The Huntress

Chapter Three

"Do you ever get tired of lying to people?" I asked dryly, my legs folded underneath me as I perched on the sofa. I was scrolling through the photos on my camera, deleting the blurry ones from my photoshoot with Jocelyn the day before.

My mother sighed, "this is my job, Mordy, it's how I afforded that camera and your school supplies and the food we eat."

I frowned at a shot that was not color balanced. Delete. "Jocelyn's mom is an accountant," I informed her, "that's how she affords her life."

My mother sighed as she replaced a spent candle with a new one on her alter. I eyed the small statues with disdain—they were the reason I had never been able to invite friends over. Why my classmates sneered at me and came into my mother's shop to find ammunition to tease me with.

"I'm glad for Jocelyn's mother," she said, her dark eyes patient, "for she possesses gifts that I do not. If I was great with numbers, Morda, then maybe I would have been an account but I'm—"

"Only good at lying," I said bitterly, "at being weird."

"Morda," she sighed my name, as she had many times before. "I help people."

"You tell them fake fortunes," I corrected, "you look at their hands for a few minutes and make up lies about how long the lines and what that means for their income, their love life. It's wrong."

She folded her bottom lip into her mouth. "Morda I should tell you—"

"More lies?"

Hurt flashed across her face, stinging me deep in my chest as guilt started to blossom. It was complicated with my mother, as it always would be. A part of me wanted to be proud that she was different, that she didn't care if she never fit in. But the larger portion of me wanted her to be like Jocelyn's mother, like every other parent. I wanted her to be normal so that I could too.

"Your Aunt Robin is coming to stay with us for a while," my mother informed me stiffly, smoothing out the tablecloth on her rickety reading table. "She's apparently done with Stewart and needs a place to crash for a while."

"That lasted long," I replied sarcastically. I wondered how long my erratic Aunt would be staying with us this time. She had remained for a year last time, spanning the eighth grade for me. Now I was in the tenth. Would she hang around until the end of the year? Until I graduated?

"Your Aunt has never had success in love," my mother mused.

"Neither have you," I added under my breath.

My mother turned on me, not angry, never angry. "One day you will understand, Morda, that life and love are not simple. They are messy, complicated, wrought with tough decisions. Life and love will pull you in two different directions, make you question who you are and who you wish to be. One day you will understand and you will feel foolish for assuming otherwise."

I shut my camera off. "And one day you will understand how hard you've made my life by all this bullshit."

"Morda!"

Tears brimmed. "I have one friend—and only because she's weirded than you. No one else will sit with me, talk to me...you've separated us from everyone else by owning the shop, telling old ladies their futures. You've made the other kids hate me."

"Morda," my mother said, drawing in a long breath through her gritted teeth. "You have more friends than you know, sweet girl, a whole family of—"

Our doorbell rang, a longwinded chime that echoed throughout the entire house. My mother sighed and closed her eyes for a brief moment before she left to bring in her next client. I disappeared before she was gone, only pausing on the stairs to glare down at her as she encouraged a middle-aged woman into our living room.

"I hate you," I whispered, my throat chalk full of hate.

She raised her eyes to meet mine, an impossible hurt lingering in her gaze. It was impossible for her to have heard me for the words were mostly thought. But I saw the pain there, the shame and I knew I had caused it.

In that moment, it wasn't my mother I hated, but myself.

I jerked off the couch, my blanket spilling to the floor at my feet. The fire was now just a few simmering coals, the flames extinguished long ago. Late morning sun drifted in through the large windows, soaking the room in a warmth that I was unable to absorb.

"Nightmare?"

Grant was still perched on his chair, his eyes ringed with deep bruises that told me he hadn't slept. He was resting his head on his fist, his elbow planted firmly on the arm of the chair. He was watching me with restless eyes, his mouth twisting and turning as he tried to read my face.

"No," I answered thickly. I closed my eyes and tried to drag the dream back to me, tried to recreate the sound of my mother's voice, the weight of her gaze, the curve of her face. The harder I tried to recall these details the further they got from me, the more I was unable to remember anything about her at all.

"What did you dream about?" Grant asked, still on his chair.

I swallowed hard. "It was more of a memory," I confessed, my eyes starting to sting and burn. "I was younger—a sophomore in high school."

His eyes sparkled for the first time since he left that goddess awful prison. "I would've loved to have seen you as you were then. No doubt as awkward and uncomfortable as I had been at that age."

I grimaced. "Tenth grade was awful for me," I said, frowning as I recalled the tormenting, the teasing, the taunting. "It was when the other kids really became aware of how different I was. They'd book appointments with my mother and I'd beg her not to take them. They came into the shop and asked her questions, snickering when she turned away. I was terrible to her, blaming all of the bullying on her."

Grant frowned deeply. "You were young, Morda."

I shrugged, a tear slipping from my eye. "It shouldn't matter. She was my mother and I was so mean to her. I was embarrassed of her. I scolded her all the time and—and I made her feel terrible about herself." I raised my eyes to his. "Is youth an excuse for that?"

"You can't punish yourself for what you did then," he said evenly.

"I knew what I was doing," I admitted, "how I was making her feel. I wanted her to feel bad because I did, because I thought she was the cause of my suffering. But she wasn't. She was just being herself, just trying to support us and her Clan. It was the bullies who were to blame, the people who looked at me and chose to make me feel ashamed."

"Your mother wasn't perfect," Grant reminded me, "you were blind to what she was doing. To the fact that her practice was real, that she had the Clan to care for. She kept you ignorant, Morda, and that was misguided and wrong."

I brushed him off. "It doesn't matter now because she's dead."

"She is."

I burst into tears.

Grant moved soundlessly, eclipsing me in his arms and he pressed my face into his chest and rested his chin on my head. I cried salty tears, soaking his shirt and dampening his skin. He held me tightly, making no attempt to calm me as I cried myself hoarse, cried myself empty.

But these were crocodile tears—tears of a girl who no longer housed a heart in her chest. They were empty and senseless, they were only a convention of a grief stricken child. For I was not grief stricken. I was devastated, blown apart by the loss of her, the woman who bore me and loved me.

My loss was not one that could be expelled by tears.

It was all consuming.

When my cries quieted, when my body found calm, Grant released me enough for him to push my hair from my face. He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin. I tried to soak in his love but found I could not, found the hole in my chest to be a lightless void.

"Rest," he encouraged, bringing his hand to stroke my face.

I shook my head, pushing away and standing. I winced at my sore muscles, at the fatigue still lingering in my bones despite the time I had spent asleep. "I don't want to," I told him, for nightmares would only find me again. "I've had enough rest."

Grant didn't try to fight me, he only stood and nodded, watching me carefully. I turned away from him, taking in the grand room. It was large and lined with windows along one wall, with high ceilings that made the space feel royal.

There was a large bed set far from the fire, with the kind of canopy I had dreamed of as a little girl. Aside from the essentials, the room was sparsely decorated. It was more than I needed, more than my tiny bedroom back home in Roseburg with polaroid pictures stuck to the wall and piles of books strewn on the floor.

I walked to the closet that was open across the room and peeked inside. The outfits were dated—at least by a few centuries. I picked out a black dress, fitted with a corset and everything. The sleeves were bell like, dropping like calla lily petals, and reaching mid thigh. It had a square collar and was encrusted with shiny black thread and tiny dark gems along the bodice.

I looked at Grant. "Where did you find a t-shirt and jeans?"

He laughed. "It appears Felix modernizes men's clothing far more often than he does woman's."

Of course he did.

I stripped quickly, Grant stepping into the adjacent bathroom to give me privacy. I had trouble with the dress, struggling to keep the front up while I reached around for the laces along the spine. It fit well enough, dragging only a tiny bit when I walked.

A chuckle warmed the skin at the back of my neck as Grant's hands replaced mine, swooping my heavy hair off of my back and setting it over my shoulder, effectively covering Ben's mark from view. His fingers skimmed the skin of my neck, making me shiver with a desire we hadn't yet begun to explore.

He pulled tightly on the corset, making my breath catch. Another chuckle and I found my own answering smile, peeking at him over my shoulder. His eyes were dancing above the heavy bags that weighed them down, his mouth pulled to the side in a devilish smirk.

"There," he said, finishing the lacing with a bow at the base of my spine. "Done."

I turned around and pressed my hands to his chest, thankful that he was here before me, that I could feel and touch him, that I could look into his eyes and inhale his scent. I didn't have words to explain how difficult it had been to sense him through my dreams but not been able to rescue him.

"Grant, I have to apologize for—"

He kissed me, his mouth light and sensual over mine. I pressed my hands firmly into his chest, catching his lips when he moved to pull away and coaxing him closer. I parted my lips and he obliged me, his tongue just slipping past my teeth.

A swell of lust overcame me and I wanted to feel his fingers at my back again, wanted him to undue the straps on my corset as he had done after the ball. I caught fire at the memory, the feeling of his hands on my hips as he turned me around roughly.

The urgency of feeling bloomed in Grant too, I could feel it in his kiss. His touch simmered on my skin as his hands went to the back of my neck, his hand wide enough for his thumb to just graze my jaw.

I pulled away for a split second, long enough to take a deep breath before he pulled me closer, his hand falling the small of my back as he pulled me in, drew me to his body. He murmured my name and a frenzy overcame me, my hands sliding to his belt before snaking up his shirt, around his toned abdomen.

"Morda," he said again, and I flared at the tone. It was heavy with need, need of me.

"Wolf," I whispered back, kissing his jaw, his neck. He stepped backwards, his hands pushing lightly at my hips until my back hit the wall and every nerve in my body flared and pulsed.

Grant pulled gently at my hair, provoking a hiss from my lips that he caught with his mouth. I pushed into him only for him to pin me to the wall completely, leaving no room between us, no space to hide the hard planes of his body.

His hands moved from my hips to my waist, until he slide one up to my chest. I arched my back until only my shoulders were pressed against the wall. A deep growl emitted from his chest as he explored my body, his fingers burning me through the material of my dress.

I suddenly needed to feel his skin, to shed what was between us. I yanked on his t-shirt, persistent enough that he broke our kiss and ripped it off. Heat spread across me at the sight of his bare chest, the disciplined abdominal muscles and the deep ridge at his hips. He growled as I touched him, his mouth slipping from mine to explore my extended neck.

A deep pain flared through my chest, not my own, but Ben's as Grant strayed too close to the mark of my other mate. Grant must've felt it too because he recoiled instantly, the heat dispelling as he paced in front of me, his hands in his hair.

"Fuck," he cursed, livid. "Fuck."

I heaved in a few heavy breathes, my fingers reaching up to touch the mark on my neck and finding only cold, unforgiving skin. I had forgotten—and even more, I hadn't cared.

It took me a few minutes to shake the lust completely, to be able to breathe without the raggedness that had overcome me. Grant calmed down too, sitting on the edge of the bed as he tugged his shirt back on.

I went to him, standing in front of him as he laid his head against my skin and I cradled it to me. My fingers stroked the back of his neck, dipping into his hair as our breaths synced. I felt his hands brace my waist and looked down at him.

"I'm not going to apologize," he told me, eyes darkening when he felt the lust inside me spark to life at his words. "You're as much mine as you are his," he snarled quietly, "if not more so."

I touched my lips to his, careful to pull away before it escalated. "I made my choice."

He growled.

Grant enveloped my hand in his when he stood, pulling me close to him before we left the bedroom which had served as our safe haven in the shadow of the chaos this week had been. I was almost sad to leave it.

The hall we entered was long, flanked with countless doors. A large hallway lit up both ends of the hall, leaving little space for darkness. I frowned at the light, wondering about the old myths I had heard about Felix's kind.

Grant could hear the chatter before I could and led the way, his hand firm on mine. I used my free hand to hold up my dress I walked, making sure I didn't trip and fall as I entered the bright eating room.

Eve was seated at the table with Queen Dellare and King Felix. She was chatting away happily with a potted plant in the corner, stroking it's leaves as she laughed. My Celestial Sister whirled when she saw me, a grin gracing her face.

"Morning, Morda," she greeted, patting the chair beside her. She was also wearing an elaborate gown, her chest pouring over the tight corset of light purple. Her dress was sleeveless, exposing the sprawling tattoo that covered her shoulder and arm.

Grant dropped my hand and as I sat beside Eve, enduring the hug she inflicted upon me. Grant sat across from me, the chair beside his empty as the two royals occupied the heads of the table.

"Hungry?" Felix asked as a waiter appeared from a thin door at the side of the room. A platter of food was set between Grant and I, the man lifting the silver lid to display an array of various breakfast foods. Grant didn't hesitate.

"Where's Ben?" I asked, looking to the empty chair beside Grant.

Dellare shrugged, her plate empty before her. I had to remind myself that it wasn't food the Succubus hungered for. "He has yet to come out of his room," she informed me dully, "a pity since even the company of a Moon Son would be preferable to these two."

Eve was again chatting to the plant.

"I believe he is under some distress," Felix announced, watching me carefully as he lifted a glass filled with dark red liquid to his lips. Blood. He was drinking blood. "I have called for a healer but he will not permit anyone to enter his chamber."

"Just break the door down," Grant said as he took a bite of toast smothered with jam.

"I'd rather keep my home intact," was Felix's answering grumble.

Thinking of Ben brought back the guilt from earlier. I changed the subject.

"Your home is beautiful," I said to Felix, my eyes roaming this room which was also bathed in light and decorated with paintings I was sure were both rare and expensive. "I have to ask though... about the sunlight."

Felix smiled over his cup. "The windows in my home are treated," he explained, "it is the only place I can feel the light of the sun."

"What happens if...?" Eve asked, pausing her conversation with the fern.

"It's quite ugly," Dellare answered, brushing imaginary dust from her fine dress. It was a sleek silver ensemble that threw the sunlight on the wall behind her every time she moved. "I've seen it once."

Felix glowered. "The sun is not kind."

"Let us discuss our next steps," Dellare drawled, growing weary of the idle chat. "We have only a month to make sure Morda is the victor. She must be crowned High Matron."

Grant suddenly lost his appetite. "What are you suggesting?"

"She's untrained and undisciplined," Dellare said, "Mayme said as much."

I glared. "I can take Mayme."

"I'm not so sure," Felix said coolly, his glass now empty. I watched the remnants of the blood slide down the edge of the glass. "Dellare is right, Morda, you have very limited training. Mayme has as much power as you but she also has the knowledge needed to wield it."

"I'll practice," I stated grudgingly.

"With what guidance?" Dellare prodded.

Not for the first time I wished I had more of my father's heritage, I wished I could growl and snap and snarl. "My own," I said, "I can figure it out."

I caught the frown on Grant's face. "Perhaps their right, Morda, maybe we should seek a teacher or perhaps your Aunt—"

"She stays out of this," I stated.

Felix furrowed his dark brow. "We'll need to get your father here," he said quietly, "to repay the debt we owe to Janus."

I shivered.

"That's a problem for another time," Grant declared.

"Why don't we ask your Great Grandmother?" Eve asked, her voice light as she inspected the fern with her tattooed hand.

We all fell silent.

"Come again, tree witch?" Felix said, his fangs flashing.

"Ruth Morano," Eve stated, "Morda's great grandmother." She was looking at us like we were all stupid. "Come on," she encouraged, "Ruth? Fire Enchantress and Clan Mother from the years 1205 to—"

I held up a hand. "My Great Grandmother is alive?"

"Sure," Eve said, "in legend."

Dellare had one slender eyebrow raised. "This girl..."

Grant cleared his throat. "Eve," he commanded, "explain."

Eve took in a long, heaving breath. "Ruth Morano was one of our longest serving Clan Mothers. She was very powerful while she ruled. Of course—I wasn't alive yet but this is what is in our history—"

"Go on," I urged.

"Ruth had a daughter, Edith, whom she loved more than anything. In the tradition of the Western Witches, Edith was a Fire Enchantress. But she had trouble mastering her gifts and rejected her mother's lessons. Edith took over from her mother Ruth and shortly after becoming Clan Mother, Ruth became pregnant with—"

"Aunt Robin," I stated.

Eve nodded. "Robin wasn't a Fire Enchantress so she couldn't take over as Clan Mother. That meant that Edith had failed and she had to try again. Ruth did not approve of who Edith selected to be the father of her second child, they fought and in the end, Edith tried to banish her mother from the Clan."

"Well did she?" I asked.

Eve shrugged. "I'm murky there, but I think Ruth hang around. Ruth was much stronger than her daughter, even at her age. Anyways, Edith seduced your mother's father and became pregnant and as you know, your mother was a Fire Enchantress. But Edith was unable to disengage from her lover and Ruth was furious she was breaking tradition."

Grant shifted uncomfortably. "He didn't want to lose contact with his child."

"I guess," Eve said with a roll of her eyes. "Ruth and Edith fought again and—and Ruth killed Edith."

I swallowed hard.

Eve peeked over at me. "Ruth was banished by your mother, who was only around your age when she took over for her mother. Ruth, ashamed and broken, left the Clan and disappeared into her exile."

I was silent for a while, mulling over the story of my family in my head. I had never asked my mother about hers, never knew that she had suffered the loss of her mother at such a young age and in such a tragic way. She lost two matrons that day.

"You want a murderer to teach Morda how to use her powers?" Grant asked, incredulous.

Eve sighed. "Fire Witches aren't exactly a dime a dozen," she argued, "there are few and even fewer who have the kind of access to power that Morda does. If we could find Ruth, encourage her to help Morda, well we'd have a fighting chance."

"Ruth Morano," Felix murmured, his dark eyes becoming distant. "There were whisperings of her," he recalled slowly, "rumours that she and Mayme...that there had been a fight between them."

Eve nodded. "Ruth Morano was also marked by the Goddess. She and Mayme were young witches together. The scandal with Edith was enough to discourage Ruth from ever trying to claim the throne."

I jolted. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

Eve frowned. "I thought your mother..." would've told me.

I gritted my teeth. "Any idea where Ruth is serving her exile or if she's even still alive."

"She'd be alive assuming no one had killed her or she hasn't killed herself," Dellare said, "witches live for a long, long time—especially the powerful ones."

"Of course," Eve said with a blink. "She's probably where all the exiled witches go."

An amused smile graced Felix's face. "Naturally."

"Salem," Eve announced.

I met Grant's stare across the table and read his face. He'd go with me.

"Massachusetts," Dellare said with an upturned nose. "I'd rather die."

"Good thing you're not going," Felix rumbled, "I'll send a few of my—"

"No," I interrupted, "I'm going. Grant and I will—"

"I'm coming too."

We all looked up to see Ben standing in the doorframe. His tawny eyes were dull and sunken, his frame thin and weary. He swayed slightly on his feet, his face drawn and closed. He avoided my eyes as he looked to Felix and then to Dellare.

"I need to travel," he said, the muscles in his face squirming under his skin. I hadn't realized how much he had been affected by avoiding his nomadic nature for this long. Yes, we had travelled, but it was nothing compared to the extent he had been before we met. "Urgently."

Grant bit down on his tongue, his eyes darkening. "No offense, Harlow, but you look like you're ready to drop dead and we need to move quickly. The meeting between King Sebastian and Mayme takes place in just over a week and we need to be back well before then."

"I'll get better as we move," Ben promised darkly, his eyes finally cutting to mine. I only saw and felt his contempt. "We should leave tomorrow."

Eve opened her mouth but Grant interjected. "You can't come, tree witch, we need you here on the home front."

Eve glared. "I'm the only one who's been to Salem."

"It's a tourist trap," Grant shot back, "I'm sure we can navigate it just fine."

I met her eyes. "We'll be gone a few days," I promised. "That's all."

"That's what you said last time," she fired back, "and look at what happened. I'm your Celestial Sister, Morda, I should be there for you."

Dellare rolled her eyes. "She has two mates who will watch over her, witch."

Eve held my eyes as Felix spoke. "Grant is right, we're in need of you here, tree witch. We will need to prepare a space for Morda's lessons and you will be essential in creating it."

"Fine," Eve spat bitterly. "But if I feel like you're in trouble—"

"I can handle myself," I insisted a little more firmly, testing out my new authority as Clan Mother. "If I need you I will call to you, Eveline, I promise."

She nodded once and dropped her gaze to the floor.

"It's decided then," Ben announced, "we leave for Salem tomorrow."