Wicked Soul (Ancient Blood #1)(84)

I felt the moment my connection to Warin dampened, as if a cold, clammy fog wrapped around a part of me I hadn’t even known existed. Cutting me off from the only source of warmth I’d ever known.

“Thy will be done,” Joana whispered. She reached out and brushed her fingers against my cheeks, and only then did I notice the tears trickling down my face.

I opened my eyes and wiped at my face. I didn’t have time to cry. Not yet. Not before I was out of the city and Warin was safe.

“I promised you that, when you were ready to leave the vampire, I would put you on the path to discover your magic,” Joana said, voice gentle. “I have a friend in Kentucky. Maggie. She is the High Priestess of a coven there. If I ask, she will take you in and help you open up the connection to your powers. Do you want my help, little sister?”

I drew in a shuddering breath before I nodded. Maybe if I hadn’t been so weak, I could have fought against whoever it was who was so adamant to rip me away from the only man I’d ever loved. Maybe one day, if I was strong enough to protect us both, I could come back. “Please.”



* * *



Warin,

I can't do this. I can’t be yours.

I have left Chicago, and I will not be coming back. If you truly do love me, let me go. Please, Warin. Let me go.



* * *



Forgive me.



* * *



Liv





26





3 months later





“Again!”

I gritted my teeth and steadied my shaking hands as I tried to force a connection to the green light. The tiniest thread obeyed, and the air around my fingers crackled… and died with a fizz.

Breathing heavily, I let my arms fall to my sides, too exhausted to even wipe the sweat off my brow. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! Do you have any idea how many witches would give their left tit to have a connection to their magic like yours?” Maggie, my silver-haired High Priestess, hocked a loogie at the barn floor and wiped her face in her arm. “Stop being such a fucking wimp, grab your power by the fucking balls, and do something!”

Maggie wasn’t your stereotypical High Priestess. Where Joana had given off sweet Earth Mother vibes, Maggie… Maggie was more “biker witch gone mad on power-trip.”

And she was no fan of mine. Apparently, my inability to connect with the green light within came from having been “pampered” all my life, and something about “millennials expecting to have their magic handed to them on a silver platter.”

But, our instant and mutual dislike aside, she had taken me into her coven to help “set me on my path” as Joana had said, and she’d helped me land a waitressing job and set me up with a rental trailer of my very own. I was pretty sure it was only to keep in good standing with Joana, but still. I’d have been royally screwed without her help, so I tried to keep my temper in check, even when she screamed at me.

“I’m telling you, I can’t,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m about to keel over, and I still have a shift at the diner to get through. Can we try again tomorrow?”

“Fine, whatever. Can’t have the princess fainting, can we?” She shot me a dark look. “I expect you here tomorrow at nine a.m.”

I glared after her as she strode out of the barn. For someone who looked like a sweet grandmother, she sure was a mean old witch.



* * *



My evening shift at the diner was an absolute nightmare. I wasn’t too fond of waitressing on the best of days, but that evening, I spilled an entire liter of soda all over myself, got yelled at by my boss for being clumsy, got yelled at again by a customer wanting extra pickles, and had my ass pinched so hard I was pretty sure it was gonna leave a bruise.

When I got back to my trailer, I only managed to strip out of my uniform before I slid to the floor for a good cry.

It was my new pastime these days—sobbing in a heap when I was finally alone. I hated my life. I hated my job. I hated Maggie and her stupid coven.

And I missed Warin.

Oh, goddess, I missed him so much it hurt to breathe when I allowed myself to even think his name. So I didn’t. In the daytime, I would keep myself too busy to think, either with work or with training with Margie, and at night, when I was alone and the memories came crawling back…

I got up from the floor, a hand pressed tightly to my ribs where the ache of loss radiated from whenever I thought him. It was always there, always gnawing at me, but at night, there was only one thing that could dull the pain.

I scrambled to my little kitchenette and got a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard.

And I proceeded to get hideously drunk. Sat alone in my trailer. High class ‘till the end.

I don’t know what was different about that night—drinking alone to numb the pain had been my evening ritual for the past three months. But tonight…

It had been so long since I’d even heard his voice. I closed my eyes and thought back to our final night together—remembered every touch of his body against mine, the taste of his kiss and the softness of his voice as he’d told me he loved me.

I would never, ever get over the heartache of losing him. I’d known that even when I left. But even this pain was infinitely better than risking his life by my presence in it. I just wished… I wished I could hear his voice one more time.