“What’s next indeed?” Camille asked. She tore her gaze from Aiden and glared at me. While Mrs. Proctor’s brown eyes usually reflected the maternal kindness she was famous for, when she was a pissed off witch who’d seen her family assaulted, she evidently turned ice cold. “What new hell have the Blackmoors brought to our lives?”
“That’s enough, Camille,” my father said. He’d reverted to his normal form and crossed to stand by my side. “This isn’t Thad’s fault.”
“I beg to differ,” a pained voice said from across the room. It was Mr. Stonewall. He and the others were waking up and untangling themselves from the heap they’d been turned into.
“As do I,” Mrs. Stonewall agreed. Her husband helped her stand up. “If Thad had shared his previous misadventure with us, we would have been prepared for what just happened, and my children would not have been harmed.” She lifted the young Keaton in her arms. He had begun to stir. She stroked his head while Mr. Stonewall kneeled beside Edith, who held her sobbing sister, Kate, in her arms.
While the youngest Stonewalls would grow up to be powerful wizards, Keaton and Kate had yet to come into their powers. Right now they were vulnerable, and I had unknowingly brought them into harm’s way.
Perhaps I should do something I rarely ever did: apologize.
“Your children belong to the family chosen by the Order of the Gray to be its protector coven,” Ben told the Stonewalls. “Being born to the two of you is what put them in harm’s way. Don’t try and pass that off onto anyone else.”
All eyes turned to Ben as he wove his way to me. The closer he got, the more I wanted to be by his side.
“What your families do is dangerous, and it’s a duty you accepted. Or have you forgotten that?” Ben asked.
“You’re a solitary warlock,” Mr. Stonewall said. Even though he seethed, his voice never rose or strained. He spoke in cold, measured tones. “You have no voice here.”
Mr. and Mrs. Proctor nodded in agreement before turning their gazes to my father. “I think it’s time for your guest to depart,” Mr. Proctor said.
My father’s eyes turned to slits. The control he’d been struggling to maintain on his emotions slipped free. “You will not come into my house, into
my
coven, and tell me what to do. I run this family,
not
you.”
Mrs. Stonewall snorted in reply.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Aiden asked. He strolled into the fray with a regal jut to his chin and met everyone’s gaze. “Is this how the much-vaunted protector covens act? Like goblins arguing over a stack of gold?” He turned up his nose. “It’s pathetic.”
No one spoke. They were just as stunned as I was. We weren’t used to being reprimanded by other magical beings. As members of the protector covens, we held a status that most respected and even feared. Well, everyone except Aiden.
“Just who do you think you are, little fae?” Mrs. Stonewall asked.
He puffed out his chest and stretched to his full height of six-foot three. He was clearly making a point. “I’m Prince Aiden Teine, son of Oberon, king of the Salamander Tribe.” He looked down his nose at her. “You may call me Your Highness.”
Mrs. Stonewall quickly shut her mouth. As a member of the Royal Fae Court, Aiden had direct access to the Conclave if he so desired, and the Conclave insisted on peace between our two species. A war with the fairies was definitely something we didn’t need right now.
“We could argue about this all evening,” I said. “But I think we have more important matters to attend to.” I nodded toward the three banshees still held by the roots Camille Proctor had summoned. They gagged the dark fae into silence, but that didn’t stop them from struggling against the steely grip of their wooden restraints.
“It’s time for us to get some answers,” I said.
Chapter 4
WHILE OUR
parents and Aiden discussed how best to proceed, I stood off to the side, still in shock. Aiden was a fae prince? Why hadn’t he told me that when we first met?
Well, we hadn’t had a lot of time for formalities, that was for sure. He was eager to return home and deal with the banshee attack. I understood why now even more than before. He had to return to his people, to be the prince they needed to fight alongside them in whatever battle waged in Otherworld.
I wasn’t completely surprised, though. Now that I thought back on our initial encounter, it explained a lot about Aiden and my reaction to him. The way he carried himself had a noble bearing, as if he were accustomed to speaking his mind and having his wishes transformed into action. That was likely at the heart of his confident nature. He would one day be king of his people. He had no choice but to adopt an attitude that would not only draw others to him but also make them want to do his bidding.
He was accustomed to commanding respect, as Mrs. Stonewall had learned. The memory of him bringing her down a couple of pegs made me smile.
From across the room, I studied Aiden as he spoke to the High Priests. He wore a pair of old sweatpants I’d had Mason retrieve from my room. How did he manage to make the cheap cotton look majestic, as if it was a princely robe made from the most expensive silk? I also had presented him with a sweatshirt, but he’d drawn the line. “I’m not ashamed of my body,” he told me.
Neither was I. I sure didn’t mind looking at it, but we weren’t exactly alone in the woods anymore.
Unlike Pierce, who pushed the limits of his workout to achieve muscle mass, Aiden’s body was strong yet lean. Well-defined shoulders extended into bulging biceps that were surrounded by Celtic tattoos. If I could, I’d lick a trail around the ink, across his smooth, defined chest, and down the ridges of his abdominal muscles. From there, I’d follow the light dusting of dark hair that cut a tantalizing path beneath the waistband of the sweats that hid his seven-inch cock and tight, plump ass.
His jet-black hair lay in a tangled mess, and with every gesticulation, wispy strands fell in front of his eyes before he brushed them away.
How would it feel to surf my fingertips down his thin nose and along the rough cut of his jaw? How would he respond if I pushed my finger into the button on his chin before trailing a path to his mouth? Would he allow me to follow the soft line of his pale pink lips before kissing them once again?
My blood turned into a lava stream that charted a speedy course to my swollen cock. If I didn’t regain some semblance of control, I was going to hyperventilate.
“He’s very handsome.”
I jumped at the sound of Ben’s voice behind me.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” I lied. Was that disappointment I saw in his eyes?
Whatever the emotion was, he blinked it away. “I can see why you’re so taken with him.”
“I’m not. I’m just….” I didn’t know how to finish that statement.
He nudged into my shoulder, leaning against me. “For a warlock, you’re not a very good liar.”
The weight and warmth of Ben’s body set my already churning passions on a tilt-a-whirl. Images of Ben naked underneath me replaced my fantasies of Aiden. It was Ben’s body I touched. His coppery kisses I tasted. His ass wrapped around my cock. My sudden desire for him returned like a tsunami threatening to drown me in one massive wave if I didn’t get out of its way. “Well, he is a fire fairy,” I finally managed. “I’m sure you feel the same thing.”
“I don’t,” Ben replied with a firm shake of his head. “I mean, is he hot? Yeah. If he asked me to fuck him, I would. Other than that?” He shrugged before locking his gaze on mine. “Why?”
“You don’t feel drawn to him?” I asked, glancing at Aiden. Like a beacon in the middle of treacherous, rock-laden waters, he called to me. His presence cut through the musky fog of desire Ben’s touch and proximity had briefly created.
“No,” he replied. The tautness of his reply caught my attention. He studied Aiden intently, as if searching for a solution to some complicated situation. A scowl slowly crept across his lips, and his eyes drew into slits.
Was this the jealousy I had sensed earlier? Ben had made it clear in the kitchen he wanted to pursue something with me, but ever since Aiden’s arrival, a scowl had taken permanent residence on his face.
“I think we need to talk,” I said.
“Later,” Ben said. “I think the others are ready to get started.” He walked away without another word.
I followed him to the other side of the library, where Mr. Stonewall cast one final judgmental glance my way before clearing his voice. “Are we ready to begin?”
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
Mrs. Stonewall shook her head slowly at me. “If you weren’t so distracted by your suitors, you wouldn’t need to ask such questions.”
I visibly bristled, and my face grew hot. Who the hell did she think she was? I was a fucking warlock, and no damn wizard was going to get away with talking to me that way. I was just about to launch a return salvo when a hand rested on my shoulder.
It was Charlotte. She’d realized I was about to lose control. Her comforting gesture turned a hose on my hot temper. She was right. Now was not the time, so I clung tightly to the reins I used to keep me in check. When was this emotional roller coaster I’d boarded ever going to stop?
“I still think this will be faster if you just let me electrocute them,” Pierce said with a smirk.
“I would agree,” Aiden said. He stood at the front with my brother. He clearly preferred Pierce’s method of interrogation.
“We have already discussed this,” Mr. Stonewall said. Whenever he spoke this seriously, the light in his blue eyes faded until they were almost as dark as his skin. “You’re powerful, but you lack the finesse that is needed here, and it is finesse that I can provide.”
Their exchange told me all I needed to know. Lawrence Stonewall planned on using his mind control abilities. It was a rare yet powerful wizard trait. Unlike most warlocks and witches, who received their gifts from the four elements, wizards tapped into the fifth and more ethereal element—spirit.
It was considered the most powerful of the five, which was why gray magic could harness it. Since wizards took a more logical and neutral perspective on life, the gift would most likely not be corrupted because it couldn’t be swayed by the pull of white or black magic.
Mr. Stonewall nodded to his coven, and they fell in behind him like soldiers. Edith held her arms wide and erected a shield around all of us. That was a cautionary measure in case the banshees broke free and resumed their attack. While Edith’s barrier might not hold for long, it would give the rest of us the few seconds we needed to mount a counterattack.
Mrs. Stonewall rested the tips of her fingers on her fair temples. It was how she focused her illusion-based abilities. She was preparing to launch the banshees into some unseen world if her husband was unsuccessful.
It was Elliot, however, who stood by his father’s side. He had an integral part. He bit his bottom lip and glanced nervously around the room. Whatever he planned to do was clearly new to him. After a quick exhalation, he squared his shoulders and closed his eyes.
Can everyone hear me?
he asked inside my head.
Everyone except the Stonewalls jumped as Elliot spoke in our minds.
Sorry about that
, he said sheepishly.
My head throbbed in pain, which was the usual response to Elliot’s ability. Others around me winced as well.
When my dad gives the word
, he said,
I’ll do my best to link a banshee’s mind with ours. I’ve never cast such a wide telepathic link before, so I’m uncertain what will happen or how this will work. Things may get… unpleasant.
That wasn’t the vote of confidence I’d been hoping to hear, but that was Elliot. His handicap severely affected his self-assurance. When we used to study together, he told me he felt like a lame wizard because he couldn’t use spoken words to cast spells like the rest of us.
I had no doubt his power would evolve like our parents, who didn’t need to speak in Latin to access their magic. Unless it was an extremely difficult spell, hand gestures did the trick.
I will begin
. This time it was Lawrence Stonewall’s cold voice speaking to us using his son’s abilities.
He approached one of the banshees. She writhed against her restraints, eager to gain her freedom and tear him to shreds. Her sisters convulsed at her side. Their eyes had turned into yellow flames of pure hate.
The dark fae weren’t the friendliest creatures, yet they acted as if we were sworn enemies.
Mr. Stonewall held his palm a few inches from the face of the banshee in the middle.
Aperi mentem ad me
, he said, commanding in Latin for her to open her mind to him. The banshee grunted in pain. She struggled against the roots that held her fast. She clawed against the wood so violently, she left trails of blood across its surface.
Go away!
she suddenly wailed. Her thoughts were as ragged and sharp as her scream. Her hammering voice in my head was worse than unpleasant. It caused my brain to throb as if it might explode.
Get out of my head.
I will not
, Mr. Stonewall responded.
You will do my bidding and answer my questions.
I’d rather kill you instead!
He placed his hand against her forehead and thought,
The only thing you will do is obey
.
The banshee ceased struggling. She stared at Mr. Stonewall as if she could see through him. He had finally managed to get her under his control.
The two dark fae on either side of their now calm sister grew even more hysterical. They wriggled and squirmed, hoping to find some weakness in the roots. Mrs. Proctor narrowed her eyes, and with a gesture, the roots constricted even more tightly around her captives.
Why did you attack us?
Mr. Stonewall asked.
Because you must die. You must all die.
That revelation set off a low murmur through all of us. Mrs. Stonewall shushed the room into silence.
Why?
he asked.