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Drystan lets out a rough breath and shakes his head before taking my plate from in front of me and loading it up with a variety of food. The plate is heaping by the time he places it back down in front of me.
No one says anything. The table is silent as I sip on my coffee and poke at my plate. I guess there won’t be any introductions. Wonderful. One moment, I feel like the most cherished woman in the world, and the next, they’re making me feel like I’m nothing to them. Not even worth introducing me to their guest.
“The fights are only a few days away,” Weylen says around a mouthful of sausage. “How are you feeling about it?”
I don’t lift my eyes from my plate, not wanting them to know that I’m listening keenly. If they didn’t want me to hear the conversation, they wouldn’t be having it around me. Even so, I don’t want them to think I’m overly invested or anything. Because I’m not. I’m just mildly curious about the goddess of a woman sitting next to me who has captured the attention of all three of my men.
Shit. Not my men. Just men.
Irena taps her nails on her coffee mug and leans back slightly on the Chippendale chair, crossing one arm against her chest, relaxed. “You’ve been training me so well, mi amor,” she purrs like a cat in fucking heat. “I don’t believe I have anything to worry about.”
“That is mighty arrogant of you,” Asher snorts. “Even with your new techniques.”
Irena gives a throaty, seductive laugh. “I have you to thank for that,” she purrs again. Jesus, is she a cat? “Those moves you showed me over the last couple of nights certainly helped. We sure did get…creative.”
My grip tightens on the fork in my hand, my knuckles turning white at her words. What does she mean by creative? My mind starts to spin as I imagine him with her, doing things he’s done to me. A cold feeling creeps into my chest, like an artic tundra. Is that where he was the last few days before the accident? With her? Did he make love to her and fuck me with his brothers? My stomach knots up at the thought, anger pulsating through me like a frozen river. The more they continue to talk, the colder I feel inside, as if I’m being swallowed by a winter storm. “Irena, stop.” Weylen’s voice slices through my icy thoughts. “You’ve made your point. Thalia, you need to calm down before you give yourself hypothermia.” His words snap me back to reality, and I gasp for air, feeling a surge of coldness leave my body like sharp shards of ice. The Kings all wear expressions of awe and horror, but Irena’s face? Is that a smug smile playing on her lips? Swallowing hard, I look down at my hands and notice that they’re nearly frozen to the table, and frost is creeping across its surface from where my hands have been resting.
“Now that is interesting.” Irena hums. “Not what I expected, to be sure. I thought you said she casted flame.”
Drystan stands from his chair, the legs scratching loudly against the floor. “She did,” he snarls, coming over to kneel in front of me. He takes my hands and gently rubs them between his own. “Come on, little lamb.” His voice softens as he looks at me. “Take some deep breaths for me.”
Fuck his deep breaths.
“If she casted flame, then she can’t be doing this,” Irena says. “No witch has ever had control over more than one element.” My teeth are chattering like a wind-up toy, eyes glazing over as my heart begins to slow in my chest. Everything sounds like it’s underwater, muted and far away. The same feeling as yesterday.
“Shit,” Weylen growls. “If her heart rate slows any more, it’s going to stop. You need to snap her out of it.”
“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” Drystan snarls. “Thalia…Thalia, come back to us.” But there is no back. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can end up where I was before. With the soothing voice that sounds so much like my own.
“Forget this,” Irena curses. Wood slides against wood, and heels clack viciously on the floor. “Snap out of it, witch.”
The sharp, echoing smack registers in my ears before the pain hits. The sound fills the space around us, bouncing off the walls and piercing through me like a knife. Suddenly, my cheek stings from the force of the bitch’s slap. I gasp for air, my lungs feeling starved and desperate. My heart pounds against my chest, its rhythm increasing with each passing second as adrenaline courses through me and the coldness dissipates.
“What the fuck, Irena?” Drystan snarls at her. “You could have set her off.”
Irena scoffs. “Please, brother,” she drawls. “She just needed something to focus on. I didn’t expect my little ruse to have this much of an effect on her. It worked better than I thought it would.” Is that guilt in her voice? And did she say brother?
“Well, we won’t be doing that again.” Asher shakes his head, coming to stand next to Drystan.
Irena looks at the floor sheepishly. “I didn’t realize she would have such a strong reaction.” She looks over at me. “I’m so sorry, Thalia.” She sounds sincere. “I should have tried a different tactic to get you to call on your abilities. I didn’t realize…”
“I don’t understand,” I stutter slightly, my body still recovering from the lingering cold. “Why did you do that?”
Irena bites her plump red lip and takes a deep breath through her nose. “I wanted to see your ability for myself. I needed to draw it out of you. Most new witches can’t call upon their power themselves at first. It’s something that comes with training and time.”
“Well, it looks like you got what you wanted,” I sneer, standing from my chair and brushing past her. “Congratulations on that. It made me feel super fucking great.” I don’t give any of them a chance to say anything more before I storm out of the room, leaving an icy trail of frost in my wake.
Chapter 33
Thalia
Iend up in the library a few hours later. After rushing to my room and showering off the last day, I dressed and wandered back downstairs in search of something to do. Sighing, I pick up the first book in a pile that Miriam left for me. She said that they might help me understand more about where I come from.
As I settle into the plush armchair, my fingers delicately trace the embossed letters on the weathered cover of the ancient book. Petrea. That was the name of the witch in my nightmare. The one they burned….
My eyes scan the yellowed parchment, devouring each intricate illustration that accompanies the text. The images come alive in my mind, vivid and vibrant, as if painted with the ethereal hues of moonlight and starshine. I lose myself in the rich tapestry of words, weaving through centuries of lore and legends.
As I read through the intricate details of my mother’s family history, I can feel the weight of my ancestors’ stories resting on my shoulders. Each name and date holds a piece of their legacy, a thread connecting me to the past. I lose track of time in this sea of memories until a soft, hesitant knock interrupts my thoughts. Unlike Miriam’s forceful rapping, this knock is almost apologetic, as if afraid to disturb me.
