Everwish: The Primati Witches Book One

by Amelia Oz

  "Please trust me, Stella," Alaric murmured. He turned my unresisting form and pressed me against the tree, the bark rough beneath my cheek. I leaned into the tree, hugging it. He caged me between his arms, pressing my hands with his on either side of my face. The air grew warmer and I closed my eyes, inhaling the spicy scent of tree bark, feeling Alaric's heat behind me and thinking of nothing. I was empty. The air cooled and I opened my eyes to a new reality. We were on a rooftop, the lights from nearby buildings illuminating a city landscape.

  Chapter 20

  The Hangman Reversed

  Alaric

  awn was still hours away when we stepped from the large Hemlock tree onto the roof patio of my New York City building. Transferring through a living tree with roots on another plane was something better suited to the most experienced travelers. I hoped it hadn't damaged her. I hoisted her into my arms and carried her through electronic doors set to my voice. Light as a thistle, she shivered, her lips faintly blue.

  I bit my tongue until blood flooded my throat to stave off a roar of frustration. She was clearly in shock, and I'd just forced her on an hours long motorcycle ride. Even with the jacket and summer weather, it had been too cold, had taken too long.

  I strode through the penthouse; Grayson appeared and then melted into shadows when he saw my expression. My path was unerring as I walked us to my bathroom. Behind a thick glass wall and door lay a blue tiled shower room large enough for the beast. The shower held four massive shower heads and, without releasing the traumatized girl in my arms, I turned them all to a hard rain effect.

  A white leather chair sat before my soaking tub, and I placed her there to remove her shoes and adjust the heat flowing beneath the white ceramic floor tiles. Unwilling to sever our physical connection, I scooped Stella up. Once the shower's glass wall was fogged over, I walked us into the shower room.

  She gasped when the water hit her skin but was otherwise silent. I placed her on one of the wide-tiled benches along the shower wall and eased the jacket from her. She behaved as a doll, obediently following my quiet instructions without any sign of that indomitable will I'd come to know in her. This was what alarmed me most. Tears periodically streamed from her eyes, mixing with the water sluicing down her face. Occasionally she sobbed outright and when those black moments hit, I stilled to offer my body until the storm depleted itself.

  I worked blood from her hair and lathered shampoo from a black bottle into the silken strands until the air was thick with the lush scent. Adjusting a wall jet, I turned her, working the suds from her hair until the water ran clear. I then set about cleaning the blood from beneath her fingernails, striving to be gentle while my body tremored with rage. Her limp compliance and silence put me on edge. The Stella I’d come to know was a wild and vital girl. A fighter. This biddable Stella was unbearable.

  I knew that her cousin had been important to her. She'd experienced so much loss in her young life. Her parents and now Silvan. More than anything I wanted Stella to survive. To grow old in peace, surrounded by loved ones. I would make this happen for her, even though it meant I couldn't be part of that future. For the first time in my long life, I wanted something more than the role I'd been thrust into. The justice bearing cold one without any desires of my own.

  The memory of my mother was more distant than I could bear—yet one memory still emerged as fresh as the day it occurred. It was summer and as a treat I was allowed tutoring on the terrace of the great palace. As I struggled over an abacus, Murad had been practicing sword fighting in the courtyard with an Italian instructor and our older brother. I could see them below and my young feet had swung restlessly, wanting to be part of the yelling, clanging action.

  My mother, always knowing what I was feeling, had touched the top of my head and asked my teacher to leave us. She told me that Murad might never be Sultan, but he would be a great man. I had to study and make sure that I was able to help him one day as his nature was an impulsive one. My role would be to support my brothers, to stand for right and to be their strength. For over five hundred years I've been the noble Lion, the strong one while Murad fell into despair and madness over Lila. For the first time I felt the bitter burn of resentment for my brother's weakness for her, and how it had taken over my own life. And yet, Stella's happiness was fast becoming my only desire. One that was taking precedence over duty. Perhaps we brothers had inherited the same weakness.

  I washed the bare skin of her arms and back and held her beneath the spray until the water that streamed from her clothes was devoid of blood. When she appeared to fall asleep, I turned off the water and carried her from the shower. Enveloping her within enormous white towels I towel-dried her hair as she sat, silent and wrapped within her own mind.

  "Stella. I need you to get out of these wet clothes. There is a robe on the back of the door. I'm going to leave the room to give you privacy. Can you please undress and put the robe on?" Eyes drooping, she bobbed her chin once. She remained in the chair as I exited the room and shut the door behind me.

  I went into my dressing room and quickly changed into dry jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I returned to the bathroom door to find it still closed. I rapped softly and her voice responded, albeit faintly. "Coming."

  The door opened and a confused Stella stood in the doorway. She swam in the giant white robe, the sleeves nearly reaching her knees. She'd tied the belt around herself thrice.

  "I'll have to find you clothes later."

  "I want my own," she replied sleepily. Relief coursed through me at the sound of her voluntary response. Stella was still here. I'd seen this reaction before in shocked humans. She just needed to stay walled off until her mind could accept the loss.

  I gathered her small hand in mine and led her to a door across from my own bedroom. I never had overnight guests but this was one of several additional bedrooms. It was decorated in neutral creams and yellows. Blue pillows and vases provided what my decorator had claimed were tasteful accents.

  She stopped inside the door, staring at our hands. She turned my palm over and, reaching for my other hand, traced the long scars lining each one without saying a word. It was more intimate than I could bear. The scars were the few wounds on my body that had remained after my turning, and they brought me back to that horrific day. When I'd woken to find myself pierced through with the Sword of Righteousness. The agony as I pulled the hot blade from my own chest. The mark on my chest and the scars on my hands were a reminder that I had survived a fate worse than death—immortal damnation as a vampire demon with angelic strength. Instead I remained a portion angel and the rest demon. There lies my prison. I could not leave my brother alone in his suffering. I kept him sane, his humanity close.

  "Alaric—who are you? I'm not stupid. You're one of them, aren't you?" she asked quietly. Saying the words or not would not help push back this moment. She needed truth. I saw it in the raw, bared soul visible within the depths of her eyes. She was afraid of the answer, yet needed it all the same. I was the most despicable of creatures, because I couldn't give her everything. Not tonight.

  "If you mean a Primati, then yes. I am one. I knew you were in danger tonight and came." The admission was the most I could offer. I watched as her vulnerable stare became tinged with despair. A wave of sensation swirled beneath my breastbone.

  "You must have laughed at me. Poor Stella, so naïve. You aren't the only one, you know. I didn't know about Amanda. I didn't know there was a whole freaking world of people performing magick on me for years." Her low laugh cracked, transitioned to a sob before she swallowed it back, her lips tight. I had no idea how to comfort her.

  "No. Not poor Stella," I insisted, knowing I was creating a terrible mess of this. "Do you really want to know everything, Stella? Can't we just leave it alone for now? I'm your friend and I want to help."

  "Help? Right. Because you're like, what? A wizard?" She was crying again and I hurried to stem the tide rising beneath her surface.

 
"Reality will come soon enough, Stella. I can offer you a safe place for a week or two. After that we can return to whatever awaits us." I expected a fight. It hurt when her eyes dulled once again. She said nothing, just leaned forward until the top of her head rested against my chest. The strange sensation in my chest intensified.

  My hands rose tentatively behind her slim shoulders, smoothing her wet hair down her back. We stood there for several minutes, and I felt the moment sleep began to take her. I lifted her in my arms and she allowed it, her head settling upon my shoulder. When I pulled down the duvet and helped her into the king size bed she immediately turned to her side and curled into a ball, away from me.

  "Stella? You have your own bathroom. The door is across from the foot of the bed," I said. She didn't utter a sound. I crossed the room and closed the cream silk curtains with their black out panels, shutting her off from the intrusion of approaching sunlight.

  "If you need anything, just call and I'll hear you." I offered, uncertain if she heard me. She remained quiet and I left her to slumber's seductive embrace. For several moments I listened outside the door, relieved to hear only her deepening breaths. Her cries had eviscerated me more effectively than any enemy blade.

  I prowled the halls to my study. With Stella safe, it was time to hunt. Marcus had disappeared from the field the second we'd reached it. I would find him and bring his head, along with whoever was behind the attack, to Stella as a prize.

  * * *

  "It's been ten days, Sir."

  "Your point, Grayson?"

  "It’s not healthy for a human to eat just one small meal a day. She only leaves the bed or the garden hammock to use the washroom, paint, and eat one meal a day. One meal, Sir. I was thrilled when she asked if she could request food but she only asked for sunflower seeds. Raw seeds, Sir. She is wasting away."

  I’d never seen him so worked up before. Grayson had taken it upon himself to personally prepare Stella's meals. He’d coaxed her to eat his soups and comfort food with intermittent success. It was true she spent most of the day in bed with the curtains drawn. Recently she'd taken to painting from the rooftop garden in the late afternoons, falling asleep for an hour or two on the hammock Grayson produced especially for her after finding her curled asleep against the magicked Hemlock. She would wake and continue painting by artificial light until early morning and then she sought me. I was never far.

  When she did sleep it was always in my arms. The first night she'd awakened screaming from a nightmare, panting so hard she’d nearly lost consciousness. When I'd tried to wake her, she’d pulled at my clothes until I joined her. She'd tucked herself into my side and I guided her through the panic attack until she regained control. Within minutes, she’d fallen asleep, fingers still tight on my shirt. We didn't discuss it then or in subsequent nights—yet I always ensured she remained under the covers while I stayed on top of the duvet. I wanted no hint of impropriety that could lead to her feeling guilty later. Or my brother to question.

  She’d risen from her grief only once, when Sam had insisted on a conversation to assure himself that she was alive and well. She’d tried during those brief moments to become more animated and reassure him she was fine. When she’d suggested she return home, he’d erupted, insisting that she stay where she was if it wasn’t safe in Portland.

  I had some of Stella's clothes and personal items flown here, hoping it might cheer her up. Her cell phone was found and delivered, but she had yet to pick it up. I'd read her messages aloud, hoping to stir her interest. Lots of entreaties from Amanda. A few versions of, 'We're all sad, get over yourself bitch and call me' from her strangely rude cousin Mira. An inquiry on her welfare from someone named Roger that I was more than a little curious about. She’d explained he worked for Sam and responded to none of the messages.

  Her paintings were dark, impressionistic canvases without subject. She often left one unfinished before beginning a new one. They were disturbing. Compelling and unformed, I suspected they would have an emotional effect on someone more vulnerable to magickal properties.

  "What do you recommend, Grayson?"

  "Get her outside this building. A change of scenery will do her good. It’s not right for someone so young to just give up on life."

  "She's grieving, Grayson," I replied gruffly. He sighed.

  "We know what that did to someone else," he said simply before exiting my study.

  I did recall. I'd arrived in America at my brother's side just after Lila had found her family slain. She'd been as a trapped animal, entombed in a grief so profound she'd never recovered from it. Lila was a different being, however. A celestial creature given to extreme emotions as a human. Lila had also lost her own children. Although Stella's cousin was dear to her, there was no comparison to the pain of losing a child. Stella would rebound.

  Grayson was right, however. I could no longer allow her to hide from the world when the Grand Council and Samhain Ball were so close. She needed to be stronger and made ready for this next stage in her life. A human lifetime in which the Alaric she thought she knew would disappear. When she would only know me as the Lion. The Enforcer. She deserved a family of her own one day. The future Lila never had. I sighed, steeling myself for what would come next. With a few whispered words, I lowered the mystical barrier around the property I'd erected when we first arrived. I picked up my cell to call Murad but he appeared in my study before I could pull up his name.

  "You bloody wanker," he yelled. My eyebrows rose. He must be spending time in London. He always reverted to the bloody-somethings when in the U.K. for longer than a day.

  "Where is she?" he demanded,

  "Ease yourself, brother. She's safe."

  "Why on earth have you shielded her from me for two bloody weeks? And not answered your bloody phone!"

  My brother stalked my office, scowling fiercely. He wore a finely tailored three-piece suit, which usually meant financial meetings. London then. I leaned back in my leather chair, waiting patiently as he got it out of his system.

  "I should kill you for this. Aydin Bey would have strung you up by your intestines," he lashed out, bringing our younger brother and former pirate king into the mix.

  "Aydin was a legend, true," I admitted.

  "I looked everywhere that night for you until Grayson informed us you were in hiding with Stella. You never hide. Your transfer left no trace, so no one knew of your whereabouts. I guessed immediately you were here, but this place has been impenetrable." Murad was vamping out as he paced, the whites of his eyes scoring with tell-tale crimson flares as his face grew more angular. He continued angrily, "I've had people stationed around the block and in flight overhead, but no one has been able to enter the building." His voice had deepened, his human façade sharpened into something absolutely lethal.

  This was the reason for our motorcycle ride to the hidden, sacred grove in the Olympic Mountains. Demons were deadly hunters, their sense of smell tied to the taste of the scent. If I'd transferred us through the demon plane, Murad and many others would have tasted my passing. Even worse, they would acquire knowledge of Stella's taste as well. Allowing them to gain hers would have added to her vulnerability. The ancient tree had allowed us to transfer without notice.

  "Where is she?" he demanded with an enraged glare.

  I stood and walked over to the office's floor-to-ceiling windows. Fifth Avenue was bustling. A bus deposited a group of teenagers at the corner, their faces laughing at something one of them said. I tried and failed to imagine Stella in their midst.

  "She is not recovered, brother. Her grief over the boy runs deeper than I expected."

  Moments passed and Murad sank into a sofa. He was silent for a long time, his forehead pressed to steepled fingers. I watched him with sympathy. He had much experience with grieving females.

  "They are steadfast little things, aren't they brother? These women of stars," he finally stated wearily.

  I studied the park below.
"Yes. They are."

  "Did you know they refused to have a funeral for her cousin?" Murad informed me.

  "Why is that?" It seemed a curious thing. My research had been thorough, and Mahari had more than enough funds for a grand funeral of considerable proportions.

  "Clara said they refused to explain themselves. As far as we know they buried him in a backyard. We can't get near them without causing more trouble. I assume Jing is here with you?"

  "Yes. She's been in and out as we search for Marcus and whoever led the attack. Those we managed to keep alive and capture told us nothing. Which means they knew nothing. Jing's interrogation tactics are effective. They would have broken," I said matter-of-factly. Murad nodded.

  "Where are they now? Perhaps my own techniques could persuade them." My brother seemed restless, eager.

  "Too late. Bodies are in the incinerator, their heads floating on pikes in the demon realm with bounty signs offering a great sum for information." I refrained from telling him of the one remaining prisoner waiting in the basement of this building. He was taking a long time to heal, but once his tongue grew back, we would play some more. He had to know something that would lead me to Marcus. No one stayed hidden from me for long.

  "Clara and Tess will be here soon. They want you skinned alive for taking Stella away and shielding her for so long."

  "Yes." I acknowledged, not really caring.

  Without preamble, I strode from the room, knowing my brother would follow. I led him to the living room where Grayson had placed Stella's art to dry atop cloth tarps. They leaned against two walls of the enormous room. My brother was speechless as he took in the violent swirls of deepest grey, cobalt, and red. Red tears streamed from his eyes. "Where is she?"