Page 47 of Hallowed Bones

Then I realize, those broken sounds filling the air are coming from me. Ugly sobs. Wet, gasping breaths that make my lungs feel like they’re collapsing. My throat cinches tight, an invisible hand coiled around it, squeezing until the edges of my vision blur again. I curl my hands into fists against Ezra’s chest.

“Haven, look at me.”

Ezra forces my head up, holding me with both hands clasped on either side of my face. My eyes are locked on his, caught in the beautiful and terrifying trap of him. I suck in a mouthful of oxygen and release it before stealing another and another until the black-and-white dots fade from existence.

I’m finally cracking, and this time, it’s not because of the monster. It’s because of him.

I shove my hands against his chest, trying to put distance between us—but he doesn’t let go right away. His grip slackens only enough to let me lean back, and he drops his hands to my waist as if he can’t quite bring himself to let go.

My cheeks are soaked. My lips tremble. I’m a fucking mess and I know it. I grit my teeth and clear my throat. I wince at how much it hurts. I must have screamed. I always scream, but normally—no one hears me.

Not only did Ezra hear me, he saw it. The monster. He stopped it … didn’t he?

Suddenly, I have to make sure. I release him, whirling around to face the path, my eyes scanning every dark, shadowy crevice and stone. My lungs inflate as I close my arms around myself, nails biting into my biceps.

“Don’t.” Warm hands grab mine, prying my grip free from my skin. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“W-what did you…” My voice splinters. I can’t get the words out. “How d-did you…”

My throat is raw. My body is still shaking, and my vocal cords refuse to work. Fresh tears slide down my cheeks, faster—hotter. Frustration rises sharp and bitter in my chest.

“Breathe,” Ezra says. The way he scowls down at me even as he lifts a hand to sweep his thumb beneath my eye, catching my tears, would make me throw a punch in his face if I had the energy. He stares at the pad of his thumb. His brow furrows as if he doesn’t quite understand why he’s even bothering to offer comfort now.

My heart stutters when he raises his gaze back to mine. There’s something feral in them. Not just protective but possessive.

More than the monster, more than any I’ve ever faced before, it’s that look that frightens me the most.

CHAPTER 18EZRA

His affinity grows more perilous by the day. He sees too deep into the darkness. He knows too much power. All I see when I look at him is ruin. The Gods have not forgotten our ancestors’ transgressions—perhaps he is another mark of their punishment.

For now, all I can do is bind him. In time, the Gods will see that these acts are born of necessity. This is what is right for the coven.

—EXCERPT FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF KANE BISHOP

The tension radiating from the woman sitting next to me fills the SUV to stifling. Haven sits curled in the passenger seat. Her arms are wrapped tight around her knees where she’s drawn them up. Her clothes aren’t torn. She’s not bruised or bloody. I’d have never let the specter get that close if I hadn’t been curious to see how she’d respond to it. Now I’m cursing my idiocy. Her fear still curls around my throat, as tantalizing as it is suffocating. Even now, she’s still too damn quiet.

Then, as if she hears my concerns, she speaks. “You … could see that thing?” Her question is quiet, hesitant. Before I can answer, though, she scoffs. “No, of course you can see it.” She shakes her head and mutters dumbass, though I think she’s talking to herself.

I grimace. “Yes,” I say, voice low and gruff. Pausing to clear my throat, I begin again. “If you had stayed with me, you probably wouldn’t have called it.”

“Called?” The sound of shifting fabric reaches my ears as, out of the corner of my eye, I see her turn in her seat. “What do you mean I called it?”

Were I a worse man, I’d have put my foot down at the first inkling of her existence. I would have forced the others to ignore her, but I am not my father. I do not control them the way Kane Bishop controlled their fathers.

“Yes,” I snap, my annoyance far clearer than before. “I certainly didn’t call a specter from the Veil. I know how to manage my powers.”

Silence echoes in the cab of the vehicle for several long, blissful moments. When Haven speaks again, her tone is as sharp as mine was. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punch you in the fucking face, Ezra Bishop?” she growls.

I roll my eyes. “Because you’d break your hand.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she demands, ignoring the reasonable answer to her question. Her hands cut through the air, gesturing wildly—“What is a specter or the Veil? Powers?”

The engine hums low. I grip the steering wheel tighter just to keep from looking at her again. Every time I do, it gets harder to remember why I should keep my distance. Why this is all a bad idea.

“We’ll talk when we get to the house,” I say.

None of us had a choice in who we are, in what we are; neither does she. I inhale, wincing at the sharp pain that comes with the action. Her scent is filling the vehicle, overwhelming and potent. Distantly, I wonder if it’s just the fact that she’s a female witch or if it’s something more that forces my body to react. I shove the urge to growl deep down as my cock twitches against my zipper. She smells like nature and smoke—wild, unruly magic that doesn’t know its name yet. But I do.