Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  And that was what Roman had just experienced. Julia’s death hadn’t happened yet—but it would if he didn’t do something to change the trajectory of their timeline.

  He had to save her.

  But, in order to do that, he had to wake the fuck up.

  Roman screamed, and with that scream, was returned to the rooftop.

  Again, he stood atop the building, waiting to jump.

  But roman was done waiting. He wouldn’t just let things happen to him anymore. Roman was going to take this into his own hands.

  He set his jaw and jumped off the building, literally diving toward the pavement like an Olympian rushing toward a pool. Fear played no part in this as he neared the ground below and the splat that he would no doubt become if he was wrong about this.

  With eyes open and trained on the ground, Roman watched the earth drop away. Instead of hitting the city street, Roman dove into nothingness.

  A bright white light appeared at the edge of that nothingness, and Roman pushed toward it with the fury of a gladiator. He knew what he needed to do, and nothing short of the forces of Heaven would be able to keep him from his charge.

  He dipped into the white light and, with a jolt, Roman woke up.

  A woman’s voice sounded from right beside his ear. “Ahh!”

  Roman looked over, his neck stiff and his head swimming and foggy. April sat beside him, a cool washcloth in her hand. Her eyes were wide and her lips trembled.

  “You…you’re awake,” she said, staring at him. “You’re not supposed to be awake. Father tried everything. He’s got people coming from the four corners trying to wake you up. They all told him it was impossible.”

  Roman threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. “People have been saying that about me for years,” he mumbled. “You think they would know better by now.”

  His legs wobbled, and his tired knees threatened to buckle beneath him, but he managed to stay standing. He might not feel up to moving right yet, but he didn’t have a choice. She needed him…right now. And he would rather be dead than fail her again.

  His loyalty was clear now—clearer than it had ever been. It wasn’t to his family or himself. It wasn’t ever for his sister, though he loved her almost more nearly anyone in the world.

  Anyone but Julie. That was who his loyalty belonged to. She was his everything, and no one as taking her away from him ever again.

  April grabbed him by the shoulders. “You need to lie down,” she said, starting to guide him back toward the bed. “I’ll get Father and the medics. They won’t know what to make of you.”

  He shook away from her. “I’m fine. I have to go.”

  April’s eyes went from wide to narrow. “Roman, what the hell is going on?”

  “You can’t,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “You can’t get Father or the medics. You can’t get anyone. You can’t tell anyone I’m awake. They’d want me to stay. They’d want me to rest or to evaluate the way I broke the spell or something else that won’t help me right now.”

  April tilted her head, her eyebrows pulling together. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “She’s in trouble, April,” he said. “I can’t explain how I know, but Julia’s going to die if I don’t get to her right now. And I know she’s a Fairweather and our stars don’t match up—”

  “Fuck the stars,” April said. “Go.”

  Roman blanched. He had never heard his little sister use that language before. “Did you just say—”

  “Fuck. The. Stars,” she repeated. Her eyes bore into his. “That’s your girl right there. Do what you need to do. I’ll cover for you. Go get your girl, Big Brother. Do what makes you happy.”

  A smile spread across Roman’s face. He hadn’t thought about that in so long—about being happy.

  He gave his little sister a nod, and then darted out the back way to get to Julia.

  Please don’t let me be too late.

  25

  Julia

  The urn in Julia’s hands radiated a sickening energy. She was still in the cave, still in this place that was so near and dear to her ancestors. And now she knew the truth of why the artifact was so important to the old woman. Not because she wanted to steal the power that it provided, but because she was the power that it provided.

  The Crawley’s ashes were in the urn, which was presently wrapped in Julia’s arms and pressed against her chest. And the fact that Cassandra would use such a thing—something so sacred and personal—to garner more power was a testament to just how wrong about her Julia had always been.

  She was a loon—a power hungry mad woman who would stop at nothing to get the control she wanted.

  It broke Julia’s heart and made her feel as foolish as she ever had before. Cassandra had always been this way. The urn showed her as much. It gave her a glimpse of the truth and let her see just how long this festering jealousy had been going on.

  And that was the worst part. The woman had felt this way since they were children, since the first time Julia bested her at something. She had always been so insecure and Julia, for her part, had always been so naïve about it.

  Maybe if she hadn’t been so useless. Maybe if she would have opened her eyes and not been so blind about what was going on all around her, she might have been able to stop some of this. But she hadn’t. She had been so wrapped up in Roman, so consumed by anger at what she thought she could never have, that she let the locally born snake freely slither around her backyard.

  And now the snake had taken over, and she didn’t know if she would actually be able to put a stop to that.

  A pinch started at her chest, right above where the urn sat. It was slow to build, just a minor inconvenience at first, but it built rapidly. It dug its way into her, began to siphon her magic, draining her and funneling every spark of who she was into the urn.

  Her body trembled. Weakened.

  What was happening? What sort of tricky magic was this? She took a deep breath, trying to push the urn away from herself.

  It wouldn’t go anywhere.

  It was stuck there, stalwart as it attempted to suck Julia dry of every drop of physical and magical energy she had, of everything the ancestors had taught and given to her.

  She blinked hard, unsure of what to do, unsure how to stop the dribble of pain that had now turned into a full blown tidal wave.

  Her breaths came short and shallow and then, in front of her appeared The Crawley.

  The old woman rocked back and forth in her chair, looking at Julia with disdain written plainly on her face.

  “What?” Julia gasped. “What’s happening?”

  “The only thing that could have happened,” the old woman said.

  But, as she spoke, her voice morphed. It changed, grew strong, grew younger, grew more familiar. And then, her body began to shift as well. Instead of the old woman, she became something else. Her wrinkled skin tightened, her gray hair gained bounce and color, and her blank, vacant eyes filled in with pupils that Julia recognized immediately.

  The Crawley was not the Crawley, and she never had been.

  She was no gypsy. She was a witch.

  Cassandra sat in front of Julia now, with a smile that would make the devil shiver.

  “I’m beating you,” Cassandra said, standing to meet her cousin. “That’s what’s happening, you pathetic excuse for a witch.”

  “You?” Julia asked, confused and in pain. “How is that possible?”

  “That’s a good question,” Cassandra said, sneering at Julia. “I guess we could begin with your complete and utter inaptitude.” She rolled her eyes. “When you think about it, that’s the only reason any of this could have ever come to pass.”

  “You need to stop this,” Julia growled, still burning, still in pain.

  “Oh, I can’t do that,” Cassandra said, grinning even wider somehow. “Well, I mean, technically I could, but if I let you go, then you wouldn’t realize how goddamn responsible for all of this you actual
ly are.”

  She strolled toward Julia, pursing her lips smugly. Looking Julia up and down, she laughed. “You know, this is even better than I hoped. I’d only been trying to steal Roman’s magic. But he screwed that up, and now look! I get yours instead.”

  The urn pulsated in Julia’s hands, burning right through her, its energy pulling at her own, siphoning her magic and channeling it into the vessel.

  “You know,” Cassandra said, pausing as she neared her cousin as if the urn might somehow pull her in as well, “all of this could have been avoided, if only you’d have been half the witch I am.” She turned and paced the other way. “Or if our idiot grandfather would have known enough to see through the fog of your charms.”

  “He was going to do it, Cass,” Julia said, trying like hell to pull away from the magic that was rushing through her and hollowing her out from the inside. “Grandfather was going to give it all to you.”

  “A hollow gesture, and one he’d never go through with.” She slammed her palm against the wall and the entire place shook. “He would never have actually passed you over, not with the ancestors whispering in your ears like you’re something special.” She snorted bitterly. “But you’re not, are you?” she asked, turning back to Julia. “You’re a whore who can’t keep her goddamn legs closed to our enemies.”

  She slammed the wall again, and the wall shook even harder. “What sort of leader would you make, sucking a Blackwood cock while you give them all of our secrets? Was I supposed to just sit back and let that happen? Was I expected to let you ruin the coven my family helped build?” She shook her head and pointed her finger at Julies. “Fuck no! And if Grandfather can’t see that he’s made a mistake, then I’ll kill his decrepit ass, too. Then they’ll all be gone. And I’ll lead everything.”

  “Everything?” Julia asked, trying not to burst into tears as the urn weakened her past the point of integrity.

  “That’s what the urn is for, Juju. You’re stupid little fiancé thinks we’re in this together. And we will be, right up until I can usurp him. And once I funnel your magic into his urn and restore the Crawley to life, she’ll work for me, too. I’ll have the Louisiana Coven, the Moon Coven, and the Romani. With that, I’ll crush the Blackwoods and take their dark magics for myself. I’ll be the most powerful being in the world, Julia. And it’ll all be because of you.”

  “I-I wouldn’t…” But she couldn’t even finish her sentence. The urn had stolen too much, made her too weak to speak.

  “Well, that’s the thing Juju. I really don’t give a free flying fuck what you would or wouldn’t do. If you wouldn’t have had your head so far up Roman Blackwood’s ass all these years, maybe you’d have seen this coming. Maybe you could have even stopped it.” She nodded at her cousin. “But you didn’t. Like some moron from a romance novel, you were blinded by love. You thought it was the most important thing. Which is exactly why you’re not fit to lead our coven. Wanna know what is the most important thing in the world, Juju? The thing you overlooked? Power. You had it, you wasted it, and once I’ve stripped you clean of everything inside that troublesome little body of yours, I’ll put it to good use.”

  She settled in front of Julia, grinning like a hyena. “And the best part is, there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  26

  Roman

  Ever since he woke, Roman had been feeling her. Her pain. Her fear. Her guilt and her self-loathing. But, more important than that, he felt her location.

  She was out in these woods somewhere. He knew it. The pull of her was getting stronger and stronger—but so was her pain. It had already started. The thing that Roman had the premonition about, the thing that would soon kill Julia, was already in play.

  He had to move faster. He had to act smarter. He needed to find her before it was too late. If he didn’t—if she died—then all of this would have been for nothing. His life would have been for nothing. And the idea of continuing to live it with her gone—really, really gone—seemed as worthless a thing as he could ever consider.

  Roman kept running. Though his lungs burned and his body begged for relief, he ran on. He refused to stop He refused to even give an inch. He was getting closer, but her essence was fading faster than her presence was growing closer.

  He felt her pulsating through him. Her taste, her scent, the way she moved—it was real to him now. She was close, and he would find her.

  A loud cracking noise sounded from overhead. Roman looked up to find a tree branch coming right for his head.

  He dove forward, slamming against the ground and narrowly missing the branch. Or, so he thought.

  Pain rushed through his leg. He turned to find a large branch on top of his left foot, pinning him to the ground.

  “Damnit!” Roman tried to free himself by pulling at his leg, but it was useless. He couldn’t get leverage from this position to move the branch, and it was too heavy to slip out from under.

  He couldn’t afford this, to be slowed down, so he kept pulling while looking around for any alternative—anything that might actually work.

  Instead, he saw her.

  A few hundred yards off in the distance, Julia sat cross legged on the ground. Her eyes were closed, and her body was rigid.

  And there across from her, sitting in a very similar position, was Cassandra.

  It was happening now. And it was Cassandra. Of course it was. That image of Julia dying in front of him, it was going to happen because of that bitch.

  Roman leaned up, throwing both hands against the bark. It was no use. He still couldn’t get it from this position. His breath caught in his throat, and he yanked his leg harder.

  He closed his eyes and felt around for the tree’s energy. Thinking back, he remembered that green kid from the docks, the one who struggled to light those sticks on fire.

  Roman felt so much like that kid now, lost and in way over his head.

  But he wasn’t a kid, and he wasn’t green. He was Roman Blackwood. He grew up at the feet of masters. The dark arts ran through his veins.

  And he had love on his side, goddamn it!

  He forced himself to quell his panic and focus on his energy. Slowing down was the last thing he wanted to do, but he needed a moment, just a moment, to focus on his energy.

  Trembling with restraint, he waited until finally a the fallen wood, but before he could bolt to his feet, a familiar voice called from above him.

  “Impressive,” Paris said from one of the trees above. He cracked down to the ground, power sparking around him. His eyes were near black with energy. “I’m afraid it ain’t going to be near enough, though.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell away from me, hayseed,” Roman said, standing up.

  Pain flared through his foot, but he pushed through it. There was no time to think about that now. She was right there, right in front of him. She was in trouble, going to die, and the only thing separating him from saving her was this idiot.

  “Pretend I don’t know what’s good for me, city mouse,” Paris said, grinning at him like a possessed creature. He floated up, feet lifting from the ground. “Because me and ol’ Cass here have got big plans, and Imma be damned if I let my fiancé’s boy toy get in the way.”

  “You mean the fiancé you’re actively trying to kill?” Roman asked, circling the warlock and looking for an opening to strike.

  “Details, details,” Paris said, arching an eyebrow. “But don’t worry, Blackwood. I’ll let you have her corpse when we’re done. I figure it’s the least we can do.”

  “How about, instead of that, I promise to kill you quickly? How does that sound?”

  “Like delusions of grandeur.” Paris chuckled. “But hell, what do I know? I’m just a Grade A warlock badass with enough pent up energy to blow a hole in that handsome face of yours.” His licked his teeth. “Hey, there’s an idea! I’ll mess that pretty mug up a little bit. Let’s see how the ladies like you after that.”

  Paris bla
sted a stream of energy toward Roman.

  His aching foot and the pain radiating from Julia nearly trapped him in place, but he narrowly jumped out of the way. The power struck a tree behind Roman and turned the damn thing to stone.

  Okay, so this wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Roman thought.

  27

  Julia

  Julia ached more than she ever thought imaginable. The urn was burning through her, taking her energy as its own in an effort to wake a strange Romani woman known as the Crawley. Julia was about to unwillingly help Cassandra cement rule over all the witches in Savannah. And for someone like Cassandra, that likely wouldn’t be good enough. She would never stop.

  Julia knew that hunger. She knew the way Cass got when she was on a roll. Savannah would soon look like small potatoes. She would go for Georgia, then the Southeast. Maybe she’d try to rule America altogether. And what then? Would Cassandra try to slam a Wiccan iron fist down on the world as a whole?

  And this is where all of it would start: with Julia’s failure, with her death.

  Maybe Cassandra was right. Maybe all of this could have been avoided if Julia had just kept her eyes open, kept vigilant the way Grandfather had always taught her to.

  What would he think of Julia now, as he watched his own daughter die, helpless to stop it? Certainly the old man was flabbergasted, amazed at the shambles his family was now in.

  “You have to stop this,” Julia said weakly. The energy was too much. It was searing her, reaching into her and taking everything away.

  Cassandra scoffed. “Do I, Juju? I have to stop this? And why would I do that when I’m so close to having everything I ever wanted? When Savannah is teetering on the edge of a knife and only I can control which way it falls?” She looked Julia up and down, disgust plain on her face. “I am a heartbeat away from complete power, from no one ever being able to tell me what to do ever again. Never again will I feel second best. Never again will I look at you and see anything other than a joke and a failure—the woman who let her heart and libido blind her so much that she let her entire coven crumble around her. You’re the past, Julia. You’re the past, and I’m the future. So no. I don’t think that I have to stop this.”