Neither am I.
34
KILLIAN
“If you don’t shut the fuck up and let me do this IV, I will stab you and then wield it into your open wound. One way or another, you’re taking the fucking medicine.” Thane seethes at Luther, who’s scowling from where he sits on the couch with a mountain of pillows on either side to keep him from keeling over like the tower of Pisa. Since waking up Sunday from a magically induced three-day coma, he’s been a pain in the fucking ass. That’s how we knew he was okay after the heart attack.
And cardiac arrest.
Hemorrhagic stroke.
Cerebral anoxia.
Ischemia.
Infarction.
Baby girl was really going for the high score when she stopped his blood from flowing to keep him from killing her. Which I’m still pissed about. But I’ll make this about me later. Right now, I’m barely holding back my laughter as Thane plays nursemaid to our favorite overgrown dickhead.
“I’mfine,” the aforementioned dickhead growls.
I hold up the chef’s knife I’m currently using to make breakfast and whistle to get their attention. “I got you, bro, just say when.” Thane gestures at me while glaring at Luther, who finally rolls his eyes and holds out his arm for Thane to insert the IV. Twenty minutes and three more threats of bodily harm later, we’re having breakfast in the living room when Roth comes out of his bedroom where he’s been talking to his father on the phone.
“Well?” I ask through a mouthful of food, and he curls his lip.
“She stays. But she’s on probation.”
“How’d the vote play out?” Thane asks, handing him a plate when he sits in his chair.
“Marcus, Cyrus, Preston, and Corvus voted for her to remain so long as Cyrus was installed on campus in some capacity. Renard and Soren wanted her held at headquarters for testing. Vivica and Amadeus voted to remove her and release her to the Hektreia coven. Armand abstained.”
“What did Renard say?” he asks.
“Corvus and Armand—they’ve always been the outliers. Preston is playing the protective father figure, keeping her close. Marcus thinks Cyrus can charm his way into getting access to her, or rather her power.” Luther groans and rests his head against the back of the couch as Roth continues. “Renard wants to know how he can use her to secure more power, and Soren?—”
“Wants her to break the curse.” Thane interrupts, and Roth nods.
“Vivica’s trying to sink her claws into Nyx before any other coven can use her to challenge Vivica’s supremacy. Amadeus wants to separate her from Ramsey so she won’t interfere with his attempts to bring him back into the fold.”
“She couldn’t actually do that though, right?” I ask.
Roth finishes chewing and sets his plate down on the table. “According to the report Brandt submitted to the Council, herpower is potentially limitless. As a witch, she can tap into primordial magicandwield blood like an elemental affinity—exhibit A,” he nods to Luther, who’s now faintly snoring. “But more than that, she can wield the power within it. That’s what she did with the wards. She siphoned the latent power from blood spilled to fortify the Foundation Stone and wielded primordial magic to take them down. No spells. No amulets, talismans, runes, sigils. No coven. She single-handedly shattered them. When her power encountered Brandt’s attempt to contain it, she started to siphon from the living just as easily.”
Our stunned silence is heavy in the air.
“No wonder why they want her under lock and key.”
“Renard would use her to crown himself as king in all but name,” Roth nods. “So yes, one day she might be able to stop Amadeus. The others? I’m not sure.”
“Fuck,” Luther says from beside me.
I flutter my eyes at him. “Glad you could join us, Sleeping Beauty.”
“I hate you.”
“There’s more.” Roth interrupts before I can say what was going to be a very witty comeback. “Vivica has apparently opened an investigative inquiry to find the last bloodwitch’s lost grimoire. She’s said it’s in Nyx’s best interest to compile all the knowledge they can find. If she convinces Nyx to join her coven, there’s no telling what she might try to do.”
“What do you want us to do?” Luther asks, and I scoff.
