Chapter 29

29

LECTURE NOTES FROM IMMORTAL GENETICS:

All witches are born with magic in their veins. It remains colorless and undifferentiated until their Summoning Day—when it bursts to life.

B lue-flecked, Elemental blood seeped out of the carriage.

Wayland, the eldest McPorter brother, was crouched in a defensive position, then relaxed at the sight of Soren.Behind him were lifeless bodies in scarlet uniform, which meant all the soldiers were now dead.

Thessa withdrew her magic.

“Look who finally showed up,” Wayland said.

Soren rolled his eyes at Wayland. “I’d compliment your efficiency, but we’d risk your head getting larger.”

Wayland flared his nostrils. “Did they kill her?”

Sorrow filled Soren’s expression, telling them without words. There were shades of pain behind his dark eyes, layers Thessa could not begin to understand, but the thought of losing everything … she shook her head.

Francis audibly wept, wrenching her heart, but Soren’s face shifted—turned cold—as he began relaying orders like a rehearsed script. Without a question, the McPorters began working, unhinging the two horses from the carriage.

Soren dragged the dead driver and slung him inside the cabin with the dead soldiers. Wayland slammed the door shut, then the five of them hauled the carriage off the path.

Thessa had the honor of sifting dirt. She did her best to fluff up the grass too, then headed toward the males. A moment later, Wayland and his father set the carriage ablaze. The youngest of the McPorter brothers, Neremiah and Brinkley, were each side hugging their father with tears streaming down their innocent faces.

She shivered at the thought of their mother’s violent death. Her stomach turned with all the loss and heartache. Excusing herself, she ran to a nearby tree and retched.

There wasn’t much to expel, but she heaved until her body was satisfied. Unscrewing the necklace she never took off, Thessa breathed and pressed her other hand to her heart—like Soren had taught her.

As the carriage burned and the males mourned, she felt ashamed to be reminded of Kellan. Emiel’s family dynamic was shifting her entire perspective. Not in a hundred years would she believe an Elemental would wed and have children with a demon. If there was a plane of existence where they could explore a future together, she wondered if she would.

Would he?

She looked up to see Soren gesturing her over. After cleaning herself up, she joined them around the fire. There was a late and awkward introduction when Francis asked Soren who she was .

A simple, “Thessa,” was all he said.

She waved.

Despite their grief, all the Mcporters smiled politely at her—except for Wayland.

Soren continued, “I know this is a difficult time Francis, but you must go back. Burn the remaining carriage on your property, and all that remains. Everything. Pack only what’s needed and leave. Let them think we're all dead. And do me a favor, warn the others.”

Francis nodded solemnly.

“We’ll rebuild, like we always have.” Soren moved his gaze to the eldest brother, a speck taller than his father. “Wayland, we’ll need you to come with us, for Emiel.”

He was bathing his dagger in his own finger-flames as he said, “Yes, sir. Which horse am I taking?” There wasn’t a whisper of sorrow in his tone, instead, his eyes burned with revenge.

Soren swept his gaze toward the four horses and paused before turning back. “Miah and Brink, you’ll ride together on one of the carriage horses, and Francis, you’ll take the other. Wayland, I’m sorry, that means you’re riding Hades.”

“Excuse me?” Thessa objected. “Hades is mine .”

“Hades can’t hold two riders,” Soren countered. “Ares might be larger, but Wayland and I together would break his back. Besides, I'm not riding with Wayland.”

“And where does that leave me?

Soren’s lips twisted as he said, “You’re riding with me.”

She scowled.

“If you want to help Leora, this is how that happens.”

Wayland scratched his head. “Leora?”

Huffing, Thessa turned her gaze to Wayland and snapped, “Treat my horse well or you’ll have me to deal with.”

Wayland scrunched his brows. “Please. ”

Thessa lifted her nose at Soren. “He’s putting your arrogance to shame.”

Back at the horses, Francis helped his two sons mount, before swinging himself over the other carriage horse. He gave Soren a nod, and the family of three took off.

Wayland mounted Hades, who flipped her ears back at the onslaught of his weight, while Thessa stepped into Soren’s interlaced fingers and hauled herself atop Ares.

Soren grunted, “Move as close to the pommel as you can,” before hoisting himself onto the saddle after her.

The thud of his body against hers, and the arm he threw around her waist, sent heat flooding through her. Before she could make an emergency dismount, the horses were flying north. Between his fingers gripping her, tighter than they needed to, and the rumbling hoofbeats beneath her seat, she wasn’t cooling off.

She needed to think of something … and anything but the way Soren’s jaw flexed when he was angry, or the part of his waist that tapered down like a dagger.

When a soft moan escaped her lips, she knew whatever was happening between her legs shouldn’t be.

Not among so much death, and certainly not with him.

Thessa bit her lower lip all the way back to Mabelton.

Clopping on cobblestones indicated their arrival.

With varied strides, they’d made good timing. Pulling off-road, under an elm tree and next to one of the many streams coursing through Mabelton, they offered the horses a break.

Thessa’s legs wobbled upon dismounting. Her thighs weren’t accustomed to an entire day of riding, or whatever that was. She was so incredibly tense, every bone in her lower body ached.

Meanwhile, Soren’s thighs were all muscle. Her curious eye marked every outline on display in his riding leathers—every single outline.

She wanted water, now.

Each step toward the steady stream was a dreadful reminder of how unconditioned she was. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she knelt down and drank. It was ice-cold and exactly what she needed.

Soren crept up behind her. “Should we check the townhouses first?”

Thessa startled. “Hades, you’re quiet.” She gulped some more water. “No.”

“Then where do you suppose we start?”

Thessa stood, spinning to face him. Ignoring the sting in her thighs, and the warmth that brewed between them, she said, “It’s Tuesday.”

Those muscles in his jaw started twitching, as if waiting for her to elaborate.

“There’s only one place she’ll be.”