town—especially one with ties to the Fairweathers—would also set Roman’s family on edge. It was a perfect plan. Roman just needed to make sure it didn’t succeed.
The runes protecting the Fairweather manor were strong. They had been for centuries. But he knew more than he had ever shared about this plot of land. Sneaking in and out of it to visit his former girlfriend afforded Roman an insider’s perspective on the security of this place.
There was a time when Julia had even given him a mystical key of sorts. It was a long time ago, but Roman was willing to bet that when the doors are this old, people are loathed to change the locks.
He got in easily, ushering his crew alongside him.
Father was so pleased that he didn’t even ask how Roman had found his way past the mystical sensors. One by one, the Blackwood coven filtered in, bringing hell along with them.
Father naturally assumed this would be payback for what happened to Adam and, in part, he was right. But what Roman was holding back from telling him, what he would never be able to tell him, was that this was also about Julia.
Roman caught sight of her just before hell broke loose.
She wore a white dress that made her look like a perfectly sung song. Her hair was swept up, leaving her neck bare and framing her face. She was not only the most beautiful bride he had even seen, she was the most beautiful thing bar none.
Fire exploded through the grounds. It was a warning shot, the only that the Fairweather/Wheeler party would get.
Then the earth shook.
The action was as fast and furious as one might expect from three covens going to war in the space of an acre.
Magic flew like insults, deadly and deliberate.
What they didn’t expect, and what Roman thought was a nice little touch, was the fire shower.
It was an old spell, strong magic that had been lost to all but the most ardent users of dark magic. Luckily for him, Father had pressed him into just those corners, and as the flaming rain fell, targeting the Blackwood’s foes, Roman couldn’t help but feel more than a little accomplished.
He had been made to feel so low for practicing the darker arts. They were dangerous. They were consuming. In many parts of the world, they were banned. But here and now, with his plan blossoming in its full glory, he realized that dark didn’t have to mean bad.
This magic, however taboo, however frowned upon, was going to help him save the woman he loved. It was going to expose the liars in these covens and light a fire that would cleanse them all of the stench of mistruths.
Perhaps it would even bring about enough commonality and understanding to end this feud once and for all. And wouldn’t that be a hell of a story to tell his grandchildren.
Of course, for that to happen, things were going to have to get a lot less combustible.
Julia stumbled back into his line of site as a bolt of fire careened toward her.
That wasn’t right, of course. It wasn’t supposed to target her. It was only meant for his enemies—for the people who would do the Blackwoods harm. But Julia did have Fairweather blood, and maybe that was enough to classify her as the opposition.
In any event, Roman was having none of it.
Gathering himself, he used his personal energy to redirect the fireball. It shifted away from her, landing someplace inconsequential.
He stared at her for a long moment after that, trying to read her face. But Julia’s features were a mask. Foolishly, Roman thought she would be happy to see him—Dustin Hoffman at the end of The Graduate beating against glass and ready to whisk Mrs. Robinson’s daughter away from a union that obviously wasn’t a fit for her.
Instead, what he saw on her face was shock, sadness, and then resolve.
But of course, she didn’t know the truth yet. She likely saw this as another ill-advised show of force. Once she found out that her would-be groom was conspiring with her cousin to put her head on a metaphorical spike, she would think differently.
This would blow the lid off everything. It would change it all. Cassandra would undoubtedly be disinherited after this, possibly even exiled. There would be no other way. And that would leave the seat of power to Julia.
Sure, she had told Roman on more than one occasion she didn’t want that, but she would grow into her destiny. She would learn to love her crown and, with it, the power to make rules for the coven she oversaw.
With her at the helm, things would be different. And once Father seceded his position to Roman, they would both be in charge. They would put an end to this foolish nonsense once and for all. And maybe, someday down the road, they might even be together.
And that would be an even better story for the grandkids.
“Run!” he told her, trying to scream over the chaos.
But she didn’t. She held her ground.
What was she doing? This was dangerous, perhaps as dangerous as things had been since all of this started. She needed to get away, to get herself to safety. After all, without her, what did any of this matter? She was the only thing that made sense anymore, the only thing that—
A crackle of electricity whizzed by Roman, singing his ear and drawing blood.
One of the warlocks from the Louisiana coven—a gangly tall man with a wispy mustache and a stupid expression on his face—ran toward him. He was definitely an idiot by the look of him, but even a stupid man could kill you if he landed a good enough hit.
Roman reared back, once again gathering ene
rgy. He had a stone in his pocket—a piece of onyx with enough mineral energy to keep him going for at least another hour of good battle.
Twisting the energy around him, he thickened the air around the man, stopping him in his tracks. He then redirected it, sending the man flying out of his way.
He rushed toward Julia, who was still just standing there.
What on earth was she doing?
Another man, one he didn’t recognize, came at him with plant magic, threatening to wrap him up in a thorn vine.
Pressing the onyx against his palm, he sent a wave into the plant that made it wither on the vine. Kicking the man hard in the gut, he sent him stumbling backward.
Turning back to Julia, he saw something shimmering in her hands. It was small and dark. A bottle.
The breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t just any bottle. It was the bottle. The one he had given her before everything had changed, before he knew the truth of what was going on. At the time, he’d thought it would save her life. Now, though, he feared it would do the opposite.
Paris and Cassandra wanted her dead. Incapacitating her, making her look and seem dead, might be enough to do the trick of convincing them to back off. But it also might leave her defenseless at the most dangerous time imaginable.
There were other plays here, things that made more sense. Roman needed to get to her before she could take the damn potion, before it was too late.
Another man rushed him.
Would this garbage never stop?
Without even employing his magic, Roman took him out, sending an elbow into his face and knocking out at least two of the warlock’s teeth.
He darted faster toward Julia, but it was too late.
She had already drank it. The bottle was falling empty to the ground at her feet. Her eyes were closing, and she was toppling over sideways.
“No!” He kept running at her as she crumpled onto herself, the folds of her dress bunching up around her.
His heart dropped, but his mind scrambled for some sort of plan.
This would be okay. He would get to her, scoop her up, and take her somewhere until this whole thing died down. He would find a way to bring her out of this.
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 16
