Mothers were supposed to love their children, weren’t they? Jasper’s mother always smiled and laughed. She would make us sweet treats on the weekends I was allowed to visit, watching us as we played under the moonlight in the small grove behind their house. Sometimes, if she was not busy, she would chase us up and down the grassy banks of the stream. She taught us about nature, pointing out the owls perched on their branches high in the sky or the silver-backed lizards that would race across the rocks.
And every time he tried to leave her sight, she would bend down and kiss the top of his head before ruffling his hair and sending him on his way.
The only time my mother smiled was when she pulled me from the deprivation chamber, soiled and shivering. There were no warm hugs, and words of adoration were replaced with barbed insults that twisted my stomach into knots.
What had I done wrong to make her hate me so?
“Do not make me ask again, Rion. Give me your clothes.”
I did as she asked, staring at the floor as I stripped to my undergarments. The horrible screech of rusty hinges filled the air as she opened the door to the chamber and shoved me inside. I could not stop the silent tears from falling as the darkness enveloped me.
Sweat drippeddown my body as I ran through the woods, chasing away the demons plaguing my mind. Those haunted recollections were never laid to rest. Instead, they broke from the ground like poison ivy, twining their insidious vines into every vacant space to spread their vitriol.
I had hardly slept, waking from my nightmare with shaking hands and hollowed breaths. It had been so long since my mother’s face had visited my dreams, bringing with her the unimaginable memories of a young boy whose spirit was being broken.
After breakfast, I spent the remainder of the day scouring my mother’s room with Jasper and Rowena. The space was split in two, connected by an archway with ostentatious black crown molding, separating her sleeping chamber and study. Though I knew it had likely been cleared of any evidence that would reveal her plans or whereabouts, it was one of the few places we had yet to check.
To no surprise, the room was spotless. Not a single paper was out of order, and there were no hidden compartments in the dainty mahogany desk that had been in our family for centuries. And, just for safe measure, Jasper had torn the wood apart with a crowbar with a smile on his face.
My desperation was increasing. Reckless energy pulsed, driving me closer to folly. I was no fool. My mother was cunning; a conniving creature who had spent her life collecting a treasure trove of secrets. But everyone had a weakness. Even a single thread could unweave the most complex tapestry.
We just had to find it.
Jasper and Rowena had allowed me to walk away from my mother’s rooms alone, despite offering to keep me company. Try as I might, I could not avoid their thoughts as I made the trek up the stairs to my tower.
The impression of their concern was cut by an undercurrent of caution. We had talked no more about Calia’s appearance, but they both thought me delusional. They thought the constant exhaustion was finally catching up to me or that the sight was no more than a witch’s trick.
Or perhaps, worst of all, that I was mad—that her loss had sent me over the edge to the devils waiting below.
The knowledge only stung because they were probably right. I had no hope or plan of surviving an eternity without her, causing me to be more audacious in my pursuit than I would have been if I had Calia to come home to.
When I could no longer remain prone in my bed, I took the stairs two by two. I did not stop until I stood beneath the canopy of stars, staring up at a blood-soaked moon. Anger flowed through my veins like wildfire, my memories having lit the fuse of my own destruction.
I always hated the darkness, hated what it represented and the impending destruction it symbolized. Evil loomed within its depths, hidden until it snuck close enough to sink its claws into my mind and bring forth the truths I had never voiced aloud.
I never knew it could be beautiful before Calia. She loved the moon like I loved her.
I had been taught that hate, had I not? Forced to fear the unknown and what waited for me in its unending expanse? My mother had been the one to sew that dread into my soul, ensuring it was a part of my very being. She wanted me to hate the dark the way she did, so that when I assumed my role as her dutiful minion I would not rest until I had vanquished it.
But my mother had never intended for me to meet someone who loved what she had feared.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You’re not going alone,” Jasper snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose as we stood opposite one another.
“I am,” I said, reaching for a towel and wiping my brow. I held one out for him, which he angrily snatched from my grip. “If the witches refuse to help, the fae may be more inclined.”
“Castor won’t talk, Rion. He told you in that letter to stay the fuck away from him and his family. He also said if you refused to heed his warning, he’d kill you.”
Jasper had met me in the kitchen when I returned from my run, stepping inside just as the sun began its ascent. He had taken one look at me before dragging me to the gym to spar, thinking it would do us both some good to release the frustration we were both harboring.
Neither of us had held our blows, not stopping until the coppery scent of blood filled the space, and bruises littered our skin.
It had done nothing to curb my desire for answers, nothing to temper my incessant curiosity for the truth. And there wasonly one person who could give me the answers I sought, even if doing so could mean my demise.
I refused to break Jasper’s steely gaze. “Those are not the exact words he used.”
“My apologies. You’re right!” he said, dramatically crossing his arms. “I believe he stated, ‘If you step one foot on my property, I will take my time flaying the skin from your bones.’”
