She stood then, glanced in every direction as her teeth began to chatter. The power was pulling on her, feeding on her vim she could feel it.
She fled.
What the fuck else was she supposed to do? She would have been back at her Boneyard hiding behind her warriors if she had the leeway, she didn’t. Instead, her flighty escape had landed her miles in every direction inside the mountain. It was no use. The furthest she could go was just outside of it.
So be it! She ducked through an opening and then manifested on the highest ledge, a landing for a king. A place she envisioned King speaking to their masses once the war was won and all were home. Defensively, she stared inside as she edged back.
There was something off about this power. It wasn’t another witch, not exactly at least. There was a signature she was sure she knew, but it wasn’t a power she recognized. It wasn’t of a god; it came too slowly to be so. It wasn’t a Dark Angel, it was too wide, not concentrated one degree of emotion.
Reveca’s worst fear, that it was Toril, was edging into her thoughts right as she backed into a wall. She didn’t think anything of it at first. King’s power had sealed her in, even though the platform she’d had been creeping backward on was hundreds of feet in the air, she’d never fall with the barricade of vim locking her in.
But then, the mass she had backed into spoke.
“My little Reveca, what a charming female you grew to be.”
All the vim in her soul ran cold as core memories she had purposely blocked busted through her mind and took her back eras in time.
She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Pricus. Her first friend, first crush, first impossibility...an immortal ancient that somehow became her first kill.
A cold chill rushed down her spine as all the life she had lived, eras of time, vanished and she was once again a wild twelve-year-old sure she was already grown, ready to take on the world, or rather, tell the world to go fuck itself, and that she was her own woman.
Feeling the butterflies flood her gut, the rapid beat of her heart as all sound and sight drifted away and she fell back into herself was terrifying. It wasn’t any easier when she did lay her eyes on him. Her memory had faded his glory, made him seem like nothing more than a girlish crush. Standing there she was sure her mind had done so to protect her from the pain that was tearing at her then.
Pricus came from the finest bloodlines in her old world. His family had guarded and protected the temples the Throngs lived within from the beginning of time. They were great teachers of the world. A fine match to any royal family, at least Reveca had always assumed as much.
He stood six foot five, with broad, bold shoulders stretched far across his chest that tapped into a lean waist. Golden locks pulled back to reveal the shaved sides of his head. His eyes were so clear Reveca would swear she was falling into them. They were nothing compared to his charming smile that would slowly open as his gaze adoringly focused on her as if she were the universes’ great mystery.
Pricus slowly extended his arms and turned showing all of himself to her, the sight only amplified the erratic emotions and sensations rushing through her.
“Fear not, all is whole,” he said passing her the same wink he’d given her when she was just a girl.
“You’re—you’re dead,” she said in the most affirmative voice she had. It sucked, but hell she had to try.
He bit his lip to hold his same soft laugh at bay. “Sweet girl, by now death should not terrify you.”
She swayed her head as her first sin—arguably her worst sin— flooded her mind. As a royal child, Reveca was more than used to getting what she wanted when she wanted it. It was never enough, though. Reveca never felt like she got what she wanted. The control others had would suffocate the hell out of her.
By the time she was eleven, she had tried to escape the woes of her life ten times over. Desperate, her father sent for a new teacher, someone to teach his unruly daughter how gifted and remarkable her fate was. Reveca was making another run for it when she came across Pricus in the woods. At first, she thought he was an angel, someone powerful and remarkable, he had to be to cause all the odd stirrings she was feeling. They began to speak, and before she knew it, he had walked her right back to her home. She was almost inside before she noticed the royal guard and all the fussing for high-powered visitors was in place. By then, she didn’t care who he was or that it was her father’s wish she learned what she had always rebelled against. Reveca was in love with Pricus, she was positive she was and always had been.
It didn’t matter that this great teacher was an ancient, and had stopped aging centuries before. It didn’t matter that he was considered a holy man, only to be mated with one, and not until his greatest journey was complete. All of those facets only made her want him more. Never had he had another. Never.
She pretended to listen to his teachings, and in his own secret ways, he did manage to teach her.
When Pricus stepped forward, Reveca jarred back. “I swore to you no wrong you committed was everlasting. My murder was included.”
Reveca was sure she could taste vomit crawling up her throat.
Rejection has to be the worst feeling in the world. Feeling it for the first time, from someone you knew you were in love with, is a haunting core memory that never leaves.
He did say long ago her wrongs were not immortal. You must be humble before you can achieve the power granted to the fate of your soul. To be humble, you must first experience the audacious.
What he said then still didn’t make any sense. Witches were always supposed to be charmingly balanced. Royals were to always hold their head high and their name boldly in the pages of history. Meek was not in either of the titles rushing through Reveca. The only part she ever remembered of his words before now was him telling her to live audaciously. A quake oozed through her body striking up sensations that were foreign but absolutely delicious.
She leaned in to kiss his lips. It had been months of endless walks, dinners, teachings. She was ready to teach him something. To show him it was her that would break his holy seal.
His fingertips rushed to block her lips from his, the look in his eyes was not of surprise or flattery. He looked at her like she was a foolish child.
“Your father spoke to me this morning,” he’d said.
Reveca beamed, telling her frenzied fears they had no reason to exist. Reveca had given her father an ultimatum. He would arrange her coupling with Pricus or she would leave. If chased, she’d end her life at the first sight of the guards. At the time, Reveca had the most horrid fears that Pricus was far more charmed by Saige. She’d caught them more than once in deep discussion over ancient text.
Even as a girl she would be damned if her sister had someone she had her eyes on first.
“A greater male is meant for you. Do not wish your childhood away, the journey after is long and trying,” Pricus said.
Rage swelled in her. She didn’t even realize she had struck him until it was over. It felt so good she had no choice but to strike him again and again. She knew at any moment he would fight back, it would only take a shimmer of his magic to slay her. He wouldn’t though, but she had no doubt he’d take her to the edge of the great sleep.
Blow by blow, he moved back closer and closer to the cliff they met at to go over teachings. Still, she had no fear. He was an ancient, it would take far more than a girl to steal his immortality. She was wrong. When a blow finally did send him over the edge she sneered and crossed her arms, then heartlessly turned and marched home determined to run away.
The age of the day kept her from fleeing. A better plan came to her, make Pricus suffer, shame him. When he came home and told her father of her latest tantrum and her father confronted her, she would tearfully confess she had no choice, that Pricus had threatened her innocence. He didn’t return for dinner, and the next morning he was still absent.
Full of doubt and confusion, Reveca made her way back to the cliffs. When she looked o
ver and saw the blood staining his clothes, she puked where she stood. It took all the courage she had, but she used her magic to take her down to him. He was still alive, but barely.
“Rise,” she said trying to sound angry. “You have played weak long enough.”
When she moved forward and looked down at him she noticed the Aster flowers bending to cradle him, they were hiding the worst of his wounds, the ribs splintering out from his chest, the gash at the back of his head, his one leg turned in an unnatural way. All of them were stained red hiding the unnatural purple they had turned.
Once she realized what they were, the sickest feeling enveloped her. They were the flower of surprise, an element that took all the rules off the board. A witch’s worst nightmare. They stripped power, left you as vulnerable as an untrained, uneducated mortal lost in an unforgiving wilderness.
“No, no, she said falling to his side. Her powers were useless and he was far too large for her to move. Shame and fear kept her from running for help.
His clear eyes fluttered open. “When we meet again you will have no tears but anger. It will be time to face the end of this life.”
He never said another word, but it took him hours to die. Once he was gone, the earth opened stealing him away. Then it began to rain, it rained for months on end. The floods and fear of famine gave the others little time to worry about where the teacher went. They were known to come and go with little explanation.
Reveca knew, though. For days, months, years on end she was wrought with anxieties over when he would show once more. Every now and again he would appear in her dreams, just when her life in the old world was all but forgotten.
“This is not the end,” Reveca said through gritted teeth. “You are a phantom of my imagination.”
Pricus arched a brow, then crossed his arms as he took her in. “I told you a fine male belonged to you.”
She swayed her head in denial of his existence.
“There is nothing that can be done to stop the course you are on, you laid the foundation long ago, little one.”
“You can go to hell,” she said with push of her vim. Nothing happened. He held her back with the same restraint he should’ve used eras ago.
“Some say life is the hell,” he said serenely.
“Yeah, well, they haven’t been where I have.”
He cracked a boyish grin. “I’ve watched you.”
A shiver of shame raced down her spine. “You’re dead.”
“Risen, in part, thanks to you.”
Reveca’s stare narrowed on him.
“There is no more dying for me. Try as you will. One way or another, your greatest lesson is about to be mastered.”
The insanity of fear had her chuckling. “What are you? Some fucked ghost of Christmas past, here to show me how my ire has wronged me once more.”
The dark quip was lost on him.
“Reveca, I’m here to prepare you for the end. It is inevitable.”
Chapter Four
When you feel like a million bucks, all fucking shiny and brand spanking new, it’s hard to hide that you feel that way. At the very least, it’s hard not to run through the front lot clicking your heals together every other step. Talon wanted to keep his bounce back on the down low. Mainly because he didn’t want anyone to ever realize how bad off he was.
Things like that, people thinking you were capable of falling off your throne, could seriously fuck with your rep. Too many fucking things were on shaky ground for that nonsense to go ‘round Talon’s club much less the city. And for fuck’s sake if one Rogue got wind this occurred the whole globe would get all kinds of fancy ideas about taking a swing at the monarchy that had policed them since the dawn of their existence.
His mind was wheeling with endless calls to action that had to be put in play. When Blackwater turned up the heat a while back—trying to set the club up for murder and everything else under the sun, Talon handed over the script business to Scorpio. Obviously, that had been passed down the ranks. God knew Dust wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to what was what with the Clubs biggest source of income.
The mayhem vote that put Dust in charge was due to Talon’s weakness. That was not an issue anymore, and if pushed, he’d love to prove it wasn’t. Nevertheless, another vote could not be had until all the Sons were back around the table. What the fuck did Talon care? It was just the red tape civilized times asked for. Everyone knew who was large and in charge. And those who wanted to question it? Please, step up bitches.
Illegal scripts, betting, rent for properties the Sons owned, all had to be checked on. Above all, the streets needed a once over. More times than not when two gangs went to war, others saw it as an invite to claim territory that was left unwatched or unprotected. Two organized crime units like the Sons and the Devil’s Den going at it left a lot of room for wannabe ‘made men’ to step in and try runnin’ shit.
The Sons owned the land they were on and had enough liquor and smokes, the only commodity they really thought they needed to last the longest of sieges. What they didn’t have they could take, hands down. If Talon had learned anything over his life it was that every era of time had one power that was undefeatable and it was known as liquid funds. The streets seeing the Club pushing for their take then turning around and dropping charity left and right would be just as threatening as a thousand shakedowns.
The little people were the ones who were in charge. Who they feared, loved, both made a difference in the vibe on the streets and sent silent messages out to scavengers. Not to mention the fucks that had a real shot at claiming.
Once through with his odd but settling convo with Adair, Talon made good on his promise to Little Dove and found his way to the closest freezer and grabbed her favorite flavor of ice cream. When he found her in the lounge, he tossed playful glares at all the bikers who were taunting him and teasing him for bending so easily to Little Dove.
It was a good sign the morale was up among the Club members. A nice strong vibe was starting to settle in the air. Talon wanted his men to feel comfortable joking with him. To know any of his warriors he had to see every side of them. He’d learned more watching them at play than he ever would on the battlefield. In war the soul steps back, the primal side who only has one job—to survive—steps forward. It’s a beast that can be caged the same way Talon caged the phoenix inside of him.
A cool stare from him had most of the immortals keeping to their own business. For a long while, they had shielded him from the regulars and out of towners alike. Judge stayed close, mainly because the male still didn’t trust the population around his daughter, or hell that she would vanish into a Fold again and only be a dream to him. That was real fear right there, not the kind any weapon can make you feel safe from.
The look in Judge’s eyes said he wanted to talk out what he had seen in the coven. To give Talon a far less washed down version than what Adair had, but Talon wasn’t in the mood to go down witch lane. He was still preparing his come to Jesus talk he was going to have with Reveca once she showed her face again. Thinking anywhere beyond her put Saige front and center in his head.
Talon couldn’t think about Saige, not in his Club. People would either question his constant devilish grin or raging hard on. Nope. That woman belonged to the thoughts he had when he was all alone. At best, he kept her demand for him to protect Reveca, once again, tucked next to his heart. Talon may not have the same kind of power King did, but he had miles of time under his belt when it came to Reveca. He’d seen her break apart more than he’d ever seen her hold it together.
If Talon looked at her just right, pulled at the chords of her heart that would take her back to a time of reason, he could get somewhere with the female. It wouldn’t hurt for Talon to have a heart to heart with Scorpio, maybe even Dust, but he wasn’t ready for that.
He knew the last thing either of them would want to talk about would be Reveca. They’d want to know what went down from Talon’s perspective. Going there would make it
real. It would bust open a million questions and destroy the reality Talon had built around himself. Whatever answers were there, would have to wait until he handled his mortal business. He had to make his people’s world right before he went off and fought shit he wasn’t even sure was real.
Taurus was off to the left of the bar arguing with Star. She was not shy about tossing glares Talon’s way. All Talon had done was give one nod. One gesture was all it took to tell the rider he was heading out with Talon as soon as he was done spoiling his granddaughter.
“You think it’s a good idea to put him on the front lines?” Judge asked. He lifted a shoulder when Talon’s dark ‘excuse me’ stare landed on him. “Just sayin’ boss. Our resident witch is MIA and pissed at us. But not nearly as pissed as Star will be if you get her man killed.” Judge nodded at Little Dove. “This one has gotten all kinds of crazy ideas in Star’s head. She wants a family and has good suspicion Taurus’ clock is runnin’ out.”
“Nothing is impossible, how do you think we ended up with Bastion?”
“I think they are lookin’ for a more traditional way,” Judge said with a shake of his head. “I’ll roll with you.”
“No, I’m good,” Talon said glancing around the room for another mortal he could count on to get themselves out of any trouble that might be waiting on the streets for them.
Judge balled his fists trying to keep his vibe all nice and sweet with Little Dove so close. “This is not the time to press our luck. You need protection.”
Talon covered Little Dove’s ears and then said, “I don’t need shit. Need a demonstration?”
“And what happens if they wrangle you like Thames and Shade? We’re dropping like flies here.”
“Which is why we have to look strong. I need the rest of the patches here, defending home.”
Judge reached for his phone and sent a text.
“By the time you get anyone here I’ll be gone,” Talon warned.