I looked around at the sparse room again, took a deep breath of encouragement, ripped the edge of the envelope, and started reading.
To the child of my womb
If you're reading this it means I succeeded with the first steps in my plan, and that things are moving accordingly.
Before I go any further, I want you to know that the decision to bring you into this world wasn't made lightly, and that your father, whoever he may be, had no part in this plan.
Understand, my child, that when my kind loves, we love unconditionally. I could not live through losing another child, through the war I know will come if I don't take matters into my own hands.
I mean that figuratively, as I would survive against all odds, be the last one standing.
I would not hold it against you if you hate me for what I've done. I would not hold it against you if you called me a coward.
For the position I put you through, you'd be right on both counts.
The Sidhe will teach you all you need to know. They have been briefed, they have agreed to help. Matilda can be a friend, you can trust her if you want. She will guide you in times of need. I didn't do right by her, I didn't do right by the people who loved me the most.
But I no longer have it in me to continue this fight alone. This is my last stand – and as the last one left to prevent Remo from winning, I'm giving it my all.
I know this is unfair of me, believe this if nothing else, I do know.
My apologies will mean nothing, my regrets are all my own.
I don't know if I should wish you success – for the sake of everyone else, or if I should wish you failure – for your own sake.
But I know, and I admit I'm relieved, that I won't be there to know either way.
My deepest regrets,
Arianna Lenard.
I let my hand drop and stared blankly at the wall. For a long time, all I could think, all I could see were those two words at the bottom of the letter: Arianna Lenard. Arianna Lenard. Arianna Lenard.
God, Arianna Lenard.
My mother.
I don't know how long I sat there, my heart numb, my thoughts blank, when I heard a commotion downstairs.
“Where is she?” Came Zantry's angry voice.
“Back off,” Matilda warned. Stomach lurching, I stood and hurried downstairs, only to find Zantry at the door, both Matilda and the elder man blocking his path, their hands raised, some beady string clutched in each of their hands.
I noted that the color of Zantry's eyes was light blue, and with another stomach lurch, I jumped off the last three steps. He looked up, his eyes worried, scanned me from head to toe.
“If you don't leave now,” The man began.
But Zantry didn't pay him any attention. “You alright?” He asked me, not caring that there were two pissed off charmers blocking his path. I had this feeling he'd trample right over them to get to me, realized the feeling came from him.
“Stay back,” Matilda said to me, and if it wasn't for the roiling knot inside my stomach, I'd have laughed.
“It's ok,” I said. “I'm alright,” I told him, placing a hand above my stomach and pressing down, unable to help myself. There was this thing in my belly, a stretching of muscles I couldn't explain.
Zantry's eyes tightened, either in anger or worry, I couldn't tell from the nausea that suddenly overtook me. He took a step forward, and both Matilda and the man tried to block his path.
“If you don't move,” Zantry growled in warning, “I'm going through you.”
Again that stretching came, and suddenly I knew, deep inside and from a part of me I hadn't known existed, that I was being summoned.
It was nothing spiritual or psychic, but more like a physical tug, a stretching of muscles that I couldn't control. I went cold all over, my lips forming a silent oh. My eyes met Zantry's, and I knew he understood what was happening.
“Move!” He thundered at Matilda, and she must've had some sense of self-preservation, because she stepped aside.
He was beside me in a blink, and I reached for his hand, needing the connection, my terror overwhelming.
“What's going on?” Matilda demanded, realizing too late that something was happening to me.
The tug came again, this time more insistent, and my legs collapsed from under me. Zantry picked me up before I could hit the ground and carried me to the sofa, laid me down and knelt beside me.
“Talk to me,” He said, his voice echoing from far away.
I heard Matilda say something, the sound distorted,, saw Zantry's lips move, but I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or to her.
The tug came again, and I felt like a fish, hook and line tugging me, and I looked at Zantry one more time, at the anguish in his beautiful eyes before I was hurtling away into the dark, mouth open in a silent scream.
Chapter Fifty-One
I fell and fell for several seconds that felt like forever, then jarred when my feet touched hard ground. I stumbled with the impact, fell down to one knee. The familiar sting of the needle sharp rock went unnoticed, taking a backseat for the jolt of paralyzing terror that filled me. It was that familiar fear every time I came near this man, that cold terror that took a ride with the blood travelling through my veins, filling my body with its potent venom. It made me forget reason, and the terror was now combined with the certainty I was his to command, his to be called upon whenever, wherever, no matter what.
I stayed on one knee, watching him with eyes as big as saucers – a reaction he no doubt was used to. His energy battered at my senses while my heart pounded in a painful rhythm.
Remo's head cocked to the side, his hands went behind his back. His eyes studied me contemplatively, his nostrils flaring. Taking me for what I was worth, studying me in a sense that went beyond physical.
“She does not look like much. I don't understand why she's so important,” Said a familiar voice to my left, and with a jolt, I watched as Angelina Hawthorn came into view.
“Looks are often deceiving, ma fleur. She is much more than meets the eye,” Remo replied, still studying me.
Angelina's presence here… explained much, changed nothing. My mind whirled a million miles, fitting all the pieces of the puzzle that had been missing. I had been right after all. That lock of hair had been Mwara's. And Roland's suspicions had been on target as well. Those minions we had fought when we came for Mwara hadn't been human. No, they were the fledglings that had disappeared from Vincent's case. Hadn't I noticed fangs when we were fighting the minions that night we'd come to save Mwara?
Vincent's case had closed that same night I had left to scope the caves for Diggy. The only reason Remo hadn't been here that day was because he had been down south, seeing to the fledgling's transportation.
All that crossed in my mind in the blink of an eye. Vincent's case was bigger than they thought, bigger than they could imagine. Angelina was gathering an army, yes, but not to invade Juan Silva, the vampire master of Mexico. No, the army was for Remo Drammen.
I closed my eyes, just now seeing the image of the puzzle, when all along all the pieces had been right there. Hadn't Angelina spoken about business associates? Paranoid me had believed a hunter member had hired her to come after me. Stupid, Roxanne.
Remo took a step forward and my eyes popped wide open. Did he know whose daughter I was?
It was then I recalled his words to me the first time we met, back in his penthouse: “…You remind me of someone… Pity she died…”
He knew.
“I want to see your wings. Shift now, familiar,” He said in that nasal tone.
My eyes widened, and I had to swallow the maniacal laughter bubbling in my throat.
I had no alternative form, much less wings.
I didn't feel anything binding me to his command, so not to anger him, I shifted my hands, letting my sharp talons appear, the pinkish and brownish scales going as far as my wrists.
Remo looked down at my hands – my talons – his expression c
onveying no emotion whatsoever. His energy didn't shift, didn't tell me anything. I couldn't tell if my inability to shift bothered him at all.
In contrast, Angelina's amusement and disdain were palpable.
“Shift, familiar,” He commanded again, and this time I did feel a compulsion to do as he said. Unbidden, patches of brownish fur appeared above my wrists, going halfway to my elbows, but no further. I swallowed hard, looked down at myself, at my legs, noticing the places the sharp rocks had cut me below the cuffs of my Capris. There was blood on my skin, but there was no fur, no extra pair of legs.
There was no time for relief.
Remo took a step forward, and fear had me by the throat, squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe. I was having a heart attack. Or a panic attack. Or just an attack.
When Remo reached for me, I flinched away. He paused, looked once at me, then reached again. I forced myself to stay still, knowing he would command me not to move if I flinched away again. So, against all that was holy to me, I let him take my hand with both of his small ones, his touch like something slimy and scaly against my skin. The contents of my stomach churned violently. I swallowed bile twice and focused on his nose.
“Shift, familiar, and let me see your wings!” he commanded, and a foul torrent of energy hit me like a fret train. If he hadn't been holding on to me, I think I would have been blown away. His energy enveloped every fiber of my being, pressuring at my senses, my body, suffocating my soul. I felt the moment something inside of me gave, the moment his energy took over my body, all my senses, tore at my core. Angry wasps stung me, fed from my flesh with tiny, sharp teeth. I screamed and swallowed more of his energy, the pain overwhelming. My vision dimmed, millions of spots appearing in front of me, blinding me. There was acid on my skin, seeping into my muscles, my bones. I screamed again, or I think I did, my back bowing with the pain. Remo's energy was relentless, coursing all over me, tearing me from inside out. I could feel it enter through my pours, cluster in my muscles, attacking every single nerve ending, every major organ. My ears popped, my lungs hurt, my lips stretched wide and thin, and my jaws unhinged with the potency of my screams.
I don't remember when Remo let go, or when his energy left me. I felt its echo for a long time. All I could tell was that I found myself on all fours, head bowed, the weight of the entire galaxy on my back, gasping for air. I could hear Remo breathing beside me, the steady beat of his heart.
Pain put everything into sharp focus. I could see the tiny grains on the floor by Remo's feet; see every individual fiber of his baby blue suit, the pours on his small face. We were eye level, even if I was down on all fours. I shifted, and wasn't expecting all the weight that followed my command. I stumbled sideways, falling over something warm and furry. I looked down and froze.
My skin was no longer bare.
My body … no longer human.
I was sitting on the soft fur of a huge wing, tipped at the ends with sharp talons, like the ones on my hands. I had four of them.
Oh my God. Oh, my God. Oh. My. God.
Something began building in my chest, growing and growing and growing, until I could no longer hold it.
Panic.
Despair.
I roared, the sound monstrous, like a roar of an angry lion magnified by a bullhorn.
When I was finally able to stand on my feet – or paws – without tumbling sideways with the extra weight, I topped Remo by twice his size. Despite being horribly unbalanced, I lunged for him, unable to see reason.
Before I could reach his throat with my extra pair of talons, his head with another pair, ready to yank it out and lob it at Angelina's shocked face, I froze. I struggled, wings outstretched, talons reaching for him.
I roared again, but that was all I seemed to possess control of. My body was incapable of moving forward, even an inch.
Remo looked me up and down, examining me, then moved around me, examining my wings, the powerful muscles of my back. When he returned to stand before me, his black eyes gleaming with an unnatural light, anticipation and triumph wafted off of him in waves.
“We will start with basic sigils and runes.” he said, his voice carrying a strange tone.
And that's when I realized how right Zantry had been
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Who am I?
A wanderer in this vast world, I'm just another body with a passion for the written word. There is no boundary I can't cross, no limit I can't push; my mind is my passport, my thoughts my mode of transportation. I've travelled to many planets, seen plenty of civilizations, old and new, both in this galaxy and others.
On this earth, my name is Jina S. Bazzar. I'm a freelance writer, a blogger, a mother, a baker, a chocolate fiend, a coffee enthusiast, and sometimes a poet– but those are only informal titles. I have many traits, some contradictory, others complimentary, depending on the circumstance. If I were to ever describe myself, I'd say I'm a pragmatic idealist, a sarcastic cynic, a curious adventurer, a joker, and upon occasion, a cautious realist.
Like most writers out there, my love of books began at a young age, with comic books and alphabet poetry two of my favorite and earliest memories. Growing up, I wasn't an awkward kid, and I didn't prefer books to people. Unlike most writers, I never aspired to author a book, never enjoyed writing essays, and although I had intended to one day become a surgeon, my first attempt at creative writing happened during my senior year in high school, a pastime project that wasted plenty of A4 papers and the ink of multi-colored pens. The story had an Indiana Jones theme with a touch of humor, and I was nowhere near finished when patience ran out and those few thousand words were tucked in some dusty drawer and forgotten, taking a backseat to finals and SATs.
Soon after graduation I developed a chronic disease that caused gradual vision loss. Dreams of med school was put on hold for 'a later' time, and eventually, during my twenties, I became blind and med school was no longer an option. Reading also became just a fond memory, and writing not even that.
That is, until I started working for a non-profit organization for women with disabilities and became acquainted with screen readers.
After I quit my job, I picked up reading with vengeance, but soon realized it was no longer enough, and so I started writing, this time with an aim to pursue a career. Heir of Ashes is my debut novel, a creation born from my love of anything fairy, of action-packed stories and a touch of romance. Besides fiction, I've written dozens of articles for Conscious Talk magazine, on topics of health, food, poetry and the writer's life.
When I'm not writing or networking on social media, you can find me in the kitchen, listening to loud music while baking (often misshapen) goodies, or cooking favorite dishes and adding new touches to them. Upon occasion, I enjoy travelling, and with a real passport, I've been to the U.S., Dubai, Jordan and Sweden, and hope one day to travel around the world. Currently, I live in the Middle-East.
On my blog at www.authorsinspirations.wordpress.com I talk about all those hobbies and passions, as well as funny mishaps and contemplative musings about children and sometimes about disabilities. I also enjoy connecting with people from all walks of life, all around the world.
I speak Portuguese, English and Arabic fluently, as well as passable Spanish, and lately I'm contemplating learning Italian or Greek.
I was born and raised in a quiet, small town in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where I've had a happy and fulfilling childhood. I literally played in the middle of the street, climbed tall trees and hiked worn trails, biked to the top of mountains to have picnics, swam in small lakes with murky water, surrounded by wild flowers. I've played pranks on cranky neighbors, cried over lost pets and climbed ele
ctric poles when no one was watching. My inspiration comes from most anything, a discussion, a friend, an animal or plant, events, memories, music, etc – in other words, from life itself.
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