Striding up the path toward Wynter’s cottage, Cain nodded at the lycans in the neighboring yard. Ever since the first night she’d slept in his bed, she hadn’t slept anywhere else. She’d come to him every evening after dinner, and she’d eaten breakfast with him each morning before heading home. So when she hadn’t turned up as usual that evening, he’d thought about sending Maxim to bring her to the Keep. But then Cain had reconsidered it, because summoning her felt … wrong. She wasn’t a mere resident, she was his. So he’d made his way to her home to find out the reason for the delay.
He knocked on the door, which swung open moments later to reveal Xavier.
“Is Wynter here?” Cain asked.
He nodded, stepped away from the door, and indicated for Cain to follow him inside. Strolling through the living area, Cain noticed a black cat curled up on a footstool near the fire. A cat with hot pink nail polish on her claws and what looked like gold mascara on her whiskers. She opened one eye, regarded him carefully, and then shut said eye.
Walking into the kitchen, Cain found Wynter sat at the table, her head resting on the surface, her eyes closed. He frowned, not liking how pale and drained she looked. His creature stilled, just as uneasy. They’d never once seen her look fragile before.
Ishtar’s words from earlier rushed back to Cain …
Something will kill her eventually. Age, illness, an accident, an attack.
Wynter had had a broken sleep the night before, so maybe it had simply taken its toll.
“She drifted off while eating,” Xavier told him, switching a kettle on to boil, utterly at ease with turning his back on an Ancient—something people generally avoided doing. In fact, whenever Cain entered a house, its inhabitants usually became tense and wary and either stared at the floor or watched his every move. Anabel and Hattie? They gave him a single nod and then went back to their conversation.
Pointing at an open book, Hattie looked at Anabel. “All I’m saying is that, realistically, her cervix would be in ruins if she had a harem that large. Especially when one of them is an alien with an overgrown appendage.”
Anabel briefly glanced away from a cauldron. “You’re concerned about realism when you’re reading a book about ETs with giant penises?”
“My first husband, bless his soul, was hung like a bull. My cervix took a thrashing during that marriage. If he’d been part of a harem, well, I can tell you right now that my ovaries would have been scrambled eggs. Anyway, back to my question—”
“No, not back to the question. We should forget about the question. We should always forget about your questions.”
“I just want to know if it’s some sort of kink I’m failing to understand.” Hattie switched her gaze to Cain. “You’re male, maybe you can help. Do you know why a man would decide to give a woman a facial during sex? I mean, all us ladies like using a rejuvenating mask now and then, but during intimate moments? No, I can’t see the appeal in it.”
Grabbing what looked like homemade tea balls out of a cupboard, Xavier snickered. “It’s a euphemism.”
Hattie’s nose wrinkled. “For what?”
He stifled a smile. “It’s when a man … offloads on a woman’s face.”
Hattie gaped in horror. “He pees on her?”
Anabel’s head snapped up. “No, it—Xavier, don’t be an asshole.”
Feeling his lips twitch, Cain took a seat at the table. He didn’t think he’d ever met a group of people who were so different who yet fit together so well. Turning his attention to his witch, he glided his fingertips over her scalp. It was a few moments before her eyelids fluttered open.
Finally, she righted her head and blinked up at him. “Oh. You’re here.” There was no unwelcoming note in her voice, just pure confusion.
“You didn’t come to me like you usually do,” he said. “I came to see what was keeping you. I didn’t expect to find you asleep.”
She rubbed at her eyes and sat up. “I didn’t mean to doze off.”
“You look tired. And drained. And too pale for my liking.”
“Flatterer.” Wynter sighed. “Anabel, you’re supposed to be using the test bowl,” she called out without even looking in the direction of the blonde.
Anabel froze with a large wooden spoon halfway to her mouth. “I am. I did. A little something is missing. It’s easier to tell what it is if I taste it.”
Xavier gave the blonde a droll look. “It’s also harder to keep pieces of your sanity if you keep using yourself as a trial subject.”
Anabel rolled her eyes but dripped the potion into a bowl and tossed in some crushed herbs. A waft of blue smoke hit her in the face, and she cursed like a sailor between coughs.
Xavier walked to the table and set a steaming mug of tea in front of Wynter. “Here, this will perk you up.”
She smiled at him, lifting the cup. “Thanks.”
He slid his gaze to Cain. “She needs to get plenty of rest tonight.”
Cain was impressed. Not even in the face of an Ancient did the male fail to speak up for his Priestess. Cain liked that. She deserved such a depth of loyalty. “I’ll make sure she does.”
Xavier gave a nod of satisfaction and then crossed to another cupboard, where he began pulling out jars.
Wynter glanced around. “Where’s Delilah?”
“Chatting with Annis,” replied Xavier.
Cain felt his brows knit. “Annis?”
“She’s a descendant of the Black Annis,” Wynter told him.
Cain blinked. “As in the witch version of the bogeyman?”
Wynter nodded. “Yup. Delilah goes into meditative states where she communicates with Annis. The ability to do so allegedly runs in the family.”
“It doesn’t concern you that your coven member is in contact with a highly sinister entity that was a literal scourge upon the Earth?”
“We’re not a coven.”
Cain felt his lips tip up. “Trust you to concentrate on that part of the question.”
“We’re very much a coven, no matter what you say,” Xavier cut in before taking a bite of a sandwich.
Wynter frowned. “What are you making? That brown stuff looks like shit.”
“It’s a Snickers sandwich,” said Xavier.
She slanted her head. “A, what?”
“You’ve never had one?” Xavier lifted a hand. “Oh, it will change your life. Put chocolate spread on one slice of bread, lather peanut butter spread on the other slice, and then slap them both together.”
“Is there anything you won’t put on a sandwich?”
“Not really. Now stop stalling and drink the tea. I know those mixes taste awful, but they work.”
“I will, I will, just give me a sec.”
As a yawn cracked her jaw, Cain swept her hair away from her face. “If you’re too tired to traipse all the way to the Keep, we can stay here tonight, if you’d like.”
There was a loud bang, and then a cloud of thick green smoke burst out of Anabel’s bowl. “Motherfucker,” the blonde cursed, waving her hand.
Wynter’s eyelid twitched. “Your place works,” she said to Cain. “I just need to throw some of my stuff in a bag.”
“I’ll come with you,” he told her. “I want to see your room.”
Her brow pinched. “Why?”
“Because.”
She shrugged and then knocked back some of the tea. Tea she almost promptly spat out. “Jesus, it tastes like cat food.”
“You’ve eaten cat food?”
“I’m not good at turning down dares.”
He gave her a wolfish smile. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
She forcibly chugged down her tea, grimacing and shuddering. Finally done, she led Cain upstairs and into her bedroom. The space might not have an altar or pentagrams, but the décor clearly stated ‘a witch lives here.’
“A lot of the stuff was given to us in trade,” Wynter told him, noticing he was scanning the space. “The room was pretty basic originally.” She put the back of her hand to her mouth as another yawn escaped her.
“I don’t like that you seem so exhausted.”
She blinked, her mouth curved. “Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me in the middle of the night. Don’t worry, the tea will kick in fast. Then it’ll be like I’ve been downing energy drinks.”
He watched as she pulled underwear out of her drawer. Another time, he might have rifled through her collection just to tease her. But his mood … it wasn’t good. What Ishtar had said kept playing on his mind. Mortals were so very fragile. It would be all too easy for him to lose Wynter. And if he didn’t manage to convince her to give up her mortality in order to stay with him, he’d lose her eventually. Maybe to death, or maybe even to a man who could give her what he couldn’t—a family, normality, the promise of safety.
His creature would likely only give her up if she outright rejected it—the monster would be too pissed at her to want to keep her. But Cain couldn’t tell her it even existed, which meant there’d be no rejection. And so the creature would continue to view her as belonging to it.
If another man touched her, it would want him dead. It would insist that Cain killed him, and Cain knew he was cruel enough to do it. He’d done much worse things over the years, and he’d tortured people for far less.
There was only one way he could grant her immortality—she’d have to agree to sell him her soul in return. He’d have to convince her to do it somehow. He just wasn’t sure how yet.
“I spoke with Ishtar about the little visit she paid you,” he said as Wynter packed her bag. “She won’t be back here.”
“Okay, good.”
He narrowed his eyes at the skepticism in her tone. “You think I’m wrong?”
She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “I think some people are a law unto themselves.”
“I won’t deny she’s that. Nor can I claim that she hesitates to push people too hard—it would be a downright lie. But I made it clear that you’re mine.”
“That might have made things worse, if she’s the jealous type. Plus, I’m not so sure she’d take your possessiveness seriously. In her mind, I’m a mere mortal who can’t possibly have any real relevance to you. So, in my view, is there a chance she might ignore your warning and keep being a sneaky game-playing bitch? Yes.”
Of course Wynter would think that. She had no idea just how serious his declaration would be taken by the other Ancients. “I don’t believe she’ll dare bother you again. She has plenty of reasons to heed me. And, to put it simply, she won’t view you as worth being tortured for.”
Wynter did a double-take. “You’d torture her if she kept on bugging me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
“No.”
Her brow creased, and then she nodded. “Oh, I see. It’s not really about me, it’s the principle of the thing. If she disrespects your wishes, she has to pay for it.”
“That woman has disrespected my wishes more times than I can count. I’ve never bothered using any form of violence to repay her for the insult, because I’ve never managed to drum up enough emotional energy to care all that much about anything she does or doesn’t do. But you … I won’t have her play games with you.”
“Only you get to fuck with my head, huh?”
“Exactly.”
She chuckled and zipped up her duffel. “Did you always have that little weird sadistic streak, or does it come from being alive so long that it twists you in some ways?”
“Twists?” He settled his hands on her hips and drew her close. “You see immortality as a negative thing?”
“No, I think it would depend on the individual. It might suit some but not others.”
“And would it suit you?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’d like who I’d eventually become. I mean, there have been several times throughout my life when something was important to me but, somewhere along the line, it lost its significance—maybe because I changed, grew bored of it, or took it for granted. If I was immortal, that would happen to me over and over and over. I wonder if there’d come a point when I wouldn’t truly value anything anymore.”
In that case, she didn’t see herself clearly. “It’s true that immortals change repeatedly, and so things that once mattered eventually no longer do. That’s why it’s important that an immortal is able to change and adapt—something I doubt you’d struggle with. If they become too rigid and unbending, they’ll eventually grow to hate their life. Although some things cease to matter, it isn’t a case that you come to value nothing at all.”
“What kind of things do you yourself value?”
“Honesty. Loyalty. Strength. Honor. I see all those things in you.” He gently flicked her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck so he could kiss a path down her throat. “You wouldn’t lose those qualities if you were immortal. They’re too embedded in who you are. Sort of like your soul’s foundation blocks. Everything you are is built on top of them.” He scraped his teeth over her pulse, his stomach clenching at her little gasp. “Hmm, I think I should fuck you here before we leave.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He backed her into the bed. “Every time you walk into this room, I want you to remember what I did to you right here on this bed. I want you to remember that you’re mine.”
She snorted. “Like you ever let me forget. Now get your cock out and do me. I can feel my energy coming back, so it’s gonna be hard for me to sleep tonight unless you can fuck the energy right back out of me.”
He felt his mouth kick up. “That’s a challenge I’m happy to accept.”
*
“You know, I had it in my head that it’d be good to come to the surface for some fresh air,” Delilah said, as they all wandered around the plaza the following evening. “But the air weirdly feels fresher in the underground city.”
“It really does,” agreed Wynter. Still, it was nice to occasionally stroll around the surface and have a little change of scenery. The main reason she insisted on it now and then, though, was that it was good for Anabel to leave the house. Her natural anxiety only worsened if she confined herself inside four walls for too long. And since the blonde currently needed to top up on supplies, Wynter had proposed a shopping trip.
As usual, Anabel was as edgy and hypervigilant as a soldier in a warzone. But rather than walk slowly and hesitantly, she moved with speed and purpose, clearly determined to get the whole thing over with so she could go home.
Wynter asked her, “What else is on the list?”
“We’ve bought everything other than the bottle of wine I need,” said Anabel, who put all kinds of stuff into her potions so that they didn’t taste disgusting.
Hattie gestured up ahead. “There’s a liquor store over here.”
“Excellent,” said Anabel, who then led the way to the shop.
Inside, the blonde grabbed a grocery basket and wandered down the first aisle, scanning the various bottles that filled the floor-to-ceiling racks. Wynter and the others trailed behind her, acting as mules to carry whatever bottles she selected.
At one point, Xavier shoved the two he was holding at Delilah and then strolled over to a very pretty assistant who’d just descended a sliding ladder. “I do not think we have met,” he said, his accent now distinctly Italian. He held out his hand. “Alessandro.”
Flushing, the girl shook it. “Posy.”
He grinned. “An unusual name, is it not?”
Wynter shook her head and turned away.
“So,” began Delilah, eyeing her with a smirk, “I heard a few thuds and moans while I was meditating yesterday. Sounded like you and Cain had a whole lot of fun christening your bed. He strikes me as a man who’s good with his hands. Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”
He used every tool in his sexual arsenal exceptionally well, not merely his hands, but Wynter wasn’t one to kiss and tell. “You’ll just have to use your imagination.”
“Oh, I do. Believe me. Any woman with a pulse would. But I need some details.”
“No, you don’t. You’re simply being nosy.”
“And you’re simply being mean by giving me nothing.”
Hattie gently nudged Wynter. “Why are you being so secretive? I never took you for a prude.”
Wynter frowned. “I’m not a prude. I merely don’t like to blab all about my sex life.”
“Whyever not?” asked Hattie. “I do it all the time.”
“And we often wish you didn’t.”
Delilah chuckled. “You do sometimes overshare, Hattie.”
The old woman sniffed. “When you reach my age you don’t bother minding your words. Too much effort. I’ve never really had a problem talking openly about sex, though. Nobody should. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. One of my husbands, Herb, blushed every time I mentioned sex. He was boring in bed. But not in other women’s beds—well, metaphorical beds. He usually had sex with them in his car. His excuse for cheating on me was that a man had to treat his wife like a lady and save his darker urges for prostitutes.”
Delilah snorted. “Darker urges are the most fun.”
Hattie let out a cackle. “I can’t argue there. I’d have been happy to entertain those urges of his if he’d only given me the option.”
“How did you find out he was cheating on you?”
“Same way I found out about my other husbands. I followed him in my crow form. Not one of them noticed. Not even Herb when I shit on his head.”
Anabel turned to them. “Right, I’m done.”
They all headed to the checkout desk, where Xavier caught up to them. Apparently in a gracious mood, he grabbed all four bags. As they left the store, he waved a little slip of paper and gave them a smug smile. “I got myself a date.”
“As Xavier or Alessandro?” asked Hattie, trying and failing to replicate the accent he’d used when introducing himself to the assistant.
“Alessandro, of course. Playing the role of Italian stallion is always fun.” He slid the paper into his back pocket. “I have some Italian blood in my heritage.”
Delilah’s brows lifted. “You do?”
“Nope, not even a little,” he replied.
She flapped her arms. “Then why say it?”
“Maybe your indignation makes me feel energized.”
The two bickered as they all left the plaza and began a leisurely walk to the manor. Wynter’s step faltered as a light breeze fluttered over her skin, alerting her to … something. Instinct made her glance at a wooded area not too far away.
Delilah nudged her with her elbow. “You okay?”
Wynter slowed to a halt. “Yes. And no.”
“What does that mean?” asked Anabel.
“It means that someone—maybe even multiple someones—is hiding in those trees over there,” said Wynter, rolling her shoulders. “I say we go find out why.”
*
Cain looked up from his plate as Azazel breezed into the dining room, his brow furrowed. Anyone else might have been sheepish about interrupting someone’s dinner, but not Azazel. The Ancient had zero time for manners unless it suited him.
“Something wrong?” asked Cain.
“Wrong?” Azazel rubbed at his nape. “I’m not yet sure. But I’m certainly confused.”
“About?”
“One of my aides, Bowen, is missing. No one has seen him since yesterday. I sent people to find him. One thought that maybe he was keeping Annette company, since both berserkers would be grieving her father, so he went to her house in search of him. Bowen wasn’t there. Neither was she, and many of her possessions are gone.”
Lowering his cutlery to his mostly empty plate, Cain poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “I knew she hadn’t opened the blacksmith’s shop today. I thought she was merely taking time off work to grieve.” He lightly touched her soul. “She’s definitely not dead. I feel her. But the connection is … weak.”
Azazel nodded, taking the seat opposite. “My link to Bowen is just as weak. As if something is dulling it. I don’t know what could possibly do that. In any case, it seems as though she not only left, she took him with her. His belongings aren’t missing, but it could be that he caught her leaving and impulsively decided to go with her, or maybe he wasn’t bothered about any of the shit he’s left behind. Aside from the rights to his soul that I own, of course.”
“The usual reason for a resident to sneakily leave is very simply that they did something they shouldn’t have.”
Azazel hummed. “Maybe Annette messed up somehow, or maybe after Grouch died she was scared she’d be next. Scared that you might decide to slit the throat of anyone who ever pissed Wynter off. Didn’t you say that Annette and Grouch once threatened to ruin her business?”
Cain nodded. “I made it very clear that—”
A knock came at the door.
“Yes?” Cain called out.
Maxim stepped inside. “Sire, Dantalion sent an envoy with a message. Two male witches apparently appeared outside the gates of the manor. One claimed they needed to speak with both you and Wynter.”
Cain felt the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunch. “Is that a fact? Who?”
“I’m not sure, he allegedly wouldn’t say more than that,” Maxim replied. “Dantalion granted them entry and placed them in the blue parlor. He thought you might like to be the one to question them.”
The Ancient was right to presume so.
“It has to be people from Aeon, right?” asked Azazel.
“That would be my guess,” said Cain. “Maxim, I need you to bring Wynter to the Keep. I’m not sure where exactly she is, but I have to consider that the male witches didn’t come here alone; that they could be a distraction. If so, others will no doubt look for her. They’ll jump at the chance to take her.”
Maxim gave a curt nod. “I will find her.”
“Also send some people to search the town for strangers. If any are found, detain them. They’ll be permitted to leave providing they attack no one.”
“Understood, Sire.”
Satisfied, Cain made his way upstairs.
Following him, Azazel asked, “Did Wynter ever mention a male witch to you?”
“No.” If either of the visitors turned out to be an ex-boyfriend of hers, they wouldn’t be getting anywhere near her. Especially when it was highly likely that both males were here on behalf of the Aeons or, at the very least, her old coven.
Cain and Azazel used the chamber’s mirror to quickly transport themselves to the manor. They then made their way to what had been branded the blue parlor due to the teal painted walls.
Dantalion sat at the piano, his fingers gliding deftly over the keys, playing “The Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera. He didn’t stop when Cain entered. He barely even looked up, apparently already bored of the situation. His aide stood behind him, silent and still.
Cain settled his attention on the two men sitting stiffly on the sofa. They couldn’t have been more opposite in terms of appearance. One was broad, dark, and heavily muscled. The other was lean and gangly with pale blond hair. “Just who might you both be?”
The burlier of the two met his gaze steadily, much like Wynter herself often did. “My name is Rafe,” he replied. “This here is Griff. As you may have guessed, we were sent here by the Aeons.” The man didn’t seem at all happy about it.
Azazel walked behind the sofa. “For what purpose?”
Rafe didn’t glance over his shoulder at the Ancient. “They want me to try to ‘reason with Wynter’ and appeal for her to come home.”
Cain went very still. “Neither of you will be speaking with Wynter, and she will not be leaving with you either. She stays here.”
“I figured you’d say that,” said Rafe, seeming relieved. “I warned them you probably would, but they insisted that I ask. They thought maybe she’d agree to see me.”
“Why you?”
“Aside from her mother and grandmother, I’m the only person in the coven who gave a damn about her. She was like a niece to me. So they sent me as a friendly face.”
“Without an entourage?”
“We didn’t request to be accompanied by one,” said Rafe. “We were teleported to a spot just beyond the border. I don’t believe others were teleported here after us, but I can’t be sure. The Aeons would veto telling me such a thing as they wouldn’t trust that I’d keep a promise not to warn Wynter.”
“Well, now that we’ve established that you won’t be granted an audience with her, tell me why you also asked to speak with me.”
“Lailah wishes to have a one-to-one talk with you using Griff—he is a conduit.”
The piano music abruptly cut off.
Cain barely refrained from lifting his brows in surprise at Rafe’s declaration. Conduits were rare these days. They could provide a psychic space that allowed people in various locations to communicate. “Is that so?”
Griff swallowed nervously. “She’s already there waiting.”
Cain had guessed as much, considering she’d had to have touched Griff in order to project her consciousness to the psychic space.
“She said to tell you that you’ll want to hear what she has to say,” Griff added.
“Hmm.” Cain gave both Azazel and Dantalion a brief look that warned them to pull him out of the conversation if need be, because what better way to take Cain off-guard than to drag his consciousness into a psychic space where he’d be oblivious to what went on outside of it?
Griff held out his hand, his fingers splayed. Cain pressed his fingertips to those of Griff, and then his surroundings altered in a flash.
