Page 58 of Ransomed to the World
Before he had a chance to answer, their food arrived. Her jaw dropped at the sheer number of plates that covered every inch of the table. When she didn’t immediately begin eating, Mason nudged her plate, and she obediently picked up her fork.
Only after the server disappeared did Edgar look up from the food, his face completely serious. “We’re going to have to beat your father at his own game.”
Chapter Sixteen
It didn’t take long for them to finish their meal, but Annora couldn’t tear her gaze away from Xander—who still stood at the bar—and the way he so studiously ignored them. Something was off about the way he was behaving.
She didn’t like not having him within touching distance, where she could try to figure out what was bothering him.
Edgar distracted her by grabbing their room key, then snagged her hand. “Why don’t we head upstairs and practice your magic? I want to try something new.”
She gave him a smile, relieved to have something to do. She stood and turned toward Mason. “Can you get Xander and—”
“I’ll keep him company.” Mason glanced over her head toward Edgar. “It’ll give you two some time alone.”
Edgar gave the other man a nod of thanks and led her up the stairs, and she looked back over her shoulder, not happy with leaving the other two behind.
“They’ll be okay.”
She was so busy looking behind her, she tripped going up the steps. She whirled and grabbed the railing, then saw Edgar glancing back at her with an amused smile. She pursed her lips to stifle a curse and ducked her head.
Then, with a sigh, she put the other guys out of her mind. They were grown-ass men and could take care of themselves. Edgar led her down a narrow hallway, the dimmed lights barely enough to keep the shadows at bay. Their room was the last one on the right. It was larger than she expected, which wasn’t saying much, since the small bed dominated the room.
Annora peeled Prem off her neck, depositing him on the pillow, where he stretched until he was on his back, wiggling his butt to get comfortable, his paws in the air, his round little belly proudly on display. She smiled at his antics, running her finger along his tummy, then turned away.
Two chairs were placed in front of a modest fireplace, while a small bureau sat opposite with a pitcher of water on top. The pungent fragrance of flowers lingered in the room like it had been doused with a deodorizer that didn’t quite get rid of the musty stink of body odor and sex, and she repressed a shudder at the thought of sitting on the bed.
“Please have a seat.” Edgar held out a chair for her.
Annora retrieved her knife, dropped it on the table, then sank into the chair. When he sat across from her, she straightened, suddenly nervous about being alone with him, conscious of the bed next to them. She cleared her throat, studying every nuance of his face. Something about his rigid posture made her own worries vanish. “You figured something out that can help me cast.”
He rubbed his mouth, his eyes troubled. “We’ve been focusing on the spell book your mother left you, but I think she underestimated your affinity for dark matter. She expected you to be raised as a witch, so she gave you spells to follow. She couldn’t have expected your uncle to hold you prisoner and force you to immerse yourself in the afterworld. Not even phantoms are raised using the dark matter in the same way. It shaped you.”
She shifted uncomfortably under his intense stare. The knowledge of what her uncle did to her still haunted Edgar. He’d seen too much and knew better than the others what tortures she had to endure just to survive.
Her throat tightened, but she refused to drop her gaze.
She had no reason to be ashamed—the guys had taught her that.
Edgar leaned forward suddenly, startling her, and he captured her hands. “Instead of rituals and spells, you were essentially trained to rely on pure instinct. Training you with spells is like us expecting you to be able to speak a foreign language because you heard it once.”
A weight fell off her shoulders. They were going to meet her father and the rest of the phantoms tomorrow. There was no way she’d be able to control her abilities with a handful of spells by then. “So what do you suggest?”
“Your magic is too wild to be wielded by traditional means, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have any skills. We just need to refine your abilities.”
She leaned forward, eager to learn more if it meant keeping the guys safe. “Explain.”
“Call one of your butterflies.”
Annora waited for more instructions, but none came. Humoring him, she did as he said. Dark particles curled around her fingers, the butterfly slowly taking shape, perching on her fingertip, until the wings started beating.
“Amazing.” He reached out, running his finger gently over the wing. “It’s so lifelike.”
Her cheeks heated at his praise, then she cocked her head at the slight inflection in his voice. “What do you mean? What do they look like when you call them?”
Edgar lifted his dark blue eyes to hers. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” She stared at him blankly, not understanding.
