Aftermath: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 9) Page 4

  Scorpio stared her down as his mind flipped back in time. He knew Toril’s pleas for him to save Talon had always been there, but the emotion behind it at times was different.

  “You thought I could connect to Talon. Once synced we could overpower Akan.”

  Toril barely nodded in agreement. The answer was more evident in her eyes. “I heard them speaking. I heard them trying to recount how the others in our Throng had died, questioning if they really had. Zale had said, ‘I’ve felt the power of a Throng a breath from me my entire life. I vow to you, you never know who they are until they are synced—until then they stay hidden from the magic we have to use to destroy them. If any live, we must stop them from syncing.’” Toril’s voice trembled before she went on, “I thought we had a chance.”

  “A better chance if you had told me any of this.” He cursed under his breath. “If there was such a chance, why did Akan allow me to stay that close to Talon, why did he plead so hard for me to gain his trust.”

  “He pleaded for you to take Talon. You knew better.”

  “I knew Talon wasn’t going anywhere,” Scorpio said sardonically. “I knew nothing because I was told nothing. I was starved Toril, not me but a shadow of who I once was.”

  “How could I tell you? They would’ve heard me, would’ve done something. If I connected with you, they had a way to you through me. I had no choice.”

  “You could’ve given me a sign, something,” he accused.

  “I did what I could, with what I had.”

  Her bold stare held its place on his jade eyes as Scorpio swallowed revelations he’d rather forget. He wasn’t pissed at her, and she knew it, he was enraged at himself. How could he claim to love this female above all and not know she was not before him, but an imposter was?

  He could make excuses all day long. He was starved, siblings had similar vim, he’d been spelled... in the end, Scorpio could not accept any of them. He should’ve known.

  “All this time,” Scorpio said with a lift of his brow. “Not a lot of action for a dark being hell bent on destroying me.”

  “He was sure he destroyed you the night...when he felt me die.”

  “The night a phantom killed you, giving some credence to your mother’s fears that touching you would be a deadly move.”

  She swayed her head silently disagreeing with who or what had killed her. “My death was meant to give Akan glory.”

  “Jokes on him,” Scorpio quipped darkly.

  “He did gain some power, the strain of no longer having a warring Throng rise was absent making him feel lighter. Akan lost your stone...his one and only goal was to recover it. He, like Zale, assumed in time he’d see the power reach for you again, and then he’d take it.” She pressed her lips together trying not to smile at how beautifully fate dances to its own rhythm. “I don’t know if he had seen this power reach for you, but I do know Dagen, Saige and Talon so close to you gave Zale and Akan reason to believe this was not over. You didn’t sync...but he could feel the same threat washing down his spine.”

  “All this over a stone that doesn’t exist.”

  “Over a stone you don’t remember existing. Your mother knew your soul was too young to hold the power, and she knew she was out of time. The stone was her only choice.”

  “You should’ve told me,” he said again searching for a place to lay the blame. A stone? How simple. Impossible was more like it.

  “I didn’t understand the power behind your mother’s stone,” she raged in frustration. “My people worshiped your family. You were the gods. This man, my brother, had slain my god and held the power in his hand like a trophy and swore to me one word to you would destroy your existence. I didn’t care about our quest. I didn’t care how dark the gods were. I could survive anything but an existence without you.”

  “You said he didn’t have the stone.”

  “I said he didn’t have it now,” she blushed. “He went for the stone the night we touched as predicted. He led the time warriors right to it. They were an enemy Akan never saw coming, one he still hunts to this day.”

  Scorpio grinned coldly, “I would not say that princess. It was a Voyager who sprung him from his cage. Not the act of an enemy.”

  “Was it an act of desperation?” Toril countered. “Akan plays dirty, downright filthy. The most powerful Voyager put him in his place then went on his way. The weaker ones were there for Akan to hold hostage, to use at his will to change all he could forward and backward in time.”

  “Why would the most powerful leave the weak unprotected, not avenged?”

  “I can not see all, but I would wager the violet-eyed being in your brotherhood has little recount of his past. What caused this, if it was on purpose or by default, gave Akan a way in. He is not a male who walks broadly through a front door, but an ant that will crawl in without invitation, through passages you could never imagine.” She searched his expression. “It will not be over until he is asunder.”

  “I said things to him. He knew things. When he was in your image...how could I not fucking tell?”

  “Akan is a great student. It is his supreme tool. He’d watched us, I told you this. When I was his captive, he studied me with a critical eye.”

  “Was it his hatred of Reveca or yours?” Scorpio asked quietly. Her answer could change everything. Intent was set with the spell he cast over her. Intent Scorpio had every reason to believe was on point. If he was wrong about Toril’s desires, then there was little question why they were in a stalemate in the mists of this spell. To him, it seemed Akan should be the villain that had to fall...

  “My abhorrence for her was for what she did to Draxous and Zosime. In some twisted way, I admired her for tainting you and Talon. You may’ve been lost to me, but you were also lost to Akan. Asking for her head, yes, I spoke those words to you. Akan spoke them more. When he pleaded with you to tell Talon who he was, to move on with it and destroy the gray witch, he was playing his emotions. He was certain when Reveca perished so would you and Talon, I would be easy prey... the power of the Throng would come to him. The long-awaited climax to his eras of efforts.”

  “Who gave him this belief? Who had him killing his own, chasing stones and hunting us?”

  “Someone from Reveca’s coven.”

  “Saige or Zale?”

  The flash of disgust in her expression answered before she spoke. “It was Saige who gave me hope when I knew there was none. Zale is a broken being.”

  “Are you so sure? Did Saige not send you into my arms and land us here?” Scorpio was scarcely clinging to a timeline, but he knew once Saige and Toril met face-to-face and synced, Toril would have power then. Power she used to escape, then to get to him...to meet her end.

  “Perhaps. I would have never made it to you unless Saige had unlocked my prison. She was the one who understood what Akan was, she had sensed him, I am sure she was looking for him knowing how dear she held her prophecy.” Toril turned from him and gazed at the springs glowing in the dark as they moved down rock walls. “I could tell you nothing on land, at sea you so richly believed the years of lies that Akan had given you that I knew even if I let you in and you saw it all you would need time to understand, to believe. Time we didn’t have.”

  “Because of the warring angels in the skies? And where did they stand with Akan and all his trickery?”

  A ghost of a grin touched Toril’s lips. “I can’t say who was at war over Reveca’s ships. All I can say is that Saige believed it was not the time for Reveca to die.”

  Scorpio didn’t follow her deeper into the cavern, just speaking about that night had his cock pressing against his jeans. “So you and me had a little fun, huh, expecting to die. And because we did, Akan followed a magic rainbow and fought me like a force I had never reckoned with even to this day, killed you, then just hung out as a weak shifter bisexual fuck until now?”

  “You fought your own power,” she said evenly. “Do you not understand the greatest enemy anyone ever has is themse
lves? You fought yourself. You can overcome your power, make it bow to you.”

  “I have news for you, sweetheart. The atmosphere is much the same tonight. We were forced onto a battlefield before we were ready. Heavenly bodies of power are at war all around us. Saige strongly believes it is not her sister’s time to leave this existence. Lest we not forget to add in how vital it is for Reveca to perish, considering your life is now hitched to the promise that she will, by your hand none the less.”

  “I thought you said you had news, I hear nothing I did not already know,” her grin was shy, girlish even, but not strong enough to mask a real fear he sensed in her.

  Scorpio walked boldly toward her wanting her to feel the rich anticipation of his approach. “This divide between you and me will end now. All the walls are coming down one way or another, Toril.”

  When his vim reached out for her and pulled her but a breath away from his body, her increasing power stopped him. Both of their breaths were labored and crashing into the other as she stared up into his jade eyes seeing all the men he had been across his life.

  “You can not have me unless you are prepared to fight your own power,” she breathed.

  Scorpio’s lips flinched into a grin. His stubborn intent seemed to wash away. “Right now I need a reason to fight.”

  Her heart thrashed in her chest as she felt the heat of his kiss descending on hers. She didn’t want to doubt him, dare to believe time had not prepared him to face the rest of this night but the nagging emotion that hung over her head since she was a child bride left at the altar was there.

  “All things must end,” she breathed against his lips as they met hers. She had no idea if she was speaking of the doubt that was trying to swell, or of this war that had raged on too long in too many ways in their lives.

  Chapter Three

  Windsome slowly pulled at one of her wilder dark curls as her obscure, calculated stare glistened over with boredom. There were infinite tasks she could be doing, would rather do. Not to mention the longer she was there, the greater risk she had of being discovered. Nevertheless, the trick to gaining ‘absolution’—the golden spoil the Rapture would grant—was to be everyone’s friend, everyone’s go-to witch.

  So she was here, pondering as she watched and waited.

  Jealousy is the one bitch that is not fickle, she rears her ugly head in all beings, more so in those without a body in the natural world. The Gods were the worst, closely followed by their angels. Lords of Death had their moments, but in truth, they trusted no one, much less a witch so closely connected to Reveca Beauregard.

  Jealousy...should she be jealous now? Likely not, this was what she had been waiting on. The Rapture was here!! Or so she hoped...

  Separating herself from her coven had been Windsome’s number one priority since her death. She had no real ill will with any of them. They all suck at times and were a Creator send on others. However, Windsome had learned at a very young age, from her very driven parents, that greatness only comes to those who walk their own path.

  Thus far, Windsome’s path had landed her in a world that had left her jaded and desensitized to the drastic emotions those who sought her for help had. They were all about themselves. As if their issues were greater than any other beings in the universe. They could think whatever they wanted when they wanted, Windsome knew the truth. She knew not everyone could be happy at once, just like she knew not everyone could sacrifice at once.

  Luck of the draw.

  It wasn’t chance. It was karma—ancient karma that followed souls through time. A soul may be as innocent as an infant’s cry in the life they are leading now, but who’s to say in their last life they were not a tyrant? Life is fair. Souls are blind. And so, the world turns into a predictable pattern.

  At least the dead kept Windsome on her toes. It was never quite as easy to gauge which way they were going or when. Windsome liked the crazy, she always felt a natural sync with them. Freedom to not hide how erratic each soul was created to be.

  She’d been the loon of her coven since birth. Not the bad, twisted, do not rock my bitch boat Reveca had always been.

  Reveca came out haughty and stubborn, a born rebel as it were. Even though she was a tad bit younger than Windsome, when it came to the craft Windsome had always revered Reveca’s skill. Some say if it weren’t for Reveca and her wild ways the rest of her generation would have fallen flat on their ass.

  Reveca rarely showed for her lessons and still surpassed them in skills. The others were forced to work harder, understand more and quickly. Windsome lurked somewhere between the two. Her parents were in constant teaching mode, so almost everything she was taught she’d heard before. Giving her reason to skip a time or two with her friend Reveca to chase a dare they both heard calling their name.

  Windsome may have always felt like a wild soul, but it was Reveca who gave her permission to not hide it.

  To the elders, Reveca and her tantrums were adorable. To her peers she was dangerous, a witchling that was better left untested when the wrong mood found her. Like everything else, it was different between Windsome and Reveca. Windsome didn’t try to control Reveca the way Saige was conditioned to do by their parents. She didn’t look at Reveca like a she was a walking tragedy, the way Evanthe had.

  As it were, it sucked to have a friend with the sight to look at you in such a manner, like they knew something you didn’t want to know but did. Windsome could vouch for the notion, Evanthe had a similar look when it came to her...

  Windsome certainly didn’t look at Reveca like she could not wait to fuck her, the way Zale had done as soon as he figured out exactly how a boy and girl could implode their magic. Of course, he skipped right over the part about no such implosion would come unless there was true chemistry. All Zale had ever heard was that sex was power, and even when you wished to keep your essence to yourself you would lose some to those around you.

  Nope, Windsome let Reveca be Reveca the way her instinct had always told her to do. No sense in pissing her off until it was necessary, Windsome’s mother would say.

  Over the years Windsome and Reveca had their moments, some saner than others. They had agreed and disagreed. Loved and hated.

  Windsome canted her head to the side, mulling over an obscure thought. She knew in her heart of hearts if she had never died, been the one witch Reveca knew inside and out lurking in the Veil, she and Reveca would have long ago been sworn enemies.

  How could they not be?

  Windsome may have been mad as a hatter, a little too enthralled with the events that had entangled themselves around her life, but she was not foolish enough to ignore them. Foolish enough to think just because she ignored a faith that it would disappear. Foolish enough to think that if she managed to keep her heart just cold enough that she would never feel the ache left behind.

  No, Windsome understood sacrifice. She was there for that lesson!

  Where was Reveca? Running wild, covered head to toe in the earth, surely. Even when her highly acclaimed tutor, Pricus, came about she still ran wild.

  There was no reaching her. Looking back over the long course of her life Windsome found herself giving some halfhearted hats off to the Creator. He must of have known if Reveca were to learn anything, it would be the hard way.

  It was a pity, it really was. Untimely as hell.

  Windsome sighed as she dropped her curl. She should leave, handle her own business. The Rapture was a rather tiring event, but at least it was living up to its name. What a bore it would be to plan for something for eons only for it to come to pass with out so much as a hiccup in the mojo of time and space.

  Windsome pursed her lips. Perhaps Reveca was her enemy now; it was always hard to tell where one stood with Reveca in general. Last Windsome had seen Reveca the witch was right pissed at her.

  As if.

  Windsome didn’t do anything Reveca would not have done herself. It was by far not Windsome’s fault who she fell in love with. Not crushed on. Real love
. The kind of love no magic, good or bad, could hasten away. She knew so, because if anyone had tried not to love Donalt, the King of Fear, it was her.

  Fuck him.

  Reveca thought she had guy issues?

  Woe is me my man died, and now everyone treats me like I’m made of glass. Oh hey look; my sister is cool with me fucking every guy who looks her way! Wait, wait one second, Saige must really like this one—yeah, I’ll make him mine. Once I do, I will begin to bend magic to my will then convince everyone, especially me, that I am a saint who stumbled on a gift that feels like a curse. Ah! Will you look a there, after all my drama I get my original dude back! But wait, I must be dramatic about this. Because it’s how I roll and all...

  Yeah, right, Reveca, Windsome thought. Try my shoes on, see how snug they fit.

  Reveca was born to royalty. Windsome was born to a family gifted in fire. More specifically, what an inherited power such as fire could do to someone. The whole phoenix get up as it were. Life then death, then life and oh look here comes death again. Windsome understood death far sooner than she ever understood life. She still doesn’t understand life on most days.

  What she did know was, even though she survived the death of her dimension and the pilgrimage to safety, that she should’ve died. Windsome fought like hell to make it so. One succeeded after another, death by magic, death by jumping off a cliff. The entire immortal gig was tested by her over and over until she had no excuse but to go to Reveca and ask for a favor.

  Asking any witch for any favor is a dangerous ploy. Asking Reveca for one was suicidal—making it perfect! Windsome was sure she’d have to throw Reveca a bone, some kind of garb if she actually managed to kill her. Then she would boldly play the ‘I can’t hear you. What? Are you breaking up? Death has a shitty signal, love, you know this. Have fun toying with your mortal sex toy. I’ll catch up with you at the Rapture.’”

  What is it about death that makes souls so holy to the living? At least for a day or two. It has to be the unknown. The raw knowledge that nope, you can’t say I know how you feel, it will get better. Because you don’t know how they feel, and you don’t want to know. Somehow you think if you respect the passage when your time comes, maybe it won’t hurt so badly. Maybe they will have found a cure for death by then or some shit.