Wicked Soul (Ancient Blood #1)(85)

Before I even realized what I was doing, I was stumbling around the trailer, looking for my old phone. I turned it on, after a bit of drunken trial and error. I hadn’t had it turned on since I left Chicago, and a new voicemail flashed up on the display as soon as it flicked on.

It was from the day I left.

Breathing deeply, I pressed it.



* * *



“Don’t do this, Liv. Please, my love. Please don’t do this. Come back to me.”



* * *



It was like a punch to the gut. The agony in his voice as he spoke those few words radiated through me, tearing open the wound in my chest as I gasped for air.

I didn’t think as I pawed at my phone, searching for his number. I needed to know… I had to know that he was better now, that he wasn’t in pain anymore.

My heart thumped hard in my chest while I waited for the call to connect, every ring increasing my need to hear him. What if he wouldn't pick up when he saw my name flash on the screen? What if he hated me now? What if he'd gotten a new number?

“Liv?”

The smooth, soft voice floating into my ear sent a shudder of pain and pleasure through me, and I choked on a sob, pressing it down.

“Liv,” he said again, and then there was a long silence while I breathed raggedly into the phone, wishing he would say my name again. Hearing him say it after so long felt like what I imagined a crack addict felt like after getting their first fix in a month—laced with heartache, of course.

"Please, just tell me you’re safe."

The plea in his tone tore at me, making me gasp from the ache in my stomach. Oh, he was not okay. He was in pain too. Pain I’d caused him.

"Please."

“I’m safe," I whispered.

He exhaled into the phone, into my ear, and I couldn't hold it together anymore. Just as he spoke again, I hung up, disconnecting the call and turning off my phone. I sank down to the floor, curling up around my old phone and cried until I fell into a restless, drunken slumber.



* * *



I was predictably really hungover when I woke up the next day, but I had to meet Maggie at nine. So instead of curling up and pretending like the world had stopped existing, I crawled around my small living space, showering and drinking as much coffee as I could fit in my stomach while I studiously avoided looking at the phone that was still laying in the middle of the floor.

I’d heard his voice, and all it’d done was rip open every aching wound with the knowledge that he hurt too… and there was nothing I could do about it.

I couldn’t return to Chicago. I knew, deep down, that even if I told Warin I was a witch, he wouldn’t hurt me. He would be furious, no doubt, but the connection between us was too strong for even age-old hatred to stand between us.

But the one thing that could… the one thing that kept me away even as everything in me ached to just jump into my car and drive until I hit Chicago, was the risk to his life.

A world where Warin was still alive, even if I couldn’t be with him, was infinitely better than a world without him.

But…

Without thinking about why, I bent to snatch up my old phone, shoving it to the deepest recesses of my overfilled handbag, before I rushed out the door to meet up with Maggie. For once, getting yelled at for being a failed witch would be a welcome distraction.



* * *



My shift at the diner ended at ten p.m. that evening, and since the small trailer park I lived in was just a mile down the road, I walked back to save on gas. It was a relatively balmy evening, and the sky was clear, letting the stars above shine like they never did in Chicago, and I very determinedly forced back thoughts of what sitting on Warin’s skyscraper this time of year would be like.

A small “thud” sounded from the road behind me, startling me out of my morose thoughts. Before I even managed to tell myself that it was probably just some clumsy, nocturnal animal, I heard the very, very last thing I'd expected:

"Found you, Snack.”

I spun around, automatically clutching my handbag in front of my chest—because of course this was a mugging situation—and saw a tall, eerily familiar figure looming in the middle of the road, hands casually thrust into the front pockets of his tight jeans.

“Aleric?" My voice broke in disbelief.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and I shivered at the cold expression in them. "Oh, good, so you aren't suffering from amnesia."

I gaped at him. "W-wha..?"

"That would be about the only excuse I'd accept from you. And since that isn't the case, I get to do this the fun way." He removed his hands from his pockets, a predatory edge to his posture.

Gulping, I slowly backed away. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but I'm sure Warin wouldn't want you to drain me, no matter how bad things ended!" Quite the cowardly move to throw Warin’s name at him, but when faced with a lethal predator, you really just try anything.

He snorted and then started stalking me, copying each of my steps backwards with a cocky saunter, cold eyes never leaving mine. "My brother is rather dumb when it comes to you, you little cunt. So I will do what he failed at. No one denies a Waldlitch, especially not an insignificant human like yourself."

I gasped at the insult, which was really not the thing to get upset over at this time, as I was fairly certain I only had moments left to live.