Page 129 of Plug and Drain

A witch.

She’d known Molly was odd. She’d assumed it was the trauma of the omegas’ assault. Susie was so used to taking oddballs under her wing that she hadn’t realised just how different Molly was.

It was a relief, really. Finally, Molly’s behaviour made sense, and Susie felt closer to her.

The revelation that Molly was a witch made protecting her more important than ever. She was one of the last of her kind—probably the last one period. All of her people, her family, were wiped out. Had she ever had any children? Susie hadn’t thought to ask.

She couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to go on after experiencing such a great loss. A whole race of people; an entire legacy destroyed by Henrikk’s callousness. With help from the made vampires he’d created with dark magic the covens had been wiped out.

It seemed obvious, now, that there might be survivors. That Henrikk hadn’t gotten them all.

Was Molly really the last witch in existence? How old was she, anyway?

From what Susie had read, it was impossible to tell with a witch. They were born to magical parents—a witch and wizard, although the collective term had always been ‘witches’ for both genders. Once they reached adulthood, witches came into their powers. The more magic they used, the more they aged. They had ways of replenishing their magic in order to appear youthful. Susie wasn’t entirely sure what those were…the official textbook that Henrikk’s councillors still allowed to circulate, Dragons, Giants and other Legends, could hardly be assumed to be an accurate accounting.

Life had not been kind to Molly. It was a stark reminder that it was not only wolves who suffered under Henrikk’s regime.

Susie let her head fall back on her pillow. The way Molly had been forced to move between homes made Susie see her own childhood in a new light, and to appreciate her parents more. They were not perfect, but they had tried to protect her in the best way they knew how.

Susie drifted in and out of sleep. She woke with a start and checked the clock. It was early afternoon.

Feeling thirsty, she half sat up, reaching for the jug on her bedside table. The tip of her finger caught hold of the handle, but as she pulled it closer, the jug caught on the table’s raised edge and tipped, spilling water all over her lap.

“Shit!” she cried, leaping out of bed and shaking water off her. Her clothes were drenched, and she may as well have been a cat for how annoyed she was. She stripped off the flannel shirt, leaving a white shirt underneath that was slightly damp but salvageable.

Susie jumped when a knock came on her door.

“Who is it?” she asked, wringing out the flannel shirt before draping it over the bed rail to dry.

“It’s Arken.”

She froze. She could not think, or speak, or even breathe.

She couldn’t even identify how she felt knowing that Arken was outside her door. It was as if her mind had walled off her emotions to protect her from the conflicting bizarreness of it all.

Her heart had no such qualms, and as she stood, paralysed, it thumped so hard in her chest that it hurt.

“I was hoping we might talk,” he called. His voice was so gentle that she could have melted where she stood and never have wanted for anything ever again.

She approached the door, feeling as if she were preparing to let in both the enemy and her knight in shining armour. The latter, she suspected, was the more dangerous assumption—especially after that morning’s display.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Whatever her reservations, Arken looked wonderful in all the ways that a person could look. His hair was damp and combed back, and the smell of citrus and lavender was both tangy and calming, revitalising her and making her feel giddy. He’d changed into khaki slacks and a blue dress shirt, which should have looked clinical but made her think of summer picnics by the beach.

The softness of his expression was back, and his eyes were inquisitive and full of swirling caramel light as he looked at her.

He really looked at her, as if she were someone worth looking at.

So, despite her reservations…

Fuck it.

She offered him a careful smile and gestured inside. “Will you come in?”

Chapter 32

Broken Soldier