Witchromance: Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy (Reluctant Necromancer Book 5) Page 11

  Awan stepped in front of me. "Careful puppeteer, he's done something to that witch."

  Toma's hair was floating again, and his dog was snapping its jaws in fury. "How dare you?" The mage demanded. "Even the blackest of witchcraft doesn't attempt to manipulate souls."

  I swallowed hard as the black things oozed closer. They were vaguely human-shaped, with glowing red holes where the eyes should be, and swirling blackness instead of bodies. One reached toward me and I felt a sucking sensation, like something was being leached away from me. I stepped back and Jet's arms came around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. I felt him feeding me energy, but it disappeared as soon as fast as it came, leaving me lightheaded and shaky.

  Awan leveled his gun at the witch, pulling the trigger and sending a spray of bullets her way, the sound of the discharge deafening. This time, I didn't care if she was an innocent being manipulated by the collector. What she was doing was so foul it had to end.

  The shadow things blocked the gunfire somehow, and the volley did nothing but patter into the hardwood and walls and graze the witch's cheek in one place, nothing more than a scratch.

  The witch's face was devoid of emotion, just like the sorcerers earlier. The neckline of her high-collared shirt glowed orange, as did the cuffs, the bands controlling her hidden under her clothes.

  One of the black things reached for me again, and ice flowed through my veins. Whatever that thing was, it was dead. I tried reaching for it with what little power I had left, but it wasn't anything I could control. And it was hungry. The energy just flowed from me even faster when I tried to control it.

  "Wraiths," Jet whispered in my ear, erecting some sort of barrier around us that flickered with blue flames. "Let your smallest mate handle this, idiot necromancer. It is beyond your abilities. And mine." He pulled me back another step as Toma turned to the nearest wraith.

  Then the pretty mage reached out his slender hands and ripped the thing apart like tearing up a piece of paper.

  White light poured out from the edges of the severed shadow and the whole thing collapsed in on itself with a scream. The witch who had been controlling the wraith grunted, but didn't waver. The two remaining shadows swelled as she apparently poured more power into the spell that was driving them.

  Toma's eyes were engulfed in purple flame, and I swallowed back a surge of fear at the sight of him. He was so powerful. And so very pissed off. He whirled, long hair swirling around him in a graceful arc as he grabbed another wraith and tore it to shreds.

  The last wraith lunged toward him in a swirling vortex of pain and fear that I felt even from my place behind him. The grim made quick work of the thing, sinking long, ethereal teeth into it and swallowing it whole.

  I shook my head. Fuck, was this Toma? What happened to my sweet, pretty little imp of a guy? He squared off with the witch, but I was afraid his scary-assed powers might not work as well on a solid person.

  Sucking in a breath. I pulled more power from Jet, relieved to find that it stayed inside me, now that the wraiths weren't sucking on my aura. Swaying a little from the power use, I reached out for the nearest empty shell. It seemed the sorcerer from earlier hadn't survived that head injury.

  I sent the dead sorcerer tumbling into the witch, knocking her down. Awan was on her in an instant, knocking her out with the butt of their gun. Then the skinwalker took up guard at the doorway to make sure nothing else snuck up on us.

  My heart in my throat, I turned back to take in the scene in the middle of the house. The collector was still in his stupid salt circle. The…thing…that had attacked Drake and Luna was scattered about in several gory pieces, and my vampire and werewolf were both covered in blood, some of it theirs.

  I stared at the collector. He stared at me. He might be all bluster, but I didn't think he'd really been ready to face us yet. That was why he was still hiding out here in the woods, not attacking my house. "Anything else you want to throw at us, asshole?"

  He grimaced. For the first time, he showed something other than that creepy, overconfident smile. But the smile was back soon enough. "I can hold this circle all day, necromancer. Only a pure-hearted human with arcane knowledge can break it." He smirked, full of self-righteous confidence. "And all you have are supes. Monsters. All of you as black-hearted as me."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. That sounded like a whole lot of bullshit, if you asked me. Pure hearted. He was making that shit up. But then again, I knew zilch about spells. And I had read some really weird crap in those spell books about intention and emotions coloring the spells. Who knows?

  "We both have better things to do than stare at each other for the next few days," the collector continued with a shrug. "Let me walk free—promise it with your powerful supe blood." He bent down and dragged my barely conscious dad up by his hair. "And I won't slit your father's throat right in front of your eyes." He pulled a hunting knife from the back of his belt and pressed it to my dad's throat, right where the pulse visibly fluttered away under his pale skin.

  I crossed my arms, pissed. This was all so stupid. If I made a promise not to let any harm come to him, then let my murder, well…murder him…bad things would happen. What bad things, I had no idea. I barely believed that whole thing about promises made by strong magic users, blah, blah, blah. But Toma and Drake had insisted that people who went back on their word died in painful ways because of some underlying magical bullshit.

  We were at a complete impasse. I was going to have to let this asshole get away again. Because I didn't doubt for a minute that he would kill my dad. Or at the very least make him wish he was dead.

  I clenched my fists and opened my mouth to speak. But I snapped my mouth closed again when I felt the magic emanating from near the collector waver and snap, like a rubber band that had stretched too far and finally broke.

  The collector blinked at me, as if wondering how the hell I'd done that. Then he moved to tighten his old on my dad. But he was too slow, moving at only human speed. Before he could do anything, he had a pissed off master vampire at his throat, and a couple more vamps holding his arms immobile.

  My dad slipped from the collector's grasp and fell to the ground in a heap, still gasping for air through his overly tight shackles. "Let him go," I said calmly, as if this was all planned and I had everything under control. "Get the fucking bindings off my dad and everyone else you own now."

  The collector glared at me. "Fuck you, you ugly bitch. You can't tell me what to do. I'm stronger than you. I'm more than all of you stupid magic users with your singular skills. I own them all."

  Oh, there was the stupid, ranting monologue. He was still talking, saying something about how he was looked down on by the magical community as a kid because he was only a lowly earth witch and blah, blah, blah. I ignored him and turned to Toma and Jet. "What happens if he dies before he removes the bindings?"

  Toma frowned in concern. "I'm not sure."

  Jet shrugged. "His possessions might all die. Worth it though, if that bug is exterminated."

  I shook my head at the familiar. "You're an asshole."

  Turning my attention to Toma, I raised an eyebrow. The spirit mage sighed. "I might be able to force him to do it, if Drake can drain off a bit of the guy's stolen energy and weaken him. But manipulating a soul that way is…it feels dark. I don't like the thought."

  I closed my eyes, feeling trapped. I could feel a dozen sets of eyes on me. They all expected me to make this decision. If we tried to drag this asshole back to Toma's coven to have them undo the magical bindings, there was a good chance he'd find a way to get free. Or to manipulate whoever or whatever else he had under his power. I doubted all of his toys were here right now. We knew he had multiple hidey-holes stocked with people to use. What if he called them to him like backup weapons? And yet, if we killed him outright, the bonds might kill any innocent person attached to him against their will, including my dad.

  But if I asked Toma to do something that felt wrong to him—to ma
nipulate someone's soul—what would that cost the mage?

  The collector let out a sudden hiss. "A Helwing hunter? What are you doing here?"

  I opened my eyes to see Van standing in front of the captive collector. "Breaking your spells and sending you to hell where you belong, you abomination," the hunter said calmly. Then, moving with superhuman speed, the harmless-looking guy slipped his borrowed athame into the collector's heart.

  I blinked, too surprised to do anything other than take an aborted step forward as the collector gasped out a surprised breath and flopped forward, his heart's blood staining the carpet under his knees. Van turned away calmly, wiping blood off his borrowed blade against his pantleg. Striding over to my murder, he reached out and handed Toma his knife. "Y'all might wanna bless that again, after this," he said to the mage.

  Toma blinked at him and took the knife back, sliding it into the pocket of his coat.

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times before I could form actual words. "What did you do?" I gasped out. "You could have killed everyone attached to him. He had them all bound involuntarily so he could use their magic. They were innocent!"

  My eyes darted to the still form of my father, lying on the rug by the dead collector.

  Van shrugged, bringing my gaze back to him. "They're all monsters anyway, where was the risk in that?"

  I almost punched him, but Awan had come up behind me, and they silently caught my arm before I could try it. "So, we're all back to being just monsters to you now?" I bit out.

  How had he broken the collector's circle? Clearly, that pure of heart crap was complete bullshit. Frosty blue eyes bore into mine. "I was pretty sure they'd be fine. I've seen that binding before." His eyes went stormy with rage. "That was a hunter spell. It belongs to the Helwing family He shouldn't have known it. It's a carefully guarded secret used for interrogation."

  I swallowed. There was so much wrong with that whole statement.

  He crossed his arms and shook his head at my outrage. "I thought you needed help, necromancer," he said softly. "I could have just taken the opportunity to start walking home while you were all mired in your little dispute."

  Drake and Luna had moved to stand behind the hunter, and the threat was clear—they would take him down, if I said so.

  I sighed. He had helped out when we were stuck. And…the collector was dead, and my dad was still breathing, which mean the other prisoners were probably okay too. No one had actually been harmed. Except the collector, and that asshole deserved it.

  "Fine," I muttered, turning away. "Thanks for helping the monsters. Let's get the fuck out of here."

  Toma took my hand and gave it a squeeze, silently voicing his agreement with my decision not to murder the cocky young hunter. Jet sighed and followed us out of the house, clearly of the opinion that I was too soft.

  Awan stood looking down at a guard who had died sometime in the skirmish with the horned thing. They lifted their glassy eyes to meet mine. I sighed. "Go ahead," I said tiredly. "He's not using it anymore."

  Awan nodded, then the skinwalker's body collapsed, gracefully folding to the floor. Something trembled in the air like a breath. Then, I saw them. For the first time, I saw Awan—just a glimmer of something iridescent and…oddly beautiful, before they swirled down and joined with the corpse of the fallen guard.

  Toma squeezed my hand, and I met his purple eyes, realizing belatedly that it was Toma's power allowing me to see this. "Thanks," I whispered.

  He nodded, a faint smile lifting one corner of his mouth. Then he released my hand and went to say goodbye to his grim, who was pacing like a restless dog asking to be let outside to go pee-pee.

  I watched as the guard's body twitched. Then Awan sat up, twisting this way and that, stretching out the new body and repairing any broken parts. Chocolate brown eyes blinked up at me from behind long lashes, surprisingly pretty in the square-jawed face of the stranger they now inhabited. The skinwalker pushed to their feet, still working out the kinks. "Let's go," they said in a familiar buzzing voice, like several people talking all at once.

  Toma had his cell phone out as we left the house, and I heard him informing the sorcerer's council that we'd taken care of the collector. When he ended the call, he smiled up at me, all soft and sweet once more, no trace of the scary powerful mage in his expression. "They'll do cleanup, and look out for the captives. The missing should be easier to find, now that the collector isn't masking them under his spells."

  Drake joined us, carrying my father's gangly, unconscious form in his arms like the man weighed nothing. Luna came and lifted my dad's hand, pressing her fingers to his wrist, her eyes on his chest as it rose and fell. She poked and prodded him a bit more, then turned back to me. "We'll take him to your house. I should be able to look after him without taking him to the hospital and dealing with all the questions that would cause."

  I nodded and followed my murder out into the dark, snowy night.

  Chapter 15

  I really, really missed the days before I knew so much about the supernatural world. Back when I thought I was just a rare, random freak, and my creaky old house was blissfully, wonderfully empty. Now it was overflowing. The werewolves had Luna's old apartment in town, but they refused to leave, insisting on staying "at the pack house." The vampires didn't even try to pretend they were looking for someplace else to stay, since every time they looked at Drake, they went all…gooey and idol sick. And now, I had my long-lost dad ensconced in my living room with the sullen vampire hunter.

  I sighed and refilled my coffee cup. I wasn't usually an early riser, but with this houseful, it was nice to be up early enough to enjoy some damned peace and quiet, even if we did have a bit of late-night last night.

  Awan came into the kitchen through the back door, setting their trusty automatic in the corner and slipping off their boots. "Good morning, puppeteer," they said in that layered voice, straightening to regard me with the newest face. Awan was now a middle-aged guy with light brown skin, brown eyes, and short, tight curls clipped close to their scalp. "I was certain you'd still be abed with the rest."

  I shrugged, ignoring the little bit of guilt I felt at his words. I had collapsed in a heap in the middle of my big, warm bed with my pile of lovers…and Luna. Even Drake had chosen to sleep, though he didn't really need it. But Awan had been left to patrol the snowy night alone. On the outside, as usual.

  I held up my coffee cup. "Want some?" Awan didn't need food the way the rest of us did, but it did help keep their body going for longer. And they enjoyed things like coffee.

  The skinwalker nodded and slipped off their winter coat, hanging it on a hook by the door. "Please."

  I went about making their coffee, adding a little cream and a tiny dash of sugar, the way they liked it. When Awan took the cup from my hand, there was a soft smile on their face. This Awan had lush, full lips that were prone to turning up at the corners, as if they were someone who smiled often. Weird, for a guy who was a guard for the collector.

  "Thank you," Awan said in their buzzing voice, lifting the cup to their lips to take a sip. Their smile widened and they sighed. "I think this is the first time anyone has paid attention to something so trivial as how I like my coffee."

  I felt my cheeks flush, and that familiar fluttery sensation started in my stomach. My power perked up, as if asking whether we were going to animate the man before us, then went back to sleep. Awan set off my necromancer radar. But that other sensation? That was me being an absolute idiot.

  It was the same feeling I got around Drake, Toma, Jet and—I admitted to myself wryly—Luna. Powers That Be, I was so stupid.

  Awan tilted their head, a frown marring the skinwalker's new face. "Puppeteer? Are you well?"

  What kind of face was I making? Powers. "I'm fine," I managed, the sound a little rough.

  Cool fingers brushed a lock of frizzy red hair away from my face. Then Awan seemed to realize what they'd done. The hurt flashed in their eyes as they probably thought
they were a monster and tried to pull away. I clapped my hand over Awan's without thinking, hating that wounded look in their eyes. "It's okay," I said, my breath stuttering.

  Awan blinked at me in surprise, their thickly lashed brown eyes wide. Then they stepped a little closer, letting the palm of one hand rest against my cheek. "You're so warm," they breathed, eyes fluttering closed.

  Awan opened their eyes and I leaned toward the skinwalker, pulled like a magnet, not thinking. Footsteps in the hallway were like a bucket of cold water over my head. I jerked back, Awan's cold hand sliding away from my cheek, and I knocked my elbow into the coffee mug that sat on the counter behind me. What the fuck was wrong with me? I'd almost kissed a damned corpse! Ugh.

  Awan's eyes flicked down, looking away, masking the hurt. "Here." The skinwalker shoved his coffee cup into my hands. "I'll get a towel."

  I held the coffee cup while the Awan went and found and old dishtowel to mop up my mess. My heart was thundering in my ears and I was feeling a little dizzy and off balance.

  Van came into the kitchen, a soft smile flitting about his lips that was immediately shut off when he realized we were out here. "Good morning, necromancer." He nodded toward Awan, "abomination."

  Awan snorted and stood from where they were mopping up coffee off the floor. "Baby slayer," they greeted in kind. Then the skinwalker took their coffee cup from me with a bland look and wandered off to put the towel in the washer.

  I stood alone in the kitchen with the monster hunter…and my forbidden obsession with monsters.

  "I'm going home today," Van said, snapping me out of my inner turmoil. Powers, I was reverting to an angsty teen over here.

  "What?" I managed, going to get myself a new cup of coffee. Not even sunrise, and this day was already shaping up to be just as weird as all the others before it.

  The hunter got his own cup from the cupboard and held it out questioningly. I obligingly poured him some coffee, watching as he drank it, black and scalding, without flinching. "I've helped you with your problems. And I've learned quite a few things. But I have duties waiting for me back home. And I can't very well help you with this peace you want if I'm still being held hostage."