SWNOVELS Forged in Blood: Chapter 42
“Why is your office so much bigger than mine?” Osiris Brackenwolf runs his fingertip along a shelf lined with books that I lack the time to read these days. He plucks one from the row and blows off a layer of dust. Then he holds it up and sinks his sharp teeth into his lip. “I remember this book well, Professor.”
I scan the title. Gods and Monsters: the origins of ancient Greek mythology. “You were a good student.”
He crosses the room in two strides, his large frame making my spacious office seem much smaller than it is, and places the book on my desk. “Oh, I was a very good student. Wouldn’t you say?”
I take the book and run my hand over the soft leather. “If your mind resided someplace other than the gutter, you would know that I meant academically. You were particularly gifted, especially when it came to ancient Greece.”
He perches on the edge of my desk. “Perhaps because I was trying to impress my ancient Greek professor.”
Despite myself, my lips twitch. “Well, it was your mind that impressed me,” I tell him truthfully. It was why I chose to mentor him and teach him some of the ancient texts.
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “You sure it wasn’t my abs? I was pretty hot back then.” He lifts his shirt, revealing he still has a perfect set of abs nestled beneath his golden skin.
I shake my head. “Did you have something for me? Or are you here to reminisce about your society days?”
“I have something interesting for you.”
I lean forward in my seat. Now that I know what Ophelia is, I am even more interested in who she is and how she found herself here at Montridge. “Tell me.”
“You were right about the trust fund. All of the official paperwork makes it look like it was set up by her parents, and I’ll be damned if I can find any evidence to the contrary, but it’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“Because they died nineteen years ago, and they were broke. How could they have put away over a hundred and twenty k, which would have been worth what, double what it’s worth now?”
I shake my head. “That is still speculation.”
“Okay, but this trust also miraculously appeared when your girl was eighteen.” Your girl. I know it is only a phrase, but his use of those words to describe her leaves me breathless. If he notices my discomfort, he neglects to acknowledge it. “Why didn’t anyone know about it before then?”
I frown. “You tell me.”
“Her social worker said it was an oversight, that these things happen,” Osiris says. “She was just relieved to have found out about it before Ophelia was due to go to college.”
“But how did the social worker find out about it?”
“The bank contacted her out of the blue. And when she checked, the trust had always been there. One hundred and twenty thousand dollars just sitting there for seventeen years and it doesn’t earn a single cent of interest? What kind of jackass puts that kind of money into an account that doesn’t earn interest? That seems a whole fuckload of strange to me.”
I rub my temples. “That still does not explain how Ophelia ended up here at Montridge. With that kind of money, she could have chosen another college.”
“Well, this part you’re gonna love.” His brown eyes twinkle. “The trust was very specific about her attending Montridge. It was here or nowhere. Now, why the fuck would someone do that to their kid before they were even born? And this girl has no powers, right?”
“Right.” I lie with ease.
“So why the fuck? Someone wanted her here, but I’d bet my 550 Spyder that it wasn’t her parents.”
Knowing how much he loves that car, and also what I know about her powers being bound as a child, I completely agree. “So who else? Did you find anything more?”
“No. But that trust definitely looks legit, which tells me that someone with a lot of power set it up to look that way.”
Someone powerful enough to bind an elementai’s powers.
He runs a hand over his thick beard. “Looks like you were right to show an interest in this one, Alexandros. There is definitely something not quite right going on.”
I hum my agreement, my mind racing with more questions than answers.
“Also made me think of that prophecy you told me about,” he says with a casual shrug, like speaking of ancient prophecies is merely an afterthought and not something that could get us both in a whole lot of trouble.
“Prophecies are for fools, Osiris. You know that.” I keep my tone light but shoot daggers at him with my eyes. Whilst I no longer believe in the folly of such fairytales, it is still prudent to exert caution when discussing them. The Lost Prophecies of Fiere are openly discussed as mythology, but most people know only the headlines, not the true secrets contained within them. In ancient times, to link an actual living being to a prophecy was to ensure them a swift and certain death, and only those of us old enough to remember are still conditioned to treat such open talk with extreme caution.
Tread carefully, friend. I warn him though our bond. Walls have ears, remember.
He nods his understanding, then barks out a laugh. “Yeah, bullshit, right.”
Which prophecy and why? Find a way to tell me without implicating the girl.
He tips his face to the ceiling and bites down on his bottom lip. “God, I miss being a student.” He chuckles. “You remember that night I got so drunk that I puked all over half the cheerleading squad?”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I do. It was the talk of the semester. Quite the feat for a werewolf to get so drunk.”
His dark eyes burn into mine. “I was late to class the next day. You had me stay back and recite those fucking poems as punishment.”
That is not what happened at all. I punished him in a much more memorable and pleasurable way, and afterward we lay in bed, listening to the storm roll in. I close my eyes and dread settles in the pit of my stomach. That was also the day I told him the first of Fiere’s prophecies. The one that all bloodline vampires are taught. And even if it is little more than the ramblings of an ancient being, it is a prophecy that many fear.
The child borne of fire and blood?
He gives me a single nod. “Yeah, you were a mean motherfucker.”
“I was merely securing your education.”
“Yeah, and it was quite the education, Professor.” He winks.
I grunt aloud but go on speaking to him through our bond. Why did she make you think of that?
He stands and picks up the book he was looking at earlier. “Okay if I borrow this?”
“Of course, although I would not have thought you had much interest in Greek mythology these days.”
“Me?” He snorts. “I love a good origin story, don’t you?”
With a final pointed look, he leaves the room. Origin story? He must be talking about Ophelia’s origin story. Where the hell do I find that?
I can still feel him walking down the hall. Do not mention this to anyone, Osiris. For your safety and Ophelia’s. I can’t hear his response, but I know I can trust him.
After pulling her file up on my computer, I go through her application again, hoping it will give me some clue as to what Osiris alluded to. If he has been looking into Ophelia, he may have already attracted some attention, and I do not wish to draw further scrutiny by meeting with him again so soon. Her submission essay finishes loading, and I skim the first few paragraphs as I did when I first looked into her. It starts with references to the classic literature she loves and the impact of books on her life. Nothing different from the millions of other high school graduates who apply for college all over the country. That is why I failed to read until the end last time, but now I continue scanning until I reach the final paragraph. And there, in Ophelia’s own words, is her undoing and the end of my world as I know it.
I’m resilient and resourceful. From the little I know about my birth, my entrance into this world was a dramatic one. I was left on the steps of a church with nothing but the scorched cloak I was wrapped in, my skin covered in blood and ash. I never knew my parents or who placed me on those steps, but I’ve never let not knowing who I am stop me from becoming the person I’m supposed to be …
I have no need to read the rest. Those four sentences are enough to tell me that the impossible is reality. Closing my eyes, I focus hard on my brother. Our bond is strong enough to cross continents, and it takes but a few seconds to reach him.
I need to speak with you.
His reply comes swiftly and without question. I shall meet you in the library at midnight.
Thank you, brother.
The library is empty except for Professor Yakon. The werewolf has his head bent low over a stack of books, and I slip past him, seemingly unnoticed. After taking a seat at one of the two-seater oak tables, I switch on the small green desk lamp. I am lost in thoughts of demons and scrolls and my mother’s fables when I hear footsteps approaching, and a second later, Giorgios sits in the chair beside mine.
“Thank you for coming, brother.”
He places a hand on my arm, his brow furrowed like he knows the enormity of what I am about to reveal. “You know that wherever I am, I would come to you at a moment’s notice.”
“Yet it took you six hours to get here,” I quip, needing to lighten the mood before I blow his world apart. I am lucky that a flight was not necessary to get him here because that would have taken three times longer. I envy him his power of teleportation, an ancient magic so few were blessed with.
He shrugs. “I had some business to take care of first.”
I glance around again, checking to ensure nobody new has entered the library and that the biochemistry professor is still bent over his books. Satisfied that we cannot be overheard, I begin. “The girl. Ophelia. She is an elementai.”
He nods like this does not surprise him.
“She’s bonded with my boys. All three of them.”
“But not you?” He regards me with suspicion. “I felt no shift in your emotions, although you have always been able to mask them so well.”
“No, not with me,” I grit out. “I already told you that will not be happening.”
He presses his lips together and remains silent.
“You do not believe me?”
He places a hand on my arm. “I know that you believe you, and that is enough.”
“Do not treat me like a fucking child, Giorgios!” Memories of our childhood and his cruel taunts echo in my mind. Born only five years apart, we were pitted against each other by our father from the moment I was born. Not until we were centuries old did we realize the futility of our sibling rivalry. It was our father who deserved our animosity, not each other. Still, those wounds run deep, and it is not difficult for them to rip open when one is already feeling decidedly on edge.
He shakes his head and sighs. “I am not. But to pretend that you are not drawn to her, Alexandros—to suggest that it is not fate that has brought the only elementai born in over half a millennium to you, of all people … it is foolhardy.”
“I am not going to bite her,” I insist. “Even discounting the fact that I do not wish to be bonded to an elementai ever again, I would never put her in that kind of danger. If our father found out what she is …”
He squeezes my arm tighter. “I know, brother. I know. You would never be so reckless as to endanger the only elementai in existence.”
The overwhelming instinct to protect Ophelia still takes me by surprise. “I will never allow him to feel her.”
“Your ability to close yourself off to others is unparalleled. Perhaps there is a way—”
“She is too powerful, Giorgios. Too powerful to contain. He would sense her. I know he would.” But oh, how I wish there was a way. The desire to sink my fangs into her sweet flesh and drink her intoxicating lifeblood consumes almost every waking thought.
“Why do you think this? Even if she is an elementai …”
I swallow the knot of trepidation in my throat. “I have reason to believe she has mastery over three of the elements. Perhaps even all four.”
His mouth falls open and he works to speak, but no sound escapes his lips.
“She started the fire at her school. It rains when she feels sad. When she …” I take a deep breath and will my cock not to ache with the mere thought of what I am about to say. “When she has an orgasm, the ground shakes.”
He raises one eyebrow, and our bond is not necessary for me to be able to hear what he is thinking.
I sigh. “I told you she is bonded to my boys. I feel her through them.”
“And air?” he asks.
“When she found out about the bonding, how she was going to be a part of the boys’ lives for eternity, she lost her mind. She held her breath, and I swear that she stole all the air from the room.”
His chest heaves with the deep breaths he takes. His anxiety is palpable, but so is his excitement and fear. “But you said her powers were bound?”
“Yes, and by who? Who else knows about her? Who sent her to this school? Who put her in my path? She is too dangerous, and she has not a single clue.”
He looks down at the table and traces the wood grain with his index finger. “But without a powerful witch to break the spell, she is safe. I do not know of any who can do such a thing. Do you?”
“Only one.” I lick my lips. “But she would never. She is constrained by greater laws than you and I.”
“Of course.” He looks back up and gives me a knowing nod. “Nazeel Danraath.”
I wince at the mention of her name. Like so many other witches I know, she is tied to my most painful memories, the ones I keep barricaded behind a wall of granite. “But her powers are growing, Giorgios. She can communicate with my boys. Talk to them in their heads as clearly as I can. I feel her. As her emotions grow stronger, so does her magic. What if she breaks the spell all on her own?”
His frown deepens. “You must start teaching her how to control her powers, Alexandros. Prepare her in case that day does come.”
My heart cracks wide open. “I cannot.”
He takes my hand in his. “You must. And you are the best teacher I know. There is a reason she was sent to you, even if you refuse to accept it.” His eyes scan my face. “Is there something else bothering you?”
“No.” I shake my head. The ease with which I lie to my own brother surprises even me. But to tell him of the prophecy, now, on top of everything else … It is too much for one day. Too much for me to wrap my own head around. And besides, I am mistaken. Prophecies are but childish fairytales that have no basis in reality.
Osiris always loved the story of the knights and the Order, how they risked their lives to save the sacred scrolls before the Library of Alexandria burned. Maybe it is his curiosity that is feeding my ridiculous notions about Ophelia. And perhaps, as my father always told us, prophecies and legends are simply stories created to frighten children.
Giorgios leaves as swiftly as he arrived, and I walk quickly back to the house, unable to stop myself from recounting the segment of the prophecy that was revealed to me a very long time ago.
But there is one who can save the fates of all.
For the child borne of fire and blood,
Shall be our ruin or our redemption.
Bringing balance to the new world order,
Be it through peace or total annihilation.
“Alexandros,” Malachi says cheerfully as he falls into step beside me, his face lit with a wide smile. “Did you not hear me shouting your name?”
I shake my head. “I was deep in thought.”
He lets out a contented sigh and looks up at the stars.
“You are very pleased with yourself.”
He laughs. “Pleased with life, I guess.”
I resist the temptation to tell him to enjoy it while it lasts. Because despite the inevitable pain that comes from falling in love with someone like Ophelia Hart, every single second of soul-wrenching, agonizing torture is worth it for the simplest moments with her.
But I am not sentimental. Whatever goodness I had in my heart died with them. So I say nothing.