“Gray? What’s going on?” Ronan’s hands gripped my upper arms, but his voice sounded far away, like I was underwater. The room began to dim.
“What’s wrong,querida?” Emilio asked, reaching for my hands. To Ronan, he said, “She’s cold as ice.”
Tossing away the bloody blade, Darius turned to me, concern pinching the space between his dark brows.
“Your heart rate is too high, love,” he said softly. “You need to calm down. Do you understand?”
I tried to nod, tried to tell him that I heard him, but a searing pain split my skull. Brick by agonizing brick, the wall I’d spent nearly a decade constructing crumbled into dust. A tsunami of my most horrific, traumatic memories rushed through my body, slamming into me with wave after wave of pure, white-hot pain.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but still the images came, a horror movie I could never truly escape.
“What happened?” Darius asked Ronan.
“I don’t know. Hollis was describing the charm, and she just freaked.”
I finally managed a nod.
“Gray?” Darius cupped my face, tilting it up toward him, his eyes frantic with worry. “What was Hollis talking about? What is this amulet?”
My legs gave out, and Ronan caught me, holding me tight against his chest.
When I finally managed to speak the words, I barely recognized the sound of my own paper-thin voice.
“It’s a death sentence.”
Forty-Seven
Gray
Phonecia, New York
9 Years Earlier…
Boom.Boom.Boom.Boom.
A fist pounded on the front door like a drum beat, rattling the cinnamon broom that hung inside.
It was Thanksgiving, but weren't expecting company. We lived in a heavily wooded area on several acres of land at least a mile from the closest neighbor, and we never had people over to the house—something that had allowed Calla to continue practicing her solitary witchcraft in relative peace.
Still, Calla didn't seem all that surprised by the visitor.
She didn't seem happy about it, either.
Across the table littered with remnants of the feast we had just finished, she watched me for a long moment. Neither of us moved to answer the door; food coma had already set in, and we hadn’t even started on dessert.
The knock came again. Four times, just like before.
I pushed out my chair. "I'll get it. Probably just—"
“Listen to me very carefully, Rayanne.” Calla removed the napkin from her lap and folded on the table in front of her, her eyes never leaving mine. Though she spoke calmly, there was an edge in her voice I’d never heard before. "I want you to get your book of shadows and the money from the tea canister on my dresser. Take it and go into the basement. No questions. Do it now."
I rose from my chair, panic spreading throughout my limbs like fire ants crawling on my skin. There was only one reason she'd send me to the root cellar with my book of shadows, but… no. It couldn't have been them.
Hunters never knocked.
“What about you?” Some part of me still hoped it was a drill, some weird new ritual she wanted to try out on me. “Should I get your book?"
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be right behind you."
