I didn’t know how to put into words how important that was to me. How much it’d meant when I’d first come here. How I didn’t think I would’ve pulled myself out of that cult mentality without him. Without Dad and Tan too, of course, but Rome, he… he’d always made me feel warm and comfortable, like I could be myself around him, no matter what.
It was something I’d always cherish and be grateful for.
“Okay, so the world needs to know just how sweet you can be sometimes too.”
That made me snort, and we started walking again. “Great, so you’re gonna tell them I’m a royal asshole with a sweet side?”
“Exactly.”
“Dork.”
We made it to the car, and we started piling the bags into the trunk and the back seat. One of my bags had something breakable—a crock pot I didn’t think he’d ever let me use, although I didn’t see how I could start a fire with one of those—so I knelt on the backseat and set the thing on the floor so it didn’t fly off the seat and break. Then I pulled all the other bags off my shoulders and arms, letting them fall wherever they landed, and ducked back out of the car with a satisfied sigh.
“Where do you think we should go fo—”
My words were cut off when I was pushed roughly back into the car, and a loud noise rang through the air. It took me asecond to realize it was a gunshot, or a spell that sounded like one.
The breath rushed out of me, and I fought back for only a second, thinking I was being attacked by someone, before I realized Roman was the one who’d pushed me.
“What the fuck?” I breathed out, gathering myself. My hands were on the car’s seat, and my ass was sticking out of the car with Roman’s own ass pushed against it.
For only a split second, dirty thoughts sprang to mind, but then I heard Rome grunt, and I knew exactly what was happening.
Iwasbeing attacked, and Rome was protecting me.
Shit.
As quickly as I could, I flipped around, my butt landing on the edge of the seat, so I could see what the fuck was happening. I was climbing out of the car as I registered what I saw.
Roman was in hand-to-hand combat with a masked person wearing all black, carrying a very large machete. Behind them, there were four more guys moving in, all in black, all with masks covering their faces so only their eyes were showing.
But I recognized those masks. I recognized the emblem each of them had on their upper left pec. I recognized the weapons in their hands.
The Emissaries of Gepisha’s Iron.
The cult.
They’d come after me.
I reached for a spell in my pocket, but before I could touch the artifact, I felt a blast of magic rush over me, shoving me back into the car again and pushing me against the seat.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fucking move.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oakley
Another man, one I recognized not only from sight but from the oily feel of his magic, stepped out from behind a van, farther away than the others but far more dangerous. A blood witch.
Master Calarel Kelhorn.
He wasn’t even wearing a mask, as if he knew just the sight of him would do me harm.
Flashes of memories—of nightmares—threatened to overwhelm me as the familiar spell held me immobile. Growing up, this was a spell the masters used on me often, a spell the blood witches loved to use so I couldn’t fight back.
Although, some of them enjoyed it when I fought back—like Master Kelhorn.
I shook that off, not wanting to give in to the memories, not wanting to let this blood witch have power over me the way he used to.
