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Chapter1
Issy
My heart thunders in my chest as I stare at the only exit to my little cottage in the middle of nowhere.
I watch as it bows against the weight of the male’s fist behind it.
Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck!
The incessant male beating against the door clearly isn’t going to go away. I clutch my new book to my chest as I pace across the plush chocolate rug that Ayla chose for our living room. The echo of the screams that sound as I tread back and forth tell me that whoever made them is dead.
Ayla doesn’t know I hate the rugs, or the furnishings, or any of the decor she chose that are antiques—meaning they all exude the screams of the dead when I’m near them.
I hate anything that reminds me of what I am.
And I hate Dominique Andrias, my date who has somehow found out where I live.
The urge to shout at him to go away sticks in my throat, but I can’t utter a word.
Because as much of a horrible date Dominique was, he doesn’t deserve to die.
And unluckily for him, he has no idea that my words kill. I’m a Death Witch and that’s my power.
Or my curse, if I’m being honest with myself.
Issy?my sister asks, her soft tone venturing into my mind like the gentle breeze it is, banishing the screams all around me just from the power of her voice.
She doesn’t know the calming effect her mind has on me, or the depths of my suffering. I didn’t start hearing the screams until my powers manifested, and after that, it was easy to keep the burden to myself.
Lately, though, it’s tempting to tell her my secret.
All the more reason I need to shut her out until I can fix it.
She likely felt my panic and is just checking on me, but I don’t want to distract her.
She’s finally happy.
Finally with mates who treat her like the queen she is. Quite literally.
She wound up with multiple fated mates, one of them being the King of Gold and Garnet. I’m not particularly jealous of the king part—she can keep all the politics and drama that come with that position—but I wish I knew what it felt like to be safe.
Protected.
Adored.
“Come on, bitch. Open the door!” Dominique shouts as the door cracks under another blow. “I know you stole the book of shadow spells!”
My eyes widen. Is that the book he thinks I took? The title was better translated to “Death’s Whispers,” which interests me a great deal, given my problem. But not many can read ancient witch script, much less translate it properly.
When I don’t answer, the beating at the door goes silent.
But I very much doubt that Dominique has given up. He’s likely circling the property now, looking for another way in.
There isn’t one. This is supposed to be a safe place and under the protection of the Dukes of Lapland. So he’ll be back at the door, or breaking in a window if he’s desperate enough.
Either way, that gives me time.
