I’m determined to make the best out of these few hours.
“Cerys Dark,” a witch in a pointy hat stops me with a hand on my arm. It feels a bit aggressive, but I try to smile—surely it’s just my imagination, I’ve been isolated for a year, my people skills atrophied.
“Paulette, come over here,” she beckons her friend, rising on the tips of her toes to wave. “Paulette! Over here! This is her, the girl who replenished my magic after that lich almost drained me to death. She can surely help with your stuff, too.” She turns to me with wide old eyes, sagging bags under them. “You do love blockages, too, don’t you? She’s been trying to attract a mate for years now, and it ended in disaster every time, it’s been a nightmare.”
“We’ve been looking for you for months now,” Paulette chimes in. She’s much younger than the first witch, but she gives off aggressive vibes, too. A couple more witches follow her, a few dark warlocks trailing after them. Their eyes seem to pierce through my aura, and a chill runs down my spine. I’ve never really liked their lot, even though my half-brother is a dark warlock, too.
“Yeah, what happened to your shop, there’s been duct tape all over it for a year?” the young witch inquires.
I don’t know what to tell them. Ever since I moved to the underground, only the guardians were allowed to bring me clientele, and they’ve been super selective about it.
“I’m not taking on new clients at the moment,” I say with a smile as I try to move past the circle they formed around me. I murmur a spell under my breath, and activate some of my milder magic that makes people feel meek and mellow and relaxed, causing them to forget what they were up to. They let me pass, but the warlocks’ dark gazes linger.
I wish I’d felt more comfortable, as I’m surely feeling threatened for no reason. But being away from people for so long has made me agoraphobic, and I need to take it slow.
The streets don’t intimidate me as much, even though they’re teeming with people in colorful costumes, moving their wands through the air and painting runes of joy. Sparkling magic dust puffs into the air. The familiar scent of punch and cotton candy leads me further up the Royal Mile, stands filled with goodies shielding the big dark houses and Victorian shops. My mouth waters as I pick a cane candy from a stand, paying the lady.
Memories of my childhood flood my mind as I lick it, my heart swelling with happiness. I haven’t had one of these in years.
“Why did you run away, Miss Dark,” a voice booms in my ear. I spin around, bumping into a dark warlock, one of those who trailed after Paulette. “Are you afraid of us?”
“I...” But before I get to answer, the others join him. My skin crawls. I instantly know this is bad news.
They draw closer to me like predators going to the kill. I murmur a spell to confuse those closest to me, but I won’t be able to hold them off for long. I’m a magic energy worker, I work with the forces of nature to replenish people’s magic tanks when a fight or some sort of disease depletes them, but I’m no match for a whole pack of dark warlocks and witches.
I wish I had my brother Zillard with me badly right now. He would blast them away from me with a flick of his hand, but he’s been busy keeping the human world safe from Xerxes ever since the King of Flames disappeared.
I retreat, moving through the crowd away from those trying to circle me in. I turn the corner onto the first dark side street that I find. I pick up speed, deciding to move only along the darkest alleyways until I get back to the one that will lead me back to my underground hideout, but let’s face it. I’m a super easy target with my white glowing skin, the long braided ponytail of shiny blue-black hair, and my white robe.
My heart hammers against my chest, my lungs burning. The sound of my own breathing pounds in my ears. I’m not athletic by nature, and physical exercise is far from my favorite activity, but I’m light on my feet because of all the positive energy I’ve gathered through my work. Still, my muscles scream from the effort, and a cold breeze keeps following me. It’s like a vicious spirit is breathing down my neck.
I don’t turn around to check if it’s just paranoia or if I’m actually being followed, not until I veer onto the narrow street that leads to the closed old pub where I can slide to the underground, and from there to my shelter. I shouldn’t have left it.
With the blood rushing in my ears I look over my shoulder, scanning the night. Nothing but the breath of the Autumn air. But as I unbolt the door and push it open, a big strong hand covers my mouth, and something as hard as a warrior’s breastplate pushes against my back.
I stumble inside, only my captor’s grip keeping me from falling. The door falls shut behind us, and darkness swallows us. I swear this is the longest second of my life. All I can hear is my own breath, and the fear that pumps blood into my temples.
My captor doesn’t have to say a word, or even breathe for me to realize it’s him. Xerxes. His body is as hard as iron against mine, and he smells of ember and wood. There’s no doubt, the witches and warlocks that surrounded me before were his people. We always knew he had acolytes in Flipside Edinburgh, but we could never track them down. Such a man inspires loyalty until death, so they never gave themselves away.
“Just relax, and cooperate,” he says, low, his breath coating the shell of my ear. It’s that masculine, god-like voice that sent chills down my spine when I first heard it a year ago. “Do exactly what I tell you, and no one will get hurt.”
He waits until I relax in his grip. I don’t do it because I feel any safer, but because I realize there’s no way I can escape him. If I ever get away from him, it will be because he let me go, not because anyone or anything freed me. He loosens his iron grip, and I turn around slowly, facing him.
My eyes widen.
Xerxes stands before me, in the flesh—if that’s what he’s made of. His bronze skin gives off a golden glow that pierces the darkness, making him visible, but not radiating enough to light up the room.
I’m facing the King of Flames, but ice travels through my veins. This is the first good look I’ve ever had of him, and he’s intimidating as hell. He’s got thick muscles, and what looks like rivulets of liquid fire instead of veins. Darkness shimmers around him, and I know it’s the shadowy aura he emits, like smoke rising from him. His eyes are red, his lips dark, and his hair the smoothest black I’ve ever seen, brushing his muscular shoulders like silk. He’s wearing leather pants and a leather vest that doesn’t hide much of his body, but suits the whole package perfectly.
As for the features of his face, they leave me breathless. His cheekbones are sharp like steel, his whole face expressing a calm ferocity, like a quiet fire that could surge at any time.
“Wh—what do you want from me?” I stutter.
But deep down I know. It’s why they’ve been keeping me away from him all this time.
Xerxes
“I DIDN’T WANT US TO meet again any more than you did, but you’re Edinburgh’s best magic energy worker, and I need your help,” I tell the girl as my eyes move up and down her frame.
I remember the first time I saw her honey-colored eyes. The same eyes as her great-grandfather’s, the famous Merlin. It was when I barged into her shop close to the Royal Mile a year ago, looking for Lysander and Arielle. Instead, I came face to face with the woman I’d been determined never to meet—the one with the highest chance of becoming my fated mate.