Page 132 of Claimed By Fangs and Darkness
42
KYLO
Our investigation into Juliette’s presence in a turned-controlled building proved just as fruitless as Princeton’s murder investigation.
All we could assume was that she was somehow powerful enough to slip through magickal barriers. But why were the barriers still strong? Did she patch them back up? That seemed unlikely.
Even more confusing was that no one had seen a brunette witch who fit her description. It was as if she floated around the party as a ghost.
There were so many unanswered questions. And worse than the questions was the paranoia about what this unstable witch might do to the love of my life now that she had her blood.
Today was the day. After I locked Evie away from the world for three days, keeping her safe and healthy and well-rested, we were now preparing Princeton’s spell room for a turning rite.
“I have a new idea,” I said. “What if we?—”
Evie looked up at me from her spot on the floor, drawing sigils with enchanted purple paint. “Kylo,” she pleaded softly.
I sighed and stared at the wall. “I’m sorry, angel. What do you need from me?”
Evie’s face relaxed with gratitude, and I felt guilty for disrupting her flow on such an important day. I was jerky and restless, trying to find any convincing argument against her plans with Aster, or any alternative to subterfuge that Evie might agree to. But now wasn’t the time.
I loved her so much that it broke me. Her life was in an enemy’s hands. All we could do was hope Evie’s protective measures were strong, that Juliette wasn’t as all-powerful as she was making herself seem. So far, nothing out of the ordinary had happened since that night.
And none of it was good enough for me. I refused to let Evie out of my sight. My body rebelled at the thought of sending her back to Aster. I’d told her that I wanted to change the plan we’d meticulously perfected, to instead lure Juliette away now rather than wait until after two more meetings with Aster. We’d fought about it until Evie sobbed, and my love splintered into opposite urges.
In the end, I’d given her freedom. Again. And I didn’t feel good about it. I didn’t feel noble, selfless, or divinely led.
But it wasn’t about me. That was what it meant to be a revolutionary. I had to look outside of myself, even when all of me was hopelessly addicted to and possessed by another.
I took comfort in the beautifully mundane. Like that Evie and Vesper had taken to drinking coffee and reading together in the mornings on the front porch. My heart warmed every time I heard them break their comfortable silence to talk and giggle.
We’d been prepping for the ritual the past few days, and now we were doing only what must be done fresh. Final touches.
Evie was equally jittery, for her own reasons. She wanted to serve the clan to the best of her ability, and it touched me to my core.
Candlelight danced around us. Beyond the secret bookcase, initiates were gathered in groups. Evie had four rounds ofapproximately twenty-five humans each to turn, and I was to give them basic clan tattoos and dose them with blood to complete the rite. She’d crafted her own sigils and ink, followed each step exactly according to Hekate, Princeton, and the otherworld’s instruction. If all went well, Evie would be positioned to continue bolstering our numbers as we descended into war.
She was prepared. She’d been studying and communing with her guides for weeks. I kissed her forehead.
Her eyes were wide, her heart jumping like a rabbit.
“You’ve got this, baby. This isn’t like before—with Idris, or with your explosions. This is what you were made for. It’s the same as your beautiful herbal and flower magick, just bigger.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“As soon as you enter your trance and open the circle, I’ll bring in the first round.”
Evie squeezed my hand. She peered over my shoulder, laughing softly. “Warwick looks so pissed.”
I grinned and followed her gaze to our born vampire blood bag that was hanging in magickal suspension. I often left him visible during rituals, merely to let him watch us bastards multiply.
“Thanks again, buddy,” I called. “Couldn’t do it without you.”
Warwick’s soulless eyes glared back. His blood was in several large jars in the center of the spell circle, some of it in the ornate, ritual bowl.
Something fiery crossed Evie’s features as she stared at the blood.
“I’m ready.”
