2. Garrex

CHAPTER TWO

GARREX

T he witch trembled in my arms as I descended through the mist, my wings casting long shadows in the moonlight. Her fingers dug into my skin, her breath ragged against my chest. The scent of her fear mingled with something else—a spicy, earthy aroma that clung to my senses, soothing my fury at those beasts who dared to attack her.

Mine.

My undeserved salvation.

My punishment.

I'd welcomed the routine night and fight when I spotted the vampires closing in on their prey. Then I'd scented her. A lurch in my chest and a wave of brute madness pushed me into a rage I hadn't experienced in centuries. How Maigdan would have laughed if I lost another witch.

If I lost my mate.

The word punched through my consciousness as I landed hard on the rocky outcropping and released my grip. She stumbled a few steps, gasping and clutching her chest, but I was on her in an instant.

"Where is it?" I demanded. I held out her arms and ran my hands down her sides. Over the swell of her hips.

"What? Hey!" She smacked my hands away, eyes wide. "What the hell are you doing?"

"The diadem," I demanded again. Warmth crept up the back of my neck and I shot a look to the horizon. Dawn approached, and we were running out of time. "Where did you hide it?"

Her brow furrowed, and a frown tugged down the corners of her full lips. "You saved my life, and I appreciate that, but if you think?—"

Frustration clawed at my insides. I towered over her, my voice a low growl. "There's no time for this. You need to tell me where?—"

"No." She planted her feet, chin raised. "You tell me what's going on. Right now."

Stubborn little witch. My fists clenched at my sides, claws digging into my palms. How could I make her understand the danger she was in? The danger we—and the entire world—would be in if that diadem fell into the wrong hands?

She glared up at me, but I saw it—the quiver of her lower lip, the sheen in her eyes. Beneath the bravado, she was afraid. And I couldn't blame her. Monsters had attacked her. Now, a creature of myth stood before her with more demands.

I dragged down a deep inhale and released it slowly through my nose. "We will continue this inside. You are not safe out here."

She crossed her arms and scoffed, glancing pointedly at the waves crashing against rocks below us. "Inside? Where, exactly?"

I reached around her and lifted the heavy branches blocking the mouth of the cave. The hidden entrance to Undercroft Haven loomed before us, a jagged mouth in the cliff face with steep steps disappearing down its dark throat.

I nudged her forward. Narrowed eyes pierced me over her shoulder, but she headed inside without another word.

Relieved, I followed her down the dimly lit steps. The first time we encountered a torch lighting of its own volition, she gasped. The second time, a grin teased at the corners of her lips. I ached to see more of that smile, but the impending sunrise chased all merriment from our little hike.

At the bottom, the heavy door creaked shut behind us. The torches lining the walls burst to life with a hiss of magic.

High ceilings soared overhead, and each wall boasted at least one arched doorway. At the center, a fire pit crackled, filling the space with welcome warmth and a woodsy smell. My most basic of needs were met with the worn, well-used furniture—a round table surrounded by a few mismatched chairs, a fireplace with several large armchairs, and a sofa that sank under even my weight.

It had never been a grand house, not even comparable to the lowest storeroom in the Veiled Grove. But as a refuge to the last of my kind, and an occasional prison, it served its purpose.

"Wh-what? How? You... I... What?" she sputtered.

The witch spun to face me, chestnut hair wild around her flushed face. Her eyes, a hazel flecked with gold and green, searched mine.

"Why did you save me from those... those...? They were really vampires, weren't they?" she asked.

She smelled... excited. Most humans cowered at the sight of anything strange and unexpected, but she stood her ground. Fear still lingered, but buried more and more beneath the layers of curiosity, intrigue, wonder.

"You truly don't know?" I asked, my voice softening despite myself.

Her mouth tightened, and she spun to pace away. Her fingers traced the edge of an ancient tome, and I fought the urge to snatch it away. Everything in this place was a reminder of my failures.

I followed her with as much control over the movement as the sun passing through the sky. My eyes traced the curve of her neck, the sway of her hips. The gentle pulse in her throat and the rise and fall of her chest.

"They were vampires," I finally confirmed.

Every movement hypnotized me. Every breath soothed the ache of centuries. Every moment drew me closer to her, deeper under her spell.

Dangerous. I knew nothing about the witch other than she carried magic in her veins. Not her name, not if she preferred to bathe in the morning or at night.

Better that way. I'd been cursed to watch and protect their kind for too long to forget the sacrifices ultimately required of a witch.

"Vampires." She cast a glance back over her shoulder. "Why did you save me from those vampires? And why were you shouting about a diadem?"

"I wasn't shout—" I bit off the words. Centuries of isolation had left me ill-equipped to handle social niceties. I inhaled deeply, her scent filling my lungs. "The diadem is important. It's tied to your magic."

Her brow furrowed, and she turned to face me completely. "My magic? I don't have any magic."

"You do." The words came out harsher than I intended. "It's in your blood. You're a witch."

She backed away, shaking her head. "No. You've got the wrong person. I'm just an antique dealer. There's nothing special about me."

But there was. I could sense it, could feel the power thrumming beneath her skin. Could scent it under the warm vanilla and fresh parchment that mixed in my nose and clung to my tongue.

"You felt it, didn't you?" I pressed. "When you touched the diadem. You felt something."

Her eyes widened, and I knew I'd struck a nerve. "How did you?—"

"Because I can smell it on you," I said. Underneath her delicious scent, there was a... fizziness. Vampires were drawn to it as much as fresh blood, and I'd grown accustomed to it from my years serving Cecily and the witches of the Veiled Grove. "How do you think those vampires found you so fast?"

"Right." Her mouth tightened again. She did not like to be reminded of how little she knew. "And you're what, my fairy godmother, whisking me away from certain death?"

"I am sworn to protect all witches from the darkness." The words tasted like ash on my tongue. How many times had I failed in that duty? "For centuries, my clan worked with witches to keep the balance. Until..."

The crushing serpent of guilt wrapped around my heart and squeezed. I'd been a failure then. I'd be a failure now. The lovely smelling witch— any witch—would be better off wandering the night alone than sticking with my shit protection.

"Until what?" she asked.

"Cecily Thorne," I began. The name tasted bitter on my tongue. "She was a powerful witch. The Warden of the Veiled Grove. She was determined to banish the vampires once and for all, and bring a lasting peace to our lands."

"And you... protected her?"

It was my turn to pace the chamber, but there was no outrunning the flood of memory. "The diadem was her creation. A masterpiece of magic, her mother and the coven all said. She'd spent years researching ancient texts, experimenting with forgotten spells."

The witch's eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. I caught the quickening of her pulse and a slight flush creeping up her neck. She sank down onto one of the armchairs by the fireplace and leaned forward, waiting for more.

"Cecily believed the diadem, with the right artifacts, could channel enough power to perform what she called the Lumina Vinculum —a ritual to bind all vampires to the light, rendering them dust. Each artifact represented an element: earth, air, fire, water. She'd secured three: the star, the fish, and the bird."

My fists clenched at my sides. How different things might have been if I'd just?—

No. I couldn't let myself fall into that pit of self-loathing. Not now. Not with her watching me so intently.

"The vampires learned of her plan. They struck before she could obtain the final charm."

I swallowed hard, pushing down the bile that rose in my throat. The witch didn't need to know the rest. Didn't need to know how I'd abandoned my post, lured away by pretty words and the promise of fleeting pleasure.

She didn't need to know that Cecily's blood was on my hands.

"It sounds like a story," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Ink does not do this night justice," I admitted. "Thunderstorms, flashes of lightning, a high wind. And the smoke... it blanketed the woods, turned the trees and stones to mere shadows."

I could still see the blood soaking through Cecily's tunic, spreading over her pale skin. The way she looked at me, mouth gaping, eyes searching, blood dripping from the corner of her lips.

Too late. I'd been too late, and my clan, the coven, and the entire world paid the price.

I braced an arm against the fireplace mantle with my back to the witch. "Cecily sacrificed herself to perform a last-minute version of the spell. It weakened the vampires, but claimed most of the magic in the world."

She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "But... if the magic is gone, how can I be a witch?"

"Not gone," I corrected. "Weakened. Like embers of a dying fire. But still there, waiting to be rekindled."

I moved closer, drawn by some invisible force. My hand reached out, hovering just above her cheek. She didn't flinch away.

"That's why the diadem is so important," I continued. "It's one of the few remaining artifacts of true power. In the right hands, it could restore what was lost and bring a true end to the vampire threat."

Her eyes searched mine, a mix of fear and fascination swirling in their depths. "And in the wrong hands?"

"Chaos," I growled. "Destruction. The end of everything if the darkness is allowed to grow unchecked."

A chill raced down my spine that had nothing to do with the witch's endless battle between light and dark. My own war had begun with the first tendrils of dawn crawling across the sky. I could feel the light creeping over the horizon and slowly claiming my skin and bones.

"Dammit," I muttered, shooting a glare at the stone ceiling. "We're out of time."

I moved swiftly through the chamber, securing locks and wards. The doors I'd carved would hold back almost anything, but the sunlight would leave me defenseless.

"What are you doing?" the witch demanded as she trailed after me, fear creeping into her voice.

"Protecting you," I said, my movements becoming sluggish as the sun's rays crept closer. "The vampires will be back. They won't stop until they have you and the diadem."

My bones ached. Muscles tightened. The stone called to me, demanding I return to my vigil.

I stumbled back to the main chamber. The witch stood in the chamber's center, arms crossed, chin raised. Defiant. Beautiful.

Mine.

The word whispered through my mind again. I shoved it away and strode past her, positioning myself in front of the heavy oak door. I would be her last line of defense. "Dawn comes."

"You said I was safe here." The scent of her fear spiked again, but she stood her ground. "Am I your prisoner now?"

"No." The word came out harsher than I intended. I inhaled deeply, her scent filling my lungs. Calming the beast that raged within me. "Not a prisoner. My... ward."

She scoffed. "Your ward? I'm a grown woman. I don't need?—"

"You don't even know what you are." I gritted my teeth. The curse clawed at me. "You do not know the danger you're in. The power you possess. You will stay put."

The witch opened her mouth, but whatever she'd meant to say died on her lips. Her eyes snapped to my arms, my wings, my face.

Stone hardened, trapping me in place. Silencing any further explanation.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was the witch— my witch—staring at me with a mixture of fear, anger, and curiosity.

Then the stone took me, and I was lost to the day.