Even before I saw his face, every inch of my body tingled at Deacon’s presence. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach flipped for all different reasons. If I tried to describe his beauty in words, I’d falter.
He took my breath away the moment his deep, dazzling eyes locked on mine. His gaze never wavered, even when he stepped over the threshold of my room and sauntered over to me in all his Godlike glory.
With his boyish smile, I forgot everything that plagued my mind. Butterflies danced their feverish beat in my stomach when he sat on the bed next to me. His fingers brushed mine and sent wave upon crashing wave of delicious heat through to my very soul.
“How are you feeling?” The sincere tone of his question posed several of my own.
Did he know?
Attempting a smile, I answered, “I’m OK, thank you.”
“I’ve spoken to Lucas,” Bingo! “He told me about your conversation.”
I spent the next half hour explaining my feelings to Deacon and my concerns over Daniel. In turn, he told me what they dug up. He showed me a newspaper clipping describing the day of Daniel’s father’s death in detail. I felt sick, but I couldn’t determine whether I felt pity for Daniel—for seeing his dad’s death—or something entirely different.
Seeing his picture, a small, innocent boy, I wondered how he turned into such a monster. Regardless, he threatened me and my baby, so fear for our safety trumped all other emotions.
“There’s something I need to ask you, Ellie.”
He could ask me anything, especially if he continued to whisper my name the way he did. The moment it left his lips it floated through me like silk threads, and ignited lust-fuelled fires. A flame so intense, it surged through my body, sparking the irresistible urge to be consumed by him—something I craved the moment his eyes first met mine.
In a husky voice, laced with want, I asked, “What it is?”
“What was your mother’s name?”
I wrinkled by brow. “My mum? Why do you need to know that?”
“So that we can be sure of your lineage.”
Ah, made sense—witches were born of other witches, meaning my mum… Jesus Christ, did Dad know? I’d been only a few months old when Mum had died, Dad rarely talked about her death, it ate away at him—he loved her so much.
Deacon traced my cheek with his touch, delicate, gentle, wiping away a stray tear.
“Her name was Celeste.” I adored her name, so beautiful—just like her.
Dad showed me pictures of her at my age. We shared the same chocolate waves and bright blue eyes. Her complexion flawless, skin like pure porcelain and plump, bright red lips accentuated to the point of perfection…
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. Deacon looked at me, eyebrows drawn. “The woman from my dreams is my mother.”
∾∾∾
The shock realisation my mother visited me in my dreams confirmed my suspicions. I am a witch. No other explanation covered it—murder, magic, sacrifices, and ghosts of my past.
Wow. In all my twenty-one years, I would never have guessed my true identity. I’m a Lancashire lass. I worked in a pub to put myself through university, lived an average life with my dad, a few friends and an abusive boyfriend, whose child I now carried.
Now… now I am something altogether different, something—up until a decade ago—I only read about in books. I’m a supernatural being, in theory. So, by default, my child would be, too. I ran a hand over my belly and stared, bewildered, into the blue flames of the fire in the living quarters.
Deacon brought us here to talk to Lucas and Blake about my mother. Although, I figured they’d be able to tell me more than I could them.
My thoughts flickered back to Dad and whether or not he knew. I suspected not, otherwise he would have told me—he sucked at keeping secrets.
So, sat around the striking fire with three gorgeous vamps, I intended to listen while they told me I possessed magical powers.
I placed the newspaper clipping of Daniel’s father’s murder on the table surrounding the fire—I didn’t know why I bought it along. I guess I didn’t want it hanging around my personal space, too much of a reminder, and I did have questions of my own. But first, I needed to know what lay ahead for me and my child.
Putting my hands in my lap as I sat back—nerves rattled all to hell—I waited for someone to speak. Only, the lights went out and an almighty crash echoed through the building, causing violent tremors.
My stomach vaulted and I let out an astonished cry. I gripped onto Deacon like my life depended on it, afraid he’d move away and I’d lose him to the darkness.
The emergency lighting kicked it, a dim green hue reminding me of night vision goggles. I made out Deacon beside me—my arms still clutched his powerful, broad shoulders. Blake and Lucas moved around us.
Deacon glanced down at me, his purple eyes black in the weak lighting. He mouthed, are you okay? I nodded.
The silence turned ominous and my heart raced.
“Is everyone alright?” I recognised Lucas’s voice.
“Head for the doors to the labs.” Blake.
Deacon stood up beside me and took hold of my hand, lifting me to my feet. Leaving the recess of the seating area I stopped. This was no mere power cut as I had naively hoped. Rushed voices, several of them, filtered in from outside the main doors.
Deacon armed me back to the sofas before he made his way toward the noise.
My skin prickled—something didn’t feel right. A chill rushed through my bones and I snapped my gaze to the entrance. I shouted at Deacon to move, but my feeble attempts were swallowed up by an almighty bang when the doors blasted open and smashed into the far wall.
My scream echoed over the sound of the explosion, and the fire now licking at the doorframe. Deacon lay about twenty feet away, a crumpled heap on the floor.
I screamed again—a shrill, stomach-churning sound that burned the back of my throat and left ringing in my ears. I panicked, made to run in Deacon’s direction, but strong arms took hold of my weaker ones. Lucas on one side of me, Blake on the other, eyes dark and fangs down. They were squatted—poised for attack, hissing and growling like vicious animals towards the source of the commotion.
Is Deacon OK? I struggled in their tight grasp; I needed to get to him. Please be okay. I breathed an audible sigh of relief when I saw him stir. He shook his head and tried to get up, the explosion having disorientated him. When he collapsed to the floor again, I let out another head-splitting scream.
A bright, white light consumed my vision, briefly blinding me, and I realised my arms were free. I lurched toward Deacon, but a shape shot out from the side of my tunnel vision, and a strong hand gripped me tight around my throat.
A body-shaking pain shot through my neck and down my spine. I choked, grasping and scraping at the hand cutting off my air. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gasped in desperation, trying to block out the pain of my burning lungs.
My feet lifted off the ground and my eyes flew open. The look reflected back at me represented pure evil, eyes twitching at the corners, a hateful smile plastered across his shadowed features.
“Does someone have a soft spot for the blood sucker?” Daniel sneered at me.
I froze, solid with fear—I stopped writhing in his clutches, too stunned. Panic flooded my senses and bile rose up my throat. My body trembled. How has he found me? How did he even get in?
In the seconds that passed—though it seemed an eternity—Deacon lifted himself off the floor. A guttural growl escaped his throat.
“Let her go, Daniel,” he snarled through clenched teeth.
Even above the fire roaring at the entrance, I could hear every angry breath Deacon took—slow and laboured, waiting for his moment.
“Well, well, Elora. You seem to have found yourself a dutiful pet.”
Daniel turned and locked eyes with Deacon while he lowered me back to the floor—his grip loosened around my neck somewhat, enough for me to breathe a little at least. Sweet, me
rciful Lord… air.
“I won’t ask again.” Every word from Deacon’s mouth sounded dangerously calm.
He edged forward and Lucas and Blake shifted behind me, their heavy breathing sounding close to my ears. Daniel tensed and his grip stiffened.
“Enough!” A female voice boomed, forceful and drawn out. It filled my body with icy dread.
I hummed with the power emanating from her black soul.
I sensed at least one other person besides her, but she held more influence.
Closing my eyes tight, I channelled everything I could into homing in on the two newcomers. I focused so hard, until all other sensations dispersed—the pain in my neck, the raging fire, the thump of heartbeats and the heavy breathing of the General and his warriors.
Forgetting my place, I tried to gauge an understanding of the enemy. One stood out to me, but I didn’t know why. I could almost hear her thoughts when I concentrated hard enough. Nothing intelligible, though—evil laughter, blood-curdling screams, venomous curses… Holy Hell… hate, death, blood, so much blood, and darkness—an infinite darkness. Pure loathing and degraded thoughts moulded together to form a sour, acidic taste in my mouth.
Jacob’s frantic, hurried voice filtered through one of the closed doors and my focus waned. He’d heard the explosion, knew of the danger, could probably smell it.
A baby’s cry echoed from somewhere deep within the building—followed by a shrill, ear-piercing screech, shattering what remained of the glass in the burning doorframe.
One of the strangers bolted toward the sound. She didn’t get very far before Blake appeared in front of her. Chest puffed out, he forced his arms forward and smashed the witch in the chest. She flew back.
Landing against the wall with a sickening thud, she raised her head in time to see Blake in hot pursuit. I registered surprise when, whatever speed she lacked when making her dash forward, she more than made up for when she yanked a wooden stake from the long cloak concealing her face and body. Despite the fact that she must be winded, she launched her weapon at Blake. Muttering something incoherent, the large spike burned gold for a brief second.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the scene unfolding. The stake flew through the air, its aim true. Blake tilted his body at the last minute in an obvious effort to deflect the weapon.
The missile embedded itself in his shoulder, a twelve inch bullet the unnatural force of which catapulted him back into the wall, impaling him.
He didn’t yell out, but his face contorted in pain and fury while he flailed about, trying to prise the stake from his shoulder.
Hours seemed to pass, but in reality barely a minute.
The doors behind me crashed and splintered amid Jacob’s deafening battle cry—all too late. The presence I recognised earlier made herself known.
Ember.
She darted so fast from the shadows and headed straight for the source of the noise. I twisted to see Jacob’s bulging eyes register his shock. Lucas moved to help him.
Did Ember really think she could take on two vampires, centuries older than her?
It made no difference, I realised all too late the intended distraction. Daniel reached for something inside his coat—a small vial of murky liquid.
Without another word, Daniel threw the concoction to the ground—three more shattered around me—and a choking, thick mist erupted. It shot up and licked at the ceiling with animated tentacles. They snaked out in all directions, long wispy arms seeking to cover every possible inch of space.
The cloying substance made me sick and dizzy. My head spun and my eyes rolled backward. Muffled, desperate voices called my name. I lost all feeling in my body before darkness hauled me asunder.
∾∾∾
The room filled with a thick, black smog enveloping everybody in it—heads became fuzzy, movements sluggish, like the space between reality and dreaming.
Deacon snapped out of his haze when the frame of the entryway collapsed into a smouldering heap on the floor. Taking in his surroundings—dim light, fire, his brothers on their hands and knees—something seemed… off.
He put a hand to his pounding head—he felt drunk. What the hell just happened?
A soft groan disturbed his train of thought.
Blake. Half pinned to a wall, a stake protruded from his shoulder. Lucas and Jacob were slumped on the floor, stunned and confused.
Deacon steeled a glance in other directions, something still amiss. Wishing his head would clear so he could think straight, he stood, off-balance, and looked from Blake to Jacob to Lucas, his brow creasing.
Elora!
He let out a sharp growl and bounded for the door.
“Wait!” Lucas may well have been dazed, but his voice still held a commanding edge.
Deacon slowed, trying to figure out why his General would stop him pursuing the enemy—an enemy with his Elora in their clutches. Rage bubbled inside him and he suppressed a growl as he spun to face his leader.
He settled his focus on Lucas. “What are we waiting for? They have Ellie. They’re going to kill her.” His fangs were still in place and a red hue clouded his vision.
“She’s safe, for the time being,” Lucas told him.
Deacon panted through gritted teeth, “What do you mean, she’s safe?”
Lucas explained, while Deacon spoke with Elora, he busied himself scrutinising everything Belinda told them. She stated she knew how the victims were being selected—everyone assumed because of their infertility, their need for a child. Lucas suspected something else, so re-questioned Belinda only to discover the victims were selected in accordance with their birth sign.
Witches drew their power from the sign under which they were born. Morgan drew hers from the earth, Gillian fire, Ivy air and Belinda water. Cassandra still needed a water sign because Belinda escaped. While Lucas spoke with her, she went into labour, both mother and child now secure in the medical ward.
“What sign is Elora?” Deacon asked, exasperated.
“She’s fire; born August tenth.”
“I don’t get it.” Deacon shook his head in confusion. “Why has she been taken, then?”
“Elora is to be the fifth sacrifice, and it has something to do with her mother.”
Deacon stood rigid. “Do you know who her mother is?”
“Not entirely, but we need to find out.”
“We don’t have time to find out. They aren’t going to sit around and wait for us to deliver Belinda to them. They will find someone else and then they will kill Ellie.”
Deacon’s emotions spiked to dangerous levels. Consumed by the need to save his mate—the single most important thing to him—he would not let her die, he couldn’t live without her. They needed one another, now more than ever.
“They have her in their clutches. They may not kill her just yet, but they can certainly do other things to her. How the fuck does that make her safe?” Deacon fumed, his voice bellowing out above all else.
“Deacon, you will watch your tongue with me,” Lucas started. “I understand your turmoil, but rushing in blind will get both you and Elora killed.”
A commotion from outside the room startled them. They braced themselves, assuming a second attack.
“What the hell happened here?” Chloe came into view, paving a careful way around the burning debris.
Deacon’s body relaxed when he saw her walk through the door, a young woman in tow.
Lucas shifted to stand beside him, asking, “Is this Madison Rose?”
“Yes,” the young woman replied in a meek voice, observing the devastation around her.
“You have something to show us?” Deacon all but growled, hasty in his hope to find out if whatever she possessed could help save Elora.
“I do.”
Lucas turned on his heel and beckoned everyone to follow. Without glancing back, he pointed in Blake’s direction, “Get him off the wall, then bring everyone to the labs.”
Deacon looked over at Blake, still str
uggling to free himself. Under any other circumstances, Deacon would have found the sight hilarious, but right now he could see nothing but blood red fury.
Every inch of his aching soul screamed at him to run after Elora, he fought against it with all the control he could muster. It tugged at his heart. He could feel her anguish, and everywhere he looked, he saw her pained face.
She is meant for me, and I for her. I will tear every psychotic, demon cock-sucking bitch apart until she is safe in my arms again. His whole body itched to turn and bolt for the door, but the same burning love he felt for her held him back. He agreed with Lucas—if he went in blind, they’d both end up dead.
∾∾∾
What on earth is Ember doing working with witches? No doubt, a question on everyone’s mind while they made their way to the labs.
Lucas pondered over why her General let her live for her earlier indiscretion. Deacon screamed that he wanted to rip the bitch’s head off, and Blake informed everyone he recognised her scent from Belinda’s house, not to mention her speed—unnaturally fast, even for a vampire.
Nate and Sam were caught up to speed when they arrived back a little after Chloe.
Once downstairs, Lucas set up the projection unit for the video Madison captured.
The witch explained how Ivy had sent her away from the house the moment a car pulled up outside the gates, but she couldn’t do it. Fear and guilt kept her hidden in the surrounding woods while she watched two people enter her home.
Through the upstairs window—the altar room—Madison watched candlelight flicker off the walls before the majority were snuffed out. An unnerving silence sent her running back to the house. She peered through the kitchen window while she fumbled with her phone, intent on calling the police, but movement and hushed voices made her switch to her camera.
Lucas played the recording.
The footage showed the Swanson’s empty kitchen, but the dim sound of the video produced muffled voices, movements growing louder before two women entered the room. The faded lighting left much to be desired, but the Faction’s heightened vision enabled them to make out a tall, skinny woman with long, black hair and an exotic complexion.
Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1) Page 15
