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“Perhaps Olivia was right, that the book responds to witches, not wizards. I’d call for Sabelle, but she’s still weak from her journey to Texas.”
I toss the diary on the table and turn for the door without a backward glance. The accursed tome was the source of my torture for centuries. Why did I expect it to save the only person I care for—and thus my soul?
Worry eats at my composure. My bond with Olivia… I feel her even more strongly. Fear consumes her. Fighting it drains her. And now a growing disbelief afflicts her. In the next instant, her shock blanches me, like a thousand leaps into an icy winter lake. Then suddenly, the echo of Olivia’s terror burns through me.
I cannot wait.
“Where are you going?” Bram shouts as I dash for the door. “Let’s think this through.”
“I must save Olivia now.”
Or I fear I will be too late.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Olivia
A blur of light. A whir of noise. I’m tossed end over end. My stomach turns. The arm around my middle threatens to cut me in half.
Suddenly, I land in a heap on the floor. Finally, the vise around my middle recedes, and I can breathe again.
As I drag in a breath, I scan the completely unfamiliar place. It’s dark with heavy curtains. A dim light illuminates the aging space. A beige sofa colored with mystery stains sits a few feet away. I doubt even Goodwill would take it—or anything else in here. A narrow bed with a gray spread I bet was once white sprawls haphazardly, tangling with equally dingy sheets. An open pizza box with a half-eaten pie inside litters a cheap linoleum table. Styrofoam cups of cold coffee sit forgotten. And cigarette butts fill ashtrays on every surface, choking me with their acrid scent.
The smells, combined with whatever means we just traveled, makes my stomach pitch once more. I nearly heave and stare at my father, who scowls like I’m a speck on his shoe. What’s going on?
“Where are we?” Besides someplace that looks like a Motel 6 reject?
“My room. At least for now.”
I suppose he changed them often to outrun the Anarki. “What happened? Where did you take me? Where is Marrok? What was happening to him before we…poofed out of Bram’s house? Where is the book?”
“Full of questions,” my father chides before he levels me with a glare. “That will cease. The book, blast Bram Rion, is still clutched in his sodding fist, no doubt. And your mate isn’t coming. If he wasn’t immortal, he would be conveniently dead.”
I step back as dawning dread slides through me. “I-I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t, you stupid witchling. I perform magic no one has even conceived of, so you can’t possibly understand.”
“What—”
“Shut up,” my father snarls before his head snaps back. He pales, losing all color and animation. His skin turns an otherworldly shade of gray, while his eyes lose their life, dulling out like the rest of him. A ghostly leg kicks out from the side of his calf, almost as if another being is emerging from my father’s body. But that’s impossible.
Isn’t it?
I thought so until an arm protrudes from my father’s shoulder. Another head seems to surface from his ear. Then a whole separate body steps forward. My father falls to the floor, lifeless, like a marionette with its strings cut.
Terror ices my veins. With a frantic stare, I look between my father’s slumped form on the dingy floor and the new man in front of me.
He looks younger than my father by at least twenty human years. Dark hair brushes the bronzed tops of his bulging shoulders. His torso is bare except for a thin coat of sweat that accentuates every ripped muscle. Biceps bunch and flex as he hooks his thumb into the waistband of his leather pants, hanging so low I can see his hip bones and follow the treasure trail leading down. Who the hell is he?
I’m afraid I know the answer.
“Olivia?”
I look up and gasp. I was so distracted by the fact a half-naked stranger manifested from my father’s body, I didn’t look into his eyes. What I see makes me recoil.
An icy blue so chilling, I shiver from six feet away. Rimmed in a black fringe, they threaten and seduce at once. He embodies compelling menace with his slashing cheekbones, strong jaw, and wide mouth. The man is completely sexual, with a presence that’s impossible to ignore and without a shred of warmth in his soul.
I’m repulsed.
