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Chapter 10

The hippie house was eerily quiet when Tabitha pulled into the drive. The place felt… wrong. Or maybe that was just the heaviness of her heart. For a moment, she sat in the car and studied the cheerful purple paint, trying to figure out where it all went to hell.

Who was she kidding? She might not have believed she was in love with Jarrad, but she’d been willing to give him her heart. After all, she’d felt his loyalty, his passion. She’d even sensed his devotion to her daughter. Tabitha believed the Goddess had finally smiled on them after Nathan’s death.

Turns out her ‘mate’ was just another witch-hater like the Inquisition, only he liked to pretend acceptance first. Just another person who believed those with power were less than human. She’d thought a wolf would be different.

Still, she trusted him enough to know he’d never let anything happen to a child. Luna would be safe out there with him while she cleared her head. And that protection spell was the strongest thing she’d ever woven. No one withanyill intent could get past those.

Steeling her resolve, Tabitha checked her wards once more before exiting the car. Much as she would like to stall further, the house appeared just as she left it, and if she was gone too long Luna would worry.

The front door glided noiselessly open. Two steps inside and already she knew the place wasn’t home anymore. It felt empty, lifeless, lacking character and warmth. The curtains were closed and the dim light did nothing to dispel her unease. Two more steps and her skin started crawling. A reaction to the emptiness of the house or a warning from the Goddess?

When she crossed the lounge room towards the corridor and the bedrooms, it only got worse. Ice skated up her spine. Her fingertips tingled. She tried to draw on her magic to prepare for whatever was coming, even as she inched back towards the front door. Nothing. Should she run straight for the car, or the kitchen and her potions?

Was the threat in the house, or outside?

With another desperate pull, she tried to draw the elements into her, even as she continued to back quietly across the room. Any element. Fire, water, earth… anything. But between the spell-craft of last night and the emotions of the morning, those reservoirs were exhausted. Kitchen then. Without those potions, she was defenceless.

The moment she turned to whip around the island bench was the moment her braid was just about ripped from her skull. The momentum brought her crashing to the floor, only to be pulled up short by the leash of her hair.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She needed to see her tormentor.

The face that sneered into hers from above would haunt her nightmares. Flawless caramel skin, chiselled jaw, blonde hair shaved close to the skull. Black jeans and a black leather jacket. And those eyes… they were dead grey pools, without pity or remorse, filled with a single purpose—her death.

She yanked at her braid, hoping to pull the man off balance, but he raised an arm and backhanded her with the force of a freight train across her face. Ringing filled Tabitha’s ears even as spots flew across her eyes. Her stomach threatened to expel her breakfast. Tabitha was sure he’d broken her jaw. The hand on her hair loosened but she couldn’t summon the strength to move.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the man intoned.

No anger, no fear. No emotion as he said the eight words that the Inquisition lived by.

Tabitha choked out a laugh, though it sent streaks of agony straight to her brain.Exodus. The fucker was quoting Exodus at her. Even though it would hurt, she murmured, “Pot, kettle.” It was about all she could manage, but it seemed to do the trick.

A tiny flicker of movement in the cold depths of his eyes. Wind in a storm. A twitch of his mouth, acknowledging what Tabitha had just figured out—the man couldn’t have got past Tabitha’s wards without magic of his own. That blow was not normal. The force of air reinforced it, confirmed by the movement behind his eyes.

“I pay my dues, witch, as must you.”

The man drew a knife, following Tabitha as she clawed her way towards the kitchen. If she could just get to the potions… The man was playing with her, but she wasn’t done, not by a long shot.

A Bright never gave up.

The Inquisitor flicked a finger, bonds of air forming around her limbs, trapping Tabitha an arm’s length from her goal. It was a sickening parody of her mating with Jarrad. Head tilted; the man studied her dispassionately.

“I wonder why you don’t fight back. Could it be you have so little power? Or have you exhausted yourself in other ways? Let’s see what you do with a little extra… motivation.”

The wind rushed behind his eyes as the bonds tightened around Tabitha.

She gasped, the sound involuntary, which morphed into a shriek when his knife painted a bloody line down her other cheek. The pain ricocheted through her whole body. More when he sliced the skin down her neck, along her arm, to her wedding band.

Stars danced inside her head, but his next words sent fury rising to chase them away.

“A wedding band, but no man in the house… Was it your husband I cleansed three years ago outside Carnarben?”

Tabitha jerked against the bonds, anger overwhelming pain. Uselessly. They held firm. Her blood dripped steadily onto the tiles and snaked towards the cupboard. So close, yet an impossible distance to cover.

“You’ll be comforted to know he repented his sins before the end. As will you, little witch. But first, you need to be cleansed. Only our pain can atone for our sins.”

He pulled back her finger and started to carve. To circle below her wedding band as if ring-barking a tree. Then he popped the lower knuckle right out of the socket.