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Naturally, she hadn’t been comfortable with handing over such rights to her soul, but her choices were limited if she was to stay out of the reach of the Aeons. Yeah, she wasn’t their favorite person since, somewhat pissed after being exiled and discovering that they’d ordered for her mother to be killed, Wynter had infected the land with a rot that they were unable to combat. Well, karma came for everyone eventually. They really should have considered that.
She’d known that they would either put a price on her head or personally track her down themselves, so neither had come as a surprise. Wynter had no clue exactly what the Aeons were, but she did know that they were exceedingly powerful. Too powerful for her to take on alone. She’d also been well-aware that they feared the Ancients—particularly Cain—and that had been good enough for her to haul her ass to Devil’s Cradle.
It had been a wise decision.
The Aeons had indeed come for her, but the Ancients had refused to give her up even under the threat of an attack. The attack a few months ago had turned the town into a battlefield. There had been plenty of casualties on both sides. But whereas the seven Ancients had all survived, the Aeons hadn’t been so lucky.
The Aeon who’d led the attack, Lailah—who’d also been one of the four ruling Aeons—had met her doom during the battle. That had been super fun for Wynter to witness. Particularly since it was Lailah who’d officially exiled her.
Lailah’s brother, Saul, had been badly injured and dragged away by those who were retreating. It was possible that he, too, was dead.
Fingers crossed.
Tumbling into Cain’s bed hadn’t been part of Wynter’s plan when she’d come seeking a place at Devil’s Cradle. Nor had falling for him, for that matter. But both had happened, and she regretted neither.
Initially, she’d thought that they would leave it at a one-night stand, or that he would get bored after a few rolls in the sack given that immortals tired of things fairly easily. But it hadn’t worked out that way at all.
Did Cain care for her? Maybe. It was hard to say. He was both possessive and protective to the extreme, and he’d been clear that he wanted what they had to be permanent. But they had never really talked about “feelings.”
They didn’t talk about a lot of things.
Both had their secrets. He’d learned some of hers, but not all. Just the same, Wynter knew a few of his. While she longed to know more, she didn’t press him. Mostly because he would press her in return. There were things that she simply wasn’t at liberty to say—Kali wouldn’t allow it.
Maybe one day Wynter would be able to let it all hang out. For now, she needed to keep a few things to herself. She sensed that he didn’t at all enjoy being partially in the dark but, like her, he didn’t push for answers.
Finally, she and Anabel arrived at the convenience store. The bell above the door jingled as Wynter pushed it open. They each grabbed a metal basket and hooked it on the crook of their elbow.
Anabel turned to her. “I want to get out of here as soon as possible, so it’s best if we split up.” She tore her shopping list into two pieces and handed one half to Wynter. “You grab that stuff, I’ll nab the rest.”
Scanning the slip of paper, Wynter frowned. “What kind of potion could possibly require lubricant? Or is that for personal use?” she asked with a teasing smile.
Anabel’s lips thinned. “No, it’s an ingredient for some potions.”
“Men’s cologne?”
“Also for potions.”
“Bug spray?”
“Again, for potions.”
Wynter felt her nose scrunch up. “Seriously?”
“Don’t question my methods. Trust in my genius.”
“Wait, laxatives? You put laxatives in your brews too?”
Anabel’s face flushed. “No, they’re for . . . something else. Now stop quizzing me so we can get moving. The less time we spend on the surface, the better.” She narrowed her gaze at a passing couple who eyed Wynter a little too boldly. “You’d think that the staring would have stopped by now.”
Not necessarily. It wasn’t every day that people learned that they might live among a revenant.
On first arriving at Devil’s Cradle, Wynter had done a good job of posing as a standard witch, so the residents hadn’t suspected that she was anything more. Not until the recent battle when Kali’s mark had surfaced on her face—a metallic blue snake that decorated one side of her face like an “S,” its mouth wide open near the corner of her eye. The deity usually kept it concealed.
“They can’t quite decide if I’m really a revenant or if I used a glamor spell to fake Kali’s mark in the hope of fooling the Aeons into believing I’m Favored by a deity,” said Wynter.
Their skepticism was understandable. After all, revenants weren’t really people. They weren’t truly alive. They existed, they sought revenge, and they fed on blood and flesh to sustain the monster they hosted. But they didn’t age or have a heartbeat. Nor did they stick around after avenging their deaths—it was only a need for vengeance that tethered them to this realm. They generally only lasted days before returning to a natural state of death.
Wynter’s undead soul, however, hadn’t returned to the netherworld after her murder was avenged. Her body hadn’t decayed, her appetite never ran to blood and flesh, her heart beat strong and steady in her chest, and she aged like a regular person. Also, she couldn’t seem to permanently die. But that didn’t mean that she one day wouldn’t.
