Page 51 of Shackled to the World
“Annora—”
“Don’t.” She turned with the book clutched to her chest. “I understand your unease with the afterworld, but the things beyond that gate don’t frighten me. The human world is much more dangerous for me.”
She could see he wanted to argue…and the moment he gave up. He combed his fingers through his dark hair, leaving the strands standing up every which way, very different from the impeccable way he usually looked. She wasn’t sure she found the rumpled look cute or if it disturbed her. He smelled like the afterworld—like home—and it was all she could do not to try and comfort him.
Instead of giving in to the impulse, she held up the book and gave him a bright smile. “You can’t protect me from everything, but you can give me the tools so I can protect myself. How about you give me a few lessons?”
She waited, studying his inscrutable face, every inch of him the royal pureblood. Taking the trick from Loulou, she blinked up at him with the innocent look that always made guys cave to her every whim. “Something in here might be the only thing that can save me.”
He sighed in defeat and held out his hand. She smothered her victorious grin when he grabbed the book, then glared at her over the top. “But we do this my way. When I say we’re done, we stop.”
“Yes, sir.” Annora barely resisted the urge to do a happy dance as she followed him to the middle of the room and took a seat on the floor.
She dropped down next to him, then leaned forward and craned her neck to get a better view of the book. Some of her joy drained out of her when she saw his solemn expression.
“It’s a family grimoire.” He ran his hand over the cover, a frown crossing his face, then his head snapped up. “But it’s been infused with dark matter magic. My guess is your mother knew what you would become and was trying to prepare you for your life.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What?” She jerked back in shock, plopping back on her ass in a clumsy sprawl. “So the witches…my mother.” Annora reached out but curled her hands into fists before she could touch the book. “She was a witch. That would explain how she knew about phantoms, but how would she be able to write about their magic? I was told the ability to practice dark matter magic was lost to the witches centuries ago.”
Edgar gave her a steady look that made her swallow hard, and she wanted to turn away from the truth in his eyes.
“Your father—she knew he would come for you eventually, so she created this book to help you learn about your past without having to rely on him for anything.”
She ran the tips of her fingers reverently along the edges of the book, then snatched her hand back, her face hardening with understanding. “And my uncle knew—or he suspected. He found the book, but he couldn’t access the pages. That’s why he took my blood, but it still wasn’t enough for him to cast spells. He’s a dud.”
“Best guess…he sold the book to Erickson.” Edgar tapped his finger on the front of the cover.
“And why Erickson thinks I belong to him. My uncle sold me to him, too.”
Edgar didn’t react beyond clenching his fingers into fists. “Most likely. He needs you to make the book work. He was able to use your blood for small spells, but he wants more. He’s developed a taste for the power.”
Annora sank her fingernails into the meaty part of her palm, trying to calm herself as the darkness rose at her agitation. The last thing she needed was to rip open the afterworld and bring her father down on their heads before they got Logan back and put their plan in action.
Blood welled from the tiny cuts. Before she could wipe away the evidence, Edgar clamped his hands around her wrists. She tugged on her arm once, then gave up control under his steady look. Instead of demanding that she heal, he took her hand and placed it directly on the leather cover of the grimoire.
At first nothing happened, then it felt like she’d picked up a live coal. The air around the book snapped and heated, her skin sizzling like a frying pan full of hot grease. When she tried to jerk her hand back, Edgar tightened his grip. But it wasn’t him that held her still…the book was sealed to her palm. She gritted her teeth until she was ready to swear they’d crack, refusing to release the scream building up in her throat.
She would not be weak.
The cover of the grimoire rippled, and power shimmered up her arm. Her skin tingled like a numbing balm. By the time she lifted her arm and cradled it to her chest, she was shaking, her heartbeat erratic.
Edgar looked at her in concern. “Are you okay?”
Annora shrugged, using the pain to focus instead of letting it consume her. “A little warning would’ve been appreciated.”
His fathomless blue eyes darkened as the afterworld swirled into them, rising with his agitation. “I’m sorry—if I had known, I would never have allowed it to happen.”
Sincerity rang in his apology, and she sighed. He’d spent most of his life protecting her from pain. No way in hell would he have inflicted harm on her if he could avoid it. “I know you wouldn’t.”
She opened and closed her hand to get the feeling back into it, then nudged the book with her foot. “So what did that accomplish? It better be good.”
Edgar raised a brow at her, a smirk playing on his lips. Then he spun the book and flipped open the cover to reveal her mother’s handwriting scrawled across the pages. Annora reached out, touching them reverently, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to drown her.
“When my uncle gained custody of me and learned what I could do, he tried to control me by threatening to destroy my mother’s things.” She rolled her eyes and gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Needless to say, nothing survived. I was nothing if not stubborn.”
A muscle jumped along his jaw, and she pursed her lips, looking away. He took her beatings more personally than she did, like he’d somehow failed her. He didn’t seem to understand that nothing was going to stop her uncle.
