mythean arcana 07 - witchs fate (2 page)

“You need to become a warlock, Sofia. Your village needs you. With the power of the aether, you can break the curse upon your village. Free yourself from being Protector.”

A rush of desire swept through her at his words. It’s what she’d wanted all along—the reason she’d sought out the apprenticeship. Upon her mother’s death, she was expected to take on the role of Protector of Bruxa’s Eye. She loved her village at the edge of the Amazon River and would dedicate her life to protecting it from the High Witches’ curse. 

Unlike most Mytheans, warlocks were made, not born. Most Mytheans took their magical power from the aether, that ephemeral substance connecting earth and their afterworlds. Their immortal souls absorbed the aether power like a sponge and they used it to fuel their magic. But, like a sponge, there was a limited capacity and then a Mythean had to wait to reabsorb more power. But a warlock could open a channel to the aether and fill up on nearly unlimited power. 

“But not at this cost,” Sofia said. “I love you, Malcolm. I love my village. Becoming an Oath Breaker would mean leaving you. Maybe even my village, too. I cannot do that. I will not! And if you love me, you will not either. It’s not worth it.”

The cold determination in his eyes sent a chill across her skin. Fear and loss threatened to overwhelm her, a cold force dragging her down. She was losing this battle. It was clear in his eyes. Sorcerers were cold, determined. His clan in particular. It was in his blood to do this.

But he was part wulver as well. His father’s people, from northern Scotland, were wolf shifters. They were loyal and believed in the importance of bonds, of family. Of love. It’s why she’d been able to overlook the coldness of his sorcerer side. But she’d never seen him turn into a wolf, nor had he mentioned it. Perhaps the fact that he was a half-blood meant that he couldn’t. And perhaps too, he didn’t feel emotion as strongly as his kin.

“I have to become a warlock, Sofia.” His voice was hard. “I love you. But I have to do this.”

“Why?” Her chest ached with loss.

“Because becoming a warlock is the greatest thing I can accomplish.”

Pain hit her. “The greatest thing? Love is the greatest thing.”

“We can have that too.”

Something snapped inside of her and she screamed, “We can’t! You know it. You’ve heard the stories. Our friend was struck low by the Oath Breaker’s curse. Oath Breakers cannot love.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “You can become a warlock, or you can have me. But you cannot have both.”

 “You’re wrong, Sofia.”

She drew her wand and shot a bolt of lightning at him. He deflected it with his hand and it hit a tree, felling it. His face hardened and her heart felt like it cracked at the sight of his beloved features twisted in anger at her. The bolt wouldn’t have killed him, but she wanted to make him hurt as she was hurting.

She tried to harden her voice. “Those are my terms. You made a vow to me that we’d be together forever. If you break it, you’re on the path to becoming an Oath Breaker. It’s me or becoming a warlock.”

“You would give me an ultimatum?” Shock and anger played across his features. Understanding dawned. “You will leave me if I become a warlock.”

She nodded sharply, unable to open her mouth for fear that a sob would burst forth.

“You know what I choose,” he said, his voice cold.

She nearly fell to her knees. The earth seemed to tilt on its axis. What had just happened? Had she really just lost everything?

She turned and ran. 

CHAPTER ONE

Glencoe Mountains, Scottish Highlands

Present Day

Sofia stared at the exterior of Malcolm’s enormous castle, unable to believe she was here. For over four hundred years, she’d stuck by her vow to never see him again. 

Yet she was now standing on top of a mountain in front of his home, a sweeping vista of snow-sprinkled peaks and valleys stretching into the distance before her. Moonlight gleamed off every white surface. 

Rage banished any chill she felt from the cold. It burned away the painful memories of their parting, memories that had torn at her insides for years.

“That bastard had better still have the Demon Blade,” she said to Kitty. She’d used all her magic and the strongest spells she could find and he’d still broken in and stolen it. He’d been cocky enough to leave her a message in the chest where the blade had been locked. In her own home.
Come to me.

Kitty hissed.

Harsh wind whipped across her cheeks as she stomped toward the huge front doors. Kitty led the way, her round little body stalking across the snow as if she too meant to make Malcolm pay for stealing the dagger. Sofia would see to it he did.

His home loomed before her, enormous. She scowled. Not only was he an immensely powerful warlock, he was now insanely wealthy, if the size of his home was any indication. But if he had the obscene amount of money it would take to own this place, why the hell was he stealing from her? Why was he back in her life at all?
He
was the one who’d destroyed what they had.

She shook the painful thought away and glared at his house.  It was not a typical castle, made of great, ugly blocks with only a few narrow windows. No, this one was both stark and beautiful. Gray stone towers rose from the mountain and glass glowed with warm light. There was no exterior defense wall. There’d be no need, of course. Not with his power. Despite its beauty, it was somehow desolate. As if the person who lived within were as cold and dark as the night surrounding it.

But then, Malcolm was dark and cold and she knew it better than anyone.

She climbed the wide steps and raised her hand to pound on the door.

“Screw it.” She lowered her fist and pushed against the door, sending a jolt of power blasting through his protection charm and forcing the door open. It smashed against the inside wall. He might be ridiculously powerful and wealthy, but she was no slouch herself.

And she was just pissed enough that she wanted to bust into his house and break a few things. Like his head.

She stepped through the now wide open door and took in the rich wood paneling and priceless art covering the high walls of the entry. A huge staircase swept up to the right and a large archway on the left led to a wide hallway. The sheer beauty of the interior was so great that it quashed her previous desire to break things.

Her skin prickled when she looked toward the hallway to the left, so she set off that way. She could almost feel herself being drawn to him. How was it possible after so many years? 

Kitty stayed close by her side as she stomped down the hall, her footsteps thudding on the gleaming wooden floor as she made her way past closed doors. A glow emitted from the one at the end of the hall, the light within so bright it shined out from between the cracks at the edges. It beckoned her in the best and worst way. 

Her heart pounded in her ears as anticipation fought with her anger. 

Bastard. 

She shouldn’t want to see him after all these years, but she did. Her hurt over the past had faded some. What was left had turned to anger, which she stoked. She couldn’t bear to relive that crushing pain. So she’d focus on anger. 

But she couldn’t help the anticipation.

She sucked in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. The room within was dark, the only light coming from the large fireplace that was blocked by a man sitting at a desk. She could only make out his silhouette.

She ignored her pounding heart and took in her surroundings, searching for additional trouble. The room was round, the ceiling soaring high above. She must be in one of the towers. Books lined the walls, stretching up five stories to the domed ceiling. A wide walkway spiraled up the sides of the round room, making it easy to access all the books. Kitty pressed up against her legs, trembling slightly.

Satisfied no other lurked in the shadows, she looked at the man at the desk. Shadows concealed his face, but not the outline of his form. Despite the dark, she could make out the breadth of his shoulders and the fall of his dark hair.

Her heart threatened to break her ribs and a chill broke out on her skin.

Malcolm. Desire that she’d thought long dead rushed through her. Her breath came short. She hadn’t even really seen him yet and she still wanted him. They’d only ever kissed, but memories of his skilled lips bombarded her.

He remained sitting, his feet propped on the gleaming wooden desk. A crystal tumbler of whisky sat in front of him. Firelight set the amber liquid aglow. Her insides tightened as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she could take him in better. 

The man—it really was Malcolm—lazily spun her Demon Blade in one big hand.

“This what you came here for?” His voice was as deep and rich as the darkest chocolate. No sweetness. Just a hint of the bitterness that followed a bite of the rich substance.

Fear suddenly shivered down her spine. She was a powerful Bruxa—powerful enough that she had no need for modesty—but she was also a smart one. And she was right to be afraid.

This wasn’t the Malcolm she remembered. Of course it wasn’t. He was now one of the most powerful beings in all of the Mythean world. A warlock. Destruction and power personified. All bought by becoming an Oath Breaker and throwing her away. 

The reminder sent anger through her again. A reminder of what she was fighting for. What she’d always been fighting for. Her village. And for the first time since her line had taken up the role of Protector, they were at risk.

Because of this man.

“Yeah, that’s what I came here for.” Her voice could have cut stone. “Now give it back.” 

He surged fluidly to his feet, his shoulders blocking out the light of the fire. For such a large man, he was incredibly graceful. He approached her, his gait smooth and long, and she stifled a gasp at his size. 

Had she forgotten? Or had he grown? He was at least six and a half feet tall, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow. His sweater and pants were dark and expensive looking. He stopped just inches from her, looming over her.

His scent, rich with spice and darkness, wrapped enticingly around her. He bent his head, seeming to enclose her in an invisible embrace. His dark hair fell around his face. This close, she could make out the masculine beauty of his features. Dark brows and golden eyes, full lips that twisted with a bit of cruelty. 

Otherworldly. She trembled as desire surged to the fore again. She might be mad at him. Afraid of him. 

But she still wanted him.

“You don’t care at all why I took it?” 

Again, the rich timbre of his voice sent a shiver across her skin. Only this time, it wasn’t entirely due to fear. It was there, of course, making her skin prickle coldly. But a surge of heat came with it. Desire fueled by fear. He was dangerous.

He raised a hand as if he would touch her. Anticipation streaked through her.
Do it.

Hot anger welled within her. At him and herself. He thought he could touch her? And she would let him?

She pressed her hand against his hard chest, sending a bolt of heat meant to burn and punish.

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a dark smile and he pressed his palm over hers, absorbing what she gave him without reacting at all.

Her jaw slackened. It should have hurt like hell. Made him jump back at the very least, if not fall to the ground.

But his golden eyes flared with desire and his full lips kicked up at the corners. 

He liked it.

What the hell?

Malcolm absorbed the heat of her touch, relishing the burn. It wasn’t that he liked it, necessarily. But he liked that it made him feel something. And that it came from her.

Sofia’s skin was smooth and soft, her hand so tiny beneath his. She made him feel like a great, hulking beast. Which he was. As part wulver, the wolf was inside him. And the things that beast wanted to do to her…

Suitable for one such as him. But another voice in his head suggested that those things ought not be done to one as beautiful and delicate as she. That part of his mind was quiet enough to ignore.