Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“We? Why we?” he questioned quickly. “There is no we. I’m an innocent bystander.”
He was mocking me! I had said that to him what felt like ages ago in the forest back in Virginia.
“Fine. I don’t care! I won’t put it out. Let the place burn,” I grumbled, moving to leave before I went up in flames, too.
But he caught me and wrapped me up in his arms. “Apparently, you do care as that is the only painting burning.”
“Huh?”
“Look.”
He shifted my body so I could see, and sure enough, that painting and only that one, despite all the other artwork around it and the curtains behind it, was on fire. “We do not always do as we intend to, correct? Well, it seems you only intend to vent your anger on that painting and not my whole collection. Such jealousy and yet such control.”
“I am not jealous. It was the past,” I muttered even though the evidence was clearly burning in front of my eyes.
He chuckled and kissed my shoulder. “So stubborn. But I relish it. Should I bring all the paintings of women that I have painted for you to destroy?”
I tried to shift out of his arms. “You have more?”
Again, he laughed, holding me tightly. “Is it possible for me to have lived as long as I have lived and never painted another woman?”
I frowned. “Did you sleep with them, too?”
“Why does it matter? You are not jealous, and it was in the past.”
“You are annoying!” I grumped, trying to tear myself free, but he held on to me. I tried to kick his legs, but he just shifted, and so in his arms, turning around and around, we sort of played footsies.
“Is this not precious? I did not believe I would see the age in which Theseus would not be brooding.”
We both paused. I didn’t recognize the voice or the sand-colored face of a man who stood at just an inch below Theseus. All of his facial features were perfectly symmetrical, his light-brown eyes lined with what looked to be black eyeliner, his hair shoulder-length and wavy, and he wore no shirt but a vest, exposing his abs. Around his neck was a necklace with an arrowhead and some animal’s tooth. His arms had leather bangles, and on his hands were several rings. He looked as if he’d sailed the seven seas and somehow ended up at our door.
Theseus sighed, annoyed. “Matias.”
“The one, the only, the gods’ favorite trophy. Have you missed me, brother?”
“I have not. Maybe it is your mate you seek to be missed by,” Theseus replied, releasing me and standing up straighter.
The vampire, Matias, grinned from ear to ear. “Are you sure you haven’t forgotten? I hear you have had a lapse in memory of recent, brought about by the newest family vampire-witch.”
In a second, he was directly in front of me. I saw him coming, but the speed at which he came from the door to my face was annoying. “Hello, Druella, I have heard much of you from my mate.”
“And here I thought you and Hinrik were having one of your dark years,” Theseus said, but Matias grinned.
“Masking your embarrassment with harshness. How very much like you.” Matias glanced over at me. “Despite how he looks and sometimes acts, he is a child at heart, and since Theseus is being childish, I shall do the introduction,” he added before grabbing my face and kissing my forehead. “I am Matias Sakir-Har of the family Sehebre, mate of Hinrik Deo Thorbørn. I welcome you, sister.”
“Um…thank you,” I said, not sure of what to make of him.
“No thanks are required. Upon my return, I have already been greeted by such sights. Theseus dancing with his mate in his arms and dead witches. What a night I shall not forget.”
I froze.
“Dead witches?” I repeated
“Yes.” He looked at me, not understanding why I had stiffened. “The Omeron witches who are being killed by Lord Thorbørn at this moment. It’s truly a sight. Come join us and see.”
Just like that, he turned and vanished.
Like a ghost, just poof, and he was gone.
I looked up to Theseus, who did not look surprised. He glanced down at me, examining my face. “That was only a shadow copy of Matias. He can duplicate himself. He must be with the others. We should go.”
* * *
I was once an Omeron Coven witch, part of the Omeron family.
This was a revelation that had only been revealed to me today. Any connection I had to the coven or the family was lost to my memory. As far as I knew, I had no connection to those people or that coven beyond what had occurred in America. When I was kicked out of Washington, DC, by Simone Ward and her circle of witches, they meant nothing to me, and yet, for some strange reason, hearing Sigbjørn had killed them left me feeling a bit…uncomfortable. Of course, Sigbjørn would do what he needed to do to protect his home and family. And it was the witches’ fault for coming as they had. They had spilled blood first by attacking a coven of witches here, in Ankeiros, the land in which the Thorbørn family ruled and controlled. They were the aggressors, and as such, they were met with aggression.