Chapter One
Snoe
Death. No one knows when it will claim them. People live each day unaware if it will be their last. Rain poured down, slapping against the umbrella. The sky was dark with thick clouds; it mirrored the atmosphere of what happened that day.
The day everything started to come to a close for Snoe Blake.
“We lay to rest a distinguished man…”
Yeah, great—what they meant was powerful and cruel. Snoe couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the constant compliments and brown-nosing. The man they were talking about wasn’t even there for them to kiss his ass. If they thought Snoe cared, they were sorely mistaken. He didn’t even want to be out there.
Snoe watched the rain fall. They were the tears he was incapable of shedding. There was something wrong with him—he should cry, but he stood there emotionless. A pinch to his hand brought him back to awareness, and he turned to look at his stepmother, with her red-rimmed eyes and perfectly in-place makeup. Snoe could see the disdain in her eyes even through the facade of her feigned sorrow.
“Pay attention. This is your father.”
He’s dead now.
Snoe doubted he gave a fuck if he was watching his funeral or not.
Snoe glanced back at the coffin covered in flowers, ready to be lowered into the ground. The man inside was his father—his very dead father. How in the world had he gotten to that point? Snoe’s whole life, he’d always seen his father as invincible, a cruel man who cared for no one but himself. A man so wrapped up in his power and money that he’d taken every precaution to protect it, and still it hadn’t been enough to spare him death. Snoe had been sure he would always be alive, practically an immortal like a vampire or, better yet, a demon.
And his father, the great Alister Blake, was one of the most powerful witches of his time. So much so, they regarded him as a king amongst witches. And now that very man, who would make even vampires and shifters cower in his presence, was reduced to nourishments of a tree. Snoe wondered what tree his father had chosen, the one that would be forever a symbol of his life.
To keep the balance, witches gave their bodies over to the earth, replenishing the magic that they took. It was an ancient practice passed down for generations. For everything must come to an end. They were blessed with magic, and in return, once they died, they planted their bodies into the earth and gave their remaining magic back. All supernaturals had a price to pay, and this was theirs. Like vampires couldn’t walk in daylight and must drink blood to sustain immortality, and shifters must endure intense pain and be slaves to their primal instincts for the gift of shifting into an animal. Witches, with their weak bodies, were no better than humans for the gift of magic.
Another pinch to his hand had Snoe looking up. The priest stared at him expectantly. Oh yeah. Snoe held back a sigh. One of his father’s wishes in the will was for Snoe’s mother, Eira Blake, to plant him and grow the tree. But Snoe’s mother was long dead, and his father had never changed her out. Because of this error, the next one to perform the ritual was Snoe as he hadn’t inherited his father’s magic of destruction. Instead, he’d resembled his mother in more than just looks.
Snoe closed his umbrella, his shoulder-length brown hair quickly becoming drenched and plastered to his face. Maybe the rain could disguise that he couldn’t shed one tear. He made his way over to the casket. He glanced around him; there were too many people. People he’d never seen a day in his life but were probably close to his father for two things: money or power.
“Come and take an offering and place your blessing onto Alister Blake so he may pass on,” the priest said.
First to come up was Snoe’s stepmother, Hilde G. Newton-Blake. A woman of grand ambition and the status to back it up. Her red-painted lips turned down in a frown as a lone tear slid down her cheek. Why couldn’t Snoe muster up the same acting skills as his stepmother?
“You were a good man. I will miss you, my love.” She said it loud enough that those around could hear her.
Was there truth to her words? Most likely not—as far as Snoe could tell, his father only married Hilde G. Newton because of her family name and status. She came from a prestigious family of powerful witches.
Snoe stood there, the rain soaking into his clothes and to his underwear. Still, he didn’t feel cold. He didn’t feel much of anything. Maybe he was still in some strange shock?
His two stepbrothers came up right behind their mother. Dash and Chase looked so similar that many mistook them for twins. But Chase was closer to Snoe’s age of twenty-two, and Dash was thirty. Many looked at Dash and assumed he would be the next CEO of Blake Enterprises and clan leader of the Blake coven. But he wasn’t a true Blake, only one accepted through marriage.
Dash’s too-thin lips dipped further in a frown as he picked up a flower from the casket. He didn’t look at Snoe once, but that was no surprise. Snoe was little more than the soil to Dash. Something to step on, to get where he wanted to go. Chase at least gave Snoe a sympathetic look. The last one to come up from his immediate family was his younger half-sister, with her blonde hair braided to the side. Her small hand reached up for a flower, and she wiped her watery blue eyes before moving back next to her mother. People from the Blake coven came up and took a flower one by one. Some met Snoe’s eyes with sympathy, and others ignored him. Snoe stood stock-still and tried not to look as if his mind was somewhere else.
He wondered how his roses were. He had yet to tend to them in the past two days because of the funeral arrangements. He’d forbidden any of the groundskeepers to touch them. Snoe let his mind wander for a little while longer, making plans for his garden once he was back home.
The priest cleared his throat, and Snoe snapped out of his mental fog and conjured his magic. It was different for every magic user, but for Snoe it was like digging a hole and only finding a little bit of water. It was exhausting and slightly painful. Magic tingled throughout his body and to his fingertips. He let out a pent-up breath.
“Are you going to say any words?” the priest asked.
What words could Snoe possibly give? They had already spoken about how great Alister Blake was. Any words from Snoe would be lies, and he doubted they wanted the truth. Alister Blake was a selfish, cruel man, who’d abandoned his sick wife and young child and didn’t so much as grieve once she was gone. He’d remarried and moved on with little to no thought for Snoe.
It turned out Snoe didn’t need to say anything as Dash took a step forward.
“Alister Blake was a man, a witch, who had made leaps and bounds for our kind. He strengthened our territories, never backed down, and made bold moves. All for our sakes—for witches. Because of him, we are at the top of the food chain. Although I am not his son by blood, I see him as my father and will do everything I can to keep his legacy alive.” Dash chanted the Blake coven’s sacred words. “To aíma kai I dýnami kratoúntai kontá kai chrisimopoioúntai pros ófelos tou Mávrou.”
There was a resounding cheer from the crowd of people. A few of them even bowed, acknowledging Dash’s pledge. It was meant to be a slap to Snoe—Dash had just openly claimed the spot at the head of everything. Maybe when Snoe was in the mood to care he’d do something about it, but Snoe was realistic. No one wanted him to take over. He wasn’t powerful enough to fill his father’s spot. And in all honesty, Snoe would much rather spend time in his garden tending to his roses.