by Brea Viragh
IN THE DARK
Cavaldi Birthright Book 3
Brea Viragh
Copyright © Brea Viragh 2018
All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.
To Kellie,
Who loves a good paranormal more than anything else!
And Bryce,
My handsome “nephew” who deserves the best of what life has to offer.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Afterword
About the Author
Late spring, near the Baltic Sea 1100 A.D.
Her heart wasn’t in the right place. Jagged shards of it stabbed at her over and over again and egged her onward through each moment of misery. Each moment of torment. Wild magic pulsed in her blood—in her soul—and without an end, she would lose her mind. As her mother and father had before her. Their mothers and fathers before that. There was no comfort in the magic, in the power. It was uncontrollable.
If she wanted the madness to stop, she needed more power. More.
To her great shame, she could not stop the tide alone. She’d left her family behind, her baby boy with his wide easy smile and oddly colored blue and green and gold eyes. Her husband, her lover, the one who held the rest of her heart, had returned from the war to be at her side. He brought with him a renewal of her hope. Their love would see them through these dark times. Would see them through their quest until they found the object strong enough to stem the flow of rogue magic into their world.
They traveled, they fought, and they remembered their years together. The joy and laughter, tears and heartbreak. They remembered their son and the life they’d made together. It was his nature to remain optimistic. It was hers to be stoic and know she would do what needed to be done to save their people.
Their people, the Veleti, she thought, standing in the cave above water boiling as if with rage. Their people struggling to survive a magic they couldn’t control. A magic inside their bodies, aging them and killing them unnaturally. And so she would do what needed to be done. She would build a wall strong enough to keep the power at bay. Stone by stone until it was strong enough that no one and nothing could breach it.
She’d harnessed enough of her magic to make it through the journey. Now she felt the end closing in around her, and though her husband stood at her side, it was she alone who felt the pain. There was a purpose in the agony.
He didn’t hear the way the magic from the other side spoke to her. Guaranteeing a way to end her misery…sly voice full of promises. And lies.
She’d refused to recognize the dangers of their quest, even as she was tempted. She alone had the will to succeed. She felt renewed the closer she crept to the stone, her slippered feet sliding along the ground.
A furious wind burst through the cave and snapped around her, taking her breath and lifting the golden strands of her hair in a halo around her head. She lifted her arms and faced the stone—the rumored tool of the gods with enough power to build her wall.
The sea outside howled in response to the surge of magic. The granite ground shuddered beneath their feet. She would make sure her child was safe. Safe and healthy and capable of continuing their bloodline. Her sister would tend to him if they failed. Her husband’s magic would be passed down. The witches underground recognized their wild magic passed along gender lines. The Cavaldi birthright.
Her own magic would fade into obscurity unless she was successful that night.
She placed her hand on the stark black and white planes of the stone. It had taken so much to get here, to stand in front of it. She waited to be judged worthy.
Before long, her husband joined her, his protests silenced, and they teetered together on the edge. Their will, their lives, fighting against the wild storm inside of them. The storm she’d conjured.
Power licked her skin and she recognized the darkness.
You will keep the balance.
You will keep the dark.
You will be the veil.
She’d been judged, but instead of receiving the means to build her wall, she became it. She became the pain. The loneliness. Her husband taken for Light, her for its opposite. They were the stronghold keeping the two worlds apart. The shadows reached for her as her physical form became incorporeal. She plunged through time and space, screaming, hurling her fury into the void.
Knowing she’d made a terrible mistake.
CHAPTER 1
One month to the eclipse…
Karsia Cavaldi woke with a scream in her throat and her hand clutched to her chest. She bunched the paper-thin blankets against her, taking a moment to breathe. In. Out. Her lungs pumped oxygen into her body. It was simple mechanics.
Adrenaline coursed through her until her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. It worked double time. What was left of her heart, anyway. There wasn’t much.
Within moments, it had slowed to a regular rhythm and her fight or flight reaction stilled. Already her mind blurred the details of the dream. More like a nightmare. She’d stopped having good dreams the moment she’d…no, she wouldn’t think about the transformation. Not during the night when bad things pressed their faces to the window panes and screeched for attention. Night was the time to check for monsters under the bed.
She should know.
Karsia rose with a sigh, her slender body clad in a pair of boy shorts and tank top, and stretched her arms to the ceiling. Dark auburn hair cascaded down her back in a tangle. She bent forward to work out the kinks and dragged her fingertips along the carpet, staring at herself. Small ankles, slim legs, and delicate arches greeted her. She hated everything. Not in the conventional I-hate-my-body-because-I’m-not-good-enough way. She sincerely hated everything about her weak mortal form. Which happened to hold great power inside of it.
Once the veil tore apart on the eclipse, she would finally shed her human body and take her place as keeper of the balance. A physical barrier between this realm and the plane of existence known to the witch community as the world of ancient magicks.
She couldn’t wait.
No, hold on a minute. She shook her head until her ears rang. Those were the thoughts she needed to fight against. They weren’t hers. They belonged to the dark passenger curled around her soul. The essence of The One Who Walks in Darkness.
They aren’t mine, she repeated. Trying to make it true. Trying to remember the person she was. The person she was supposed to be.
The filthy hotel room was a random stop on her path, the same as the hundreds of other roadside haunts that came before it when she felt the rare need for rest. Her body didn’t requir
e much sleep anymore.
A glance at the clock determined it was three-fifteen a.m., her personal witching hour. She never slept past it after the few hours she got each night. That evening, she’d managed to fit in a whopping sixty minutes.
It was a personal best.
Sleep had abandoned her at the same time her humanity flew the coop. Every morning at three-fifteen she woke with a scream tearing from her insides. If, of course, she actually made it to the point of closing her eyes. Her body had adjusted to the change as though she’d spent her whole life living a lie with her need for eight solid hours.
Those restful nights were a thing of the past. She’d been chosen for Dark, after all. If she had to guess, she’d say her body ran on the fuel of chaos and depravity in the world. Luckily, those things were always in plentiful supply.
Karsia walked to the window, her bare feet padding across the shabby carpet. This motel, like the others before it, was the quintessential image of nothing more than a place to rest her head. They all looked alike, from the economy flooring to the particle-board headboard nailed to the wall. Thrift store prints in cheap frames were scattered around the four walls in an attempt to cover the deplorable wallpaper and any holes punched through the sheetrock by less than desirable occupants.
Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place like this, with dubious stains and a mattress with a sinkhole in the middle. Niggling doubts and worries would have plagued her, her imagination conjuring images of bedbugs in the sheets and mildew on the ceiling. Maybe a corpse or two hidden inside the walls.
That was the old her. It was another life. Another person. Now, she jumped from place to place, choosing cheap rest stops without thought. The dirtier the better. Those were the chocolate-covered cherries with surprising juicy centers.
Pushing aside the curtains in an odd shade that were more a dusty brown than green, she surveyed Miami at its brightest. Certainly not its best. The skyline in the distance, the hint of lit buildings reaching for more height, more glitz, more glam. Somewhere beyond those structures was the ocean crashing repeatedly to the shore. Packed with garbage from the bloated masses who didn’t care if they strangled their earth.
Karsia drew in a breath she felt with her senses. There was a healthy dose of raw magic seeping through the thinning veil. Those like her, witches and wizards with the genetic capabilities to handle the energy, fared as well as possible given the circumstances. They felt the flow and tried not to lose their minds in the process. Humans, however…those poor souls. Especially ones with diluted blood. They didn’t know what was going on, only that something was wrong. They were angry—well, angrier than usual. Hungrier and greedier and merciless.
Those were the people drawn to her.
On the vernal equinox, during a lunar eclipse, the Harbinger witch would come and close the veil. Restore balance from those frayed and ruined pieces. And Karsia would become the new barrier.
She scowled at the flash of neon signs, the rush and push of humanity. The lowest of the low trod below her on the streets and she felt them. Every dirty deed or thought. Every evil inclination. Each was a dark nudge at her mind, constant and never-ending.
Those were her bedtime stories.
She saw herself reflected in the mirror-like glass, the blackness of her pupils swallowing the rest of her eye color. They used to be beautiful, an interesting mix of blue and green and gold. It was a trait passed on through the generations on her father’s side of the bloodline. The Cavaldi line. She shared those eyes with her sisters.
No more. That was one of the first things to go.
Standing there in the glow of a nicotine-yellow street lamp, Karsia closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of degradation.
The city had a pulse. It was what drew her there in the first place, a constant thrum of energy coupled with a pressing need for distance. No matter how far or how fast she ran, she couldn’t escape herself.
Each evil act caused an echo inside of her and she was intimately aware of them the instant they occurred. She followed each scenario from a tiny kernel of thought on to fruition. Nurtured them like children until they flowered. A man beat his wife until she begged for mercy, and Karsia stood alongside him. Not quite egging him on but doing nothing to stop him.
When a drug deal went wrong and a man lay on the concrete with his blood seeping through the cracks, she felt his distress. Knew his anguish and recognized the instant he gave up the fight. She sighed when his soul left his body, grinned when the others walked away with their business completed, not a care in the world for the life they’d stolen.
Those were her people. The ones who prayed to the disorder of the universe at an altar they hardly knew existed.
That was what she’d become. It had been her choice, she knew, to save a person she loved. Karsia just hadn’t realized she would lose herself in the bargain. She touched a finger to the point between her breasts where she’d been marked. Though no scar was visible, there was a hard knot there. She no longer had a heart. It had burned out of her the moment she stepped in front of a lancing bolt of energy meant for her oldest sister Aisanna.
She placed her hand flat on her chest where instead of a heart, two gemstones lay fused together beneath her ribs, manipulated by her other sister. In their world, magic was passed down through family gender lines, from mother to daughter, from father to son. Yet somehow, in a strange twist of fate, her older sister Astix had inherited their father’s control over minerals and gemstones, instead of plant magic from their mother.
Those unique abilities had saved Karsia’s life. The emerald and amber combination glowed within her body and kept the worst of the evil at bay, their inherent properties used for protection and warding away evil spirits. They kept her alive and kept the worst of the darkness from claiming her entirely. It was becoming more and more difficult the closer it got to the eclipse. She felt the surge of magic leaking from the other world. It made her stronger. It made her madder.
And if she gave in, it would make her unstoppable.
There was poison in her veins. No, she would not complain because she did not care to complain. She’d moved beyond the point where she felt it acceptable to moan over her fate. She’d taken the mantle—albeit naively—and the burden became hers to shoulder alone.
With a final touch of her chest, cold stone protecting a single shred of muscle and tissue, she turned and drew on her clothes. The hotel had served its purpose and would no longer be of any use to her. It was time to move on.
Black jeans, black blouse, and black leather jacket. It was nothing more than an image, a stereotype playing on the shadow on her soul. Still, it helped her blend in. And obscurity went a long way.
She carried no bag, no purse or satchel. What little money she possessed she kept in cash tucked into the lining of her bra. When funds depleted she did what was required to survive. If that meant stealing, then she felt no remorse.
With everything she needed on her person and no hint of her presence remaining in the room, Karsia made her way down the hall and out of the building without looking back.
She walked as most did, with the carefree ignorance of a person who valued material things more than life. It had taken no time at all to perfect the attitude. To fit in was to be normal, to be unrecognizable, to be…
Human.
Once, she’d considered herself the same, despite the magic coursing through her blood—a powerful lineage dating back to time immemorial. She’d been young and pretty, with the brightness of an open future ahead of her. She was the youngest of four children, the apple of her parents’ eyes, the vessel for their spoiling and affection. Growing up, she’d become entitled and able to have whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Twenty-four years old and she still lived at home with her parents.
Then a being, an elemental, decided she’d had enough of her responsibility and sought out a new host. Someone from her bloodline. Someone to manipulate. Karsia could understand; sh
e’d carried part of the balance since then, and a month had felt like an eternity.
Men fell to her beauty and offered her the world. The old Karsia would have found the attention heady and charming. But that was then. Now, she utilized affection until it no longer suited her and then moved on without regret.
She’d taken off a few days after Imbolc in early February. The days blurred together after that. It wasn’t running away in any traditional sense; the distance was more for her family’s sake than her own. She was physically unable to keep up appearances, increasingly unable to control the powerful impulses. Karsia loved her family, but “she” wanted to push them to the brink and watch them tumble into oblivion. Part of her was appalled, while the other part was euphoric. It was time to get out before she hurt anyone.
She bounced from city to city with an evil presence inside of her, staying for short periods of time before the burden became too immense.
She should have watched her path instead of stomping along blindly. There were so many things she could have done to keep up precautions. Too late to think of that now, as a hand shot out of the murky shadows and grabbed her arm. Karsia lost her balance and fell to the side, hitting her shoulder against the side of the building.
Someone swiped at her head and she dodged to the right, vision blurring. Her palm shot out toward soft flesh. She saw a flash of a face, a male face.
It was always a man, she thought dimly as she lifted a hand and punched at the attacker’s chin. Cold hands clamped down on the bare skin of her neck, which, miraculously, warmed under the prolonged contact.
She twisted, and found the more she struggled, the stronger his grip became.
She glared at him, though she couldn’t see his face plainly. “Stop.” It was a warning. A whispered threat of retaliation. Her dim human eyes began to burn with an unnatural light, a passionate color very inhuman.
