31. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Skyla

L iam got dragged away almost the second we arrived at Putnam Manor. Wesley quickly followed behind him to chat with some middle-aged man and his wife. So, that just left me. I shoot off another text to Vincent when a voice clears beside me.

Looking up from my phone, I notice an older man with white hair sitting in a wheelchair, smiling up at me.

“Hello.” I smile politely as my eyes scan the room for Asher, though who knows when he will be done with…whatever he’s doing.

“My god, the resemblance really is uncanny,” the man whispers to himself.

I frown at that as I turn my head to the side.

“Pardon?”

“Your mother, why, you’re practically her twin.”

I nod and smile for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you,” he says with a sharp smile and a slight shake of his head.

I feel my own smile fall before he lets out a short laugh, offering his hand to me.

“Only teasing, sweetheart. Horris Hutchinson.”

I take his hand, shaking it once before he places a chapped lip kiss to the back of it.

Gross.

“Pleasure to meet you. Skyla Putnam,” I say, knowing how happy Asher will be to find out I’m using his name to introduce myself.

“Oh, everyone in Salem knows who you are, Mrs. Putnam. You’re practically famous.”

“Well, I assure you everything you’ve heard is completely false,” I tease, causing him to let out another laugh.

“Sharp witted one, aren’t you? Tell me something, are you a good girl?”

I’m thrown by his question, my smile turning suspicious as I narrow my eyes.

“I suppose it depends on your definition, but I like to think so.”

He nods thoughtfully at that.

“Good, you’re too busy to get caught up in messy business like your mother.”

My brows furrow at that. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer me, instead, his eyes roam over me curiously before his eyes catch on my scarred palm, the one with the Brethren emblem forever engraved onto me. His eyes move to my other hand, assumingly searching for the cut from that night.

“Tell me, did you bleed black?”

“What?” I ask.

“Bleed black, did you? Course you didn’t. They wouldn’t have let you live more than a second later if you had. Still, though…fascinating.”

“Wait, what does bleeding black have to do with anything? That’s impossible. No one’s blood is black.”

“No one except those that have sold their soul to the devil,” Horris counters.

My eyes stay narrowed as I look at him for several seconds before I swallow.

“Are you saying—”

“I’m not saying anything, just making polite conversation with a darling girl,” he interrupts.

“No,” I snap quickly, sucking in a deep breath before blowing it out. “Are you saying that my mom was a…witch?”

“All I know is what I hear. There were rumors for years, no one could ever provide evidence, but her death was quite…convenient.”

“Convenient? How?”

“Well,” he says, sitting forward in his chair as he lowers his voice. “Right around the time of her death, the Coven was growing in strength. Luther knew there was a mole. A handful of days later, your mother ends up dead, and you are sent away.”

“Coven?” I echo. “Like a group of witches or—”

“Grandpa! There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Andrew says before his eyes come to me.

Shock splashes across his face before his trademark red cheeks appear.

“Oh, hi, Skyla. I see you’ve met my grandfather.”

I nod. “Hi, Andrew.

“It’s been…a while,” he says hesitantly.

A while since I thought he was my stalker, and we only figured out he wasn’t because Corwin assumingly held him at gunpoint and forced him and his family to flee the country to throw us off his track.

“It has,” I agree.

He takes a step closer to me, lowering his voice as he whispers desperately.

“I’m so sorry about everything. I heard what happened. The fact that Professor Corwin had been torturing you like that. The fact that he was the one that approached me in the parking lot that day,” he says with a shake of his head.

I nod and smile, appreciating the condolences, but far more interested in what his grandfather has to say. I move to look around Andrew when an arm slides behind my back, that clean familiar smell washing over me as Asher presses a kiss to the side of my head.

Looking up at him, I smile before turning to wrap my arms around him.

“Are you okay?” I whisper into his ear.

“No,” he responds hollowly, causing me to frown as I pull away.

There’s a vacancy in his eyes. He stares down at me warmly, or as warmly as he can, but there is noticeably something off, an emptiness hiding something horrible.

“What—”

“Kiss me,” Asher demands before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips to mine.

I go to him easily, his kiss bruising against me as he lets out…whatever he can. I’ll happily hold the burden of his pain. Whatever he needs.

When he pulls away, he lets out a ragged breath, inflating himself in the next moment, his shoulders back and a look of contentment on his face. Though, I’d wager it’s a load of shit.

“Apologies for the interruption gentlemen, if she was your wife, I’m sure you’d understand.”

Horris laughs at Asher’s joke while Andrew just stares at him, a hint of malice to his gaze. See? Stalker vibes. Just a little bit. I know, in reality, he’s just being kind in my name. Andrew has only seen what others have, the horrible things Asher has done to me. Outside of the guys and Maggie, no one knows how good he really is to me. Now, at least.

“It’s more than alright. Congratulations. You are a fantastic addition to our society.” Horris nods to Asher. “Mrs. Putnam, it was such a pleasure. Come along, Andrew. I think I’d like to retire for the evening.”

“Wait. Do you think I could ask you some questions…about what we were discussing?” I say cryptically.

Horris smiles kindly as he leans forward and shakes his head.

“Better that we not. Enjoy the party,” he says as Andrew, on cue, begins pushing his grandfather out the party and to the door.

“What was that about?” Asher asks.

I turn to him, my heart sinking as I speak.

“Have you heard that people think witches bleed black?”

Asher’s brows immediately knit together as he hushes me sharply. He shakes his head as if to say not here before he glances around the room. When his sweep is done, he leans in to press a kiss to the side of my head.

“Not here. We’ll talk at home.”

I nod slowly, more on edge than ever as a couple of people approach us, congratulating Asher on his official membership. He smiles through each congratulation, the facade becoming harder and harder to recognize the longer the night drags on.

After sharing an awkward and tense moment between my father, Christopher, and Asher, we only had to stay for another twenty minutes or so before Asher tells us we’re leaving. We climb into the car, Ronan driving, when I turn to face him.

I open my mouth to ask him about the witch thing when I see his put together facade crack and crumble, giving way to a shaking mess. His arms are quivering as he rests his head in his hands, struggling to breathe as he does.

“Asher? Asher! What’s going on? Talk to me,” I beg.

He reaches for me, grabbing onto me like I’m his lifeline as he falls apart. What on earth happened to my husband?

“Hold him, Sky,” Ronan says from the front seat.

I do as he says, and Asher comes to me easily, snaking his arms around my waist as he buries his head into my neck. He doesn’t cry, but he does let out labored breaths, sucking them back in with as much strength as he can seemingly muster.

“What did they do to you?” I whisper softly, brushing his hair out of his face.

He shakes his head, his pain drenched eyes coming to mine.

“Don’t….I…I can’t. Ever. I can’t talk about it. I can’t—”

“Shh,” I say, forcing his head back against me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you, and I love you, and I won’t let anything hurt you.”

He nuzzles into me deeper, a pained look on Ronan’s face as he watches us from the rearview mirror. Thankfully, it doesn’t take us long to get back to the house and when we do, Ronan is there to open all of the doors for us.

Asher is able to get himself out of the car and into the house, but only just. Like a zombie, he marches through our home, heading straight for the staircase. I follow him quickly, trailing after him as he steps into his bedroom. I share a concerned look with Ronan who is also following us before he leaves us at the doorway, shutting it with a soft snick and drowning the room in darkness.

Light isn’t needed right now, though. Not when Asher is already crawled into his bed and I’m slipping in right beside him. He curls into me, much how he did in the car and together, we just lay there in perfect silence.