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“What happened?” demanded Xavier as Wynter downed the healing brew. “Anabel said it was like the wind just took you.”
After Wynter had brought the rest of her coven up to speed, Cain said, “I’ll have people search Devil’s Cradle for signs of Aeons. I didn’t think that any would be stupid enough to risk staying close to the town, but I was apparently wrong.”
“I don’t think he’s in his right mind,” said Wynter. “Or that there are other Aeons with him. Unlike the rest of them, he wants me dead. He was set on killing me on your territory. He wanted my blood to soak the ground. That mattered more to him than his own safety, and even the state of his homeland.”
“Grief does things to people,” said Hattie. “He’ll be finding the death of his sister hard to take. Aeons have been around for millennia. Think how much closer Lailah and Saul would have been compared to mortal siblings.”
Wynter nodded. The two Aeons would have been at each other’s side while eras came and went. They would have made so many memories together. But their bond was now broken. He’d surely be feeling lost, if nothing else.
Wynter looked at Cain. “When you put out a description, you should mention that he didn’t look good. He was all scruffy. His face was gaunt, and he seemed tired. I got the feeling he’s been sleeping outside for days. Maybe even weeks. He’s not interested in caring for himself, only in avenging his sister.”
“There’s probably a little guilt there at work,” hedged Xavier. “He was right beside her when she died. He might feel that he should have saved her. Admittedly, I don’t know a lot about guilt, but I’ve heard it messes with one’s head.”
Delilah let out a soft snort. “Yeah, we noticed you’re deficient in that emotion.”
His brow winged up. “And you’re much better in that department?”
“Depends what mood I’m in,” Delilah told him.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Wynter cut in. “If Saul does feel any guilt, he’s not acknowledging it. He’s focusing all his emotional energy on me and Cain. He wants us to pay.”
“He won’t get what he wants.” Cain palmed her nape and tugged her closer. “Come on, let’s head back. I don’t want you out in the open any longer.”
*
Rage compressing his chest and raking at his gut like claws, Cain drew in a breath through his nose. Only her. Only Wynter had this level of power over his emotions.
Before she came into his life, things rarely touched him on an emotional level. It had only gotten worse when the numbness that often plagued immortals had settled over him like a cloak. She’d pierced that numbness. The single fissure she’d made had soon become a spiderweb of cracks. It hadn’t been long before the sense of detachment had completely lost its hold on him.
Once upon a time, his anger came and went in a hot flash. Now? It was a rattle in his bones. A bubbling in his blood. A pounding in his ears.
That motherfucker Saul would suffer a slow, agonizing death.
Cain would have people hunt him. There would be nothing simple about tracking this particular Aeon—Saul knew how to evade detection. But he would be found. He wouldn’t again lay a finger on Wynter.
It didn’t bring Cain any comfort that she couldn’t be killed permanently, because he couldn’t be sure that it would stay that way. Kali apparently had a purpose for Wynter—something which unnerved him, because She wasn’t a deity that typically had constructive agendas—but She could at any time change her mind, or tire so much of sending Wynter’s soul back from the netherworld that She decided to choose another witch to fulfil Her goals.
He wasn’t sure what exactly those goals were, only that they were apparently similar to his own. The deity hadn’t deigned to elaborate further. She’d told him that he’d find out in due course during their brief conversation when She’d possessed Wynter’s body. His jaw clenched at the memory.
The rest of the Bloodrose coven seemed to find it a comfort that a deity watched over their Priestess. While Cain liked that said deity protected her, he didn’t like that Kali considered Wynter to be more Hers than his.
Glancing down at her, he noticed that her sharp quicksilver eyes kept a close watch on their surroundings. Slender and supple, she walked with a catlike, stealthy, predatory grace. So steady. So self-assured. So at ease in her own skin.
His little witch could come across as harmless when it suited her. She’d put on such an act the first time they’d met. For him, she hadn’t seemed to fit the assertive role of Priestess, but he’d nonetheless sensed that he would be a fool to underestimate her or dismiss her as a threat.
He’d been right.
It wasn’t simply the monster she hosted that made her so dangerous. With her innate fierceness, combat training, rock-steady nerves, and the powerful magick that hummed around her like an aura, Wynter Dellavale was a danger all by herself.
She was also absolutely fucking stunning. Those thickly lashed eyes were as striking as they were unique. He loved to stare into them as he moved in and out of her.
He’d memorized every inch of her body. Had traced every part of her from her sharp cheekbones to her slender feet. Had raked his teeth over all that bitable flesh again and again—particularly her heavy lower lip. He fucking adored her mouth; enjoyed using it as he pleased while fisting her sleek, long hair that hung down her back like black rain.
For Cain, her magick—so strong and deadly, smelling of jasmine and black pepper—was a draw all on its own. He knew darkness. Understood it. Was compelled by it.
Until Wynter, it had been a long time since he’d truly wanted something. He hadn’t expected that the want would become a need. Or that he would come to crave her with an intensity that was as ferocious as it was shocking.
No other woman had ever gotten to him so deeply—not on any level. But then, there was no one else like her. In all the eons that he’d been alive, he had never once met anyone who he could call even remotely similar to Wynter.
