Page 91 of Heart of a Witch
I should have taken that to heart. It was sweet, and he was right. “You must understand why we’ve come here.”
“To destroy my father. Yeah, I know, and I don’t care. He’s as evil as they come, and if I said I hadn’t thought about killing him at least a dozen times, I’d be lying. Elijah’s the one you should worry about. He may hate him now, but he’s always been loyal to our father.”
“He hit him for you.”
He shrugged. “He loves him. Damian was actually a father to him, unlike me. Elijah looked up to him until the beatings started. Granted, it did pull them apart, but not enough.”
I bit the inside of my lip. “Elijah wants nothing more to do with him.”
“All I’m saying is when it comes down to it, don’t be surprised if he sticks up for Damian. He may hate him, but he won’t let his father die.”
“I trust him to do the right thing.”
He leaned forward, his elbows propped up on both arms of the chair. “I love my brother; he’s the only family I have. I won’t get in your way with Damian, but if Elijah tries to stop you, all I ask is you don’t hurt him.”
“I wouldn’t hurt Elijah.”
His eyebrows flicked upward. “Alex said you don’t care about him.”
“I don’t.”
“Hmm.” He looked me up and down. “I’m going to check on her. Thanks for letting me stay, and for the talk. I figured you should know, as I’m in your house and I saw her throat. I could only feign ignorance for so long before it became obvious.”
I nodded. The kid was smarter than I had given him credit for. “I still don’t trust you.”
He smiled. “Yet.” He walked out and upstairs. I made a mental note to tell Cas as soon as he returned—and for him to keep a very close eye on Corbin—although in my heart, I felt he was telling the truth. Luckily, I didn’t follow my heart.
Twenty-Six
Victoria
The hunter was pristine in his robes of white, with a garland made from red and white flowers atop his shoulders. The banisters of the grand staircase were spiraled with garlands similar to the one around the hunter’s neck. Mistletoe hung from the doorways, and a fir tree stood at the side of the stairs, around nine feet tall and decorated with fancy ornaments and silver beads. He didn’t see me at first, as he directed someone carrying a handful of tinsel, and he slicked back the few hairs at his receding hairline, as if it would help.
“Mr. Shaw,” I said, clearing my throat.
He turned on his heel, anger flashing in his violent stare. “Victoria Amberwood.”
My eyebrows knitted together. “It’s Weathermore. Victoria Weathermore.”
He scoffed. “Hmph.”
I glanced down, then back at him, confusion flitting in my features. “May I talk with you about Elijah?”
He hesitated, his fingers flexing. The corner of his eye twitched, creasing the new scar that trailed down to his mouth. He wasn’t sure, couldn’t trust himself entirely. He would want to make certain I was truly a witch. “We can talk in the living room.” He gestured, and I followed, holding my breath for a moment.
The potion Cas had created helped immensely. He said it was only temporary, that the madness would return and I would need to control it. As long as I performed no more dark magic, I might have been okay, but we were so close, I could taste it.
We reached the living area, which was decorated in the same reds and whites as the rest of the mansion. He clicked the door shut, then checked the other one was locked. With his back toward me, he let out a low growl. “Why are you here? Where is my son?”
Good. Elijah hadn’t come back here after all. I had been banking on that. He must have gone to stay with a friend. “Safe,” I said and stepped up behind am armchair, placing my painted nails against the cushioned back. “No thanks to you.”
He laughed, turning to look at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I dragged a fingernail across the fibers, smiling to myself. “You were right, you know, about my name.”
He stepped forward, and I placed a hand in the air, stealing the air from his lungs. He gasped, dropping to his knees and clutching at his throat. I released the magic, and he drew in several deep breaths.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned. “I’m not like many of the innocent witches you’ve slaughtered. No, I’m one of the ones who most likely gave you those scars.” I smirked. “Well, not all those scars, as we know. Your son is responsible for one. I’m pretty proud of him for it.”
