Chapter 45

Lynda stiffened. “Are you saying that Andrei has been with witches this whole time?” When the witch nodded, Lynda continued, “As a prisoner?”

Because he wouldn't leave without telling her or his brothers where he was going and he certainly wouldn't ignore their messages and phone calls. Anger boiled Lynda inside and the tickling along her skin of her magic flared to life.

“Easy,” the witch said, backing up a step. “He's not harmed.”

“Then why does the council have him? What do you want with him?”

“Sorry,” the woman glanced down, her face paler, “I can't tell you that, but the council will explain why once you meet with them.”

Had they kidnapped him to use him as leverage to make her go to this meeting? That the building had collapsed because of magic was only an added incentive demanding she attend?

Lynda crossed her arms. “Your council has waited this long, they can continue to wait until we're done here.” Her magic danced along her skin as she turned and walked back to the wreckage.

The air buzzed around her. Soon she would have to suppress the magic before it blew up anything else.

“You okay?” Pierre asked jogging up to her, then slammed on the brakes a foot away from her. “Fuck, what is that pulsing from you? I feel like I'm going to be crisper than fried chicken if I step any closer.”

“It's my magic.” She clenched her fists, willing the power to ebb, but it crackled around her.

“Mihnea,” Pierre whistled.

His brother helping a fireman pull out a woman from a fallen wall glanced up. After the woman was freed, he let the wall fall back down, then hurried over.

“What's up?” Then he stopped at the same spot as Pierre. He lifted his hand toward then hissed back a wince. “What the holy hell?”

“I know, right? It's like she's the sun and holy water all rolled into one.”

“What?” She gasped, trying to calm her racing heart. She didn't want to hurt them...or anyone. Back off! Back off! She used the chant from the old Firestarter movie. The power subsided some, but she could still feel it a breath away from her skin. It made her itch all over.

“Better?” Mihnea asked and took a step forward.

She nodded. “I-I think so.”

On her other side, Pierre reached out and tucked her next to his side. “Why did your magic unleash again?”

Mihnea took her hand in his. “You can tell us.”

“One of the witches cornered me. She said the council wants to meet with me...no, demands to.” She took a shuddering breath, forced the emotions and power back. If she didn't get a handle on this, what would happen if she had a really horrible case of PMS one month?

She glanced from Mihnea in front of her, to Pierre, to the devastation around them. This would haunt her forever. A pile of bodies lay across from them covered by white sheets that billowed slightly from the wind. Her pulse raced.

“Lynda.” Mihnea cupped her face in his hands. “This was an accident. Stop taking all the blame for what happened here.”

“Does that make it alright? Wouldn't the courts call it involuntary manslaughter?”

Beside her, Pierre squeezed his arm around her waist. She basked in both their love and acceptance of her. Every day for eternity, she'd count herself lucky to be with them.

“There's more.” She swallowed against her dry throat. “The witches have Andrei.”

“Are you certain?” Mihnea lowered his hands from her face and the loss of his touch made her heart ache.

“Yes. The witch who spoke with me assured me that he hasn't come to any harm.” She shook her head. “But if they've had him all this time, why wait to contact me?” Maybe if they had come to her earlier, this explosion wouldn't have happened. All the bodies under the white sheets near the far edge of the street would be fine. Natasha's little boy would still be alive. Acid churned in her gut.

“Excuse me.” She bolted to an alley and heaved. Pierre rubbed her back while she threw up her stomach.

When she finished, she sat down not trusting her legs to hold her up any longer. She leaned against Pierre's chest. His arms wrapped around her.

“Here.” Mihnea pushed a bottle of water in her hand. “Just swish a bit and spit if you can't drink anything yet. It will help.”

With a nod, she followed his advice, not trusting her quaking stomach.

“So guess we’re going to face a bunch of uptight witches?” Mihnea asked against her mouth.

“Show off,” Pierre teased. “She still loves me best and my cooking.”

Mihnea smiled against her lips. “We will see, brother.”

“I love all three of you.” She lightly slapped Mihnea's shoulder. Still, the unease of the witches having Andrei and now demanding she appear in their court swam through her. But first, she had to say a prayer over the victims of her magic at the least.

She slid out from between both brothers and headed to the bodies laying under sheets. Her stomach threatened to make her throw up again, but she pushed down the sensation. Nothing she could do would turn back time, but she wanted to know what her actions had caused. Wanted to look at the faces of those whose lives she cut short.

The wind picked up and tossed the corner of the sheet off one of the bodies. A woman dressed in blue jean shorts with one red flat was now exposed up to her waist. Lynda swallowed. She untucked the sheet. A teenager. How many kids had her magic destroyed? She turned away, covering her mouth with her hand.

In her scope of vision, both Mihnea and Pierre headed toward her, but she held up her hand. She wasn't going to run from this. Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled the sheet off the next body. This one was an elderly vampire man. His pants and cotton white shirt were covered in soot and ash. His right side was caved in, exposing his ribs and organs.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. Everything in her wanted to run away and not look at the others. Not see their injuries...their faces...how she was responsible for their deaths.

The next victim was another man whose head was missing. She retched, but kept going. Next one was an old woman with her leg twisted at a wrong angle and her throat slashed open. Finally, the last one. The small boy that Natasha had cradled in her arms. He looked to be six or seven years old. His head wound would've healed if he'd been a half-vamp or vampire, but since it hadn't, Lynda guessed he was mostly human...maybe a quarter-vamp. His lifeless body hurt Lynda the most. He had cherub angel cheeks and dark hair.

Lynda cried, the tears spilling down her cheeks. Sprinkles of rain dotted her flesh while a clash of lightning boomed nearby. She touched the edge of the broken boy's bare foot. “I'm so sorry.” Her voice caught. “Please forgive me.”

The wind bombarded her, nearly knocking her over and she changed her hold on the boy’s ankle. Weakness flooded her. What's going on? Suddenly she dreamed like someone had put the strings on her and she was a marionette doll. Nausea rolled through her and her vision darkened. Shouts erupted around her, but she couldn't make out the words of what they were trying to say. Her pulse pounded through her body every vein every artery every capillary swelled. She couldn't see, couldn't move.

Oh my God! What's happening to me?

Her flesh sizzled like it was boiling off of her bones. She screamed, but nothing came out of her raw throat. Her power slammed forward feeling like a puncture through every cell in her body to escape. She screamed again, a blood-curdling shriek that vibrated her eardrums.

Please no not again!

She couldn't handle one more death on her conscience, and Pierre and Mihnea were mere yards away. Her magic burst through her again and again. The amount of force of her magic felt like she had taken out the entire city block.

She coiled in on herself unable to get away from the lashing pain igniting through her. A darkness blacker than anything she’d ever witnessed before clouded over her thoughts, her mind, her heart…and she gave in to the release of letting go of her fears and her life.