Page 9 of Crimson Devotion (The Sacred Seven #1)

NINE

Faith

A small gasp leaves my mouth when I feel a pair of arms sneak around my waist. Without looking back, I can immediately tell it’s Ophelia. That damned unique scent of hers surrounds me, and my heart beats faster.

Her chest is pressed against my back, and my emotions go into overdrive.

This fucking proximity shouldn’t be as calming as it is, nor should I be at a loss for words.

By now, I’ve seen that she has no fear of physical contact, and she’s been touching me a lot.

Why am I still surprised whenever she does something like this?

Her long, slender fingers splay all over my lower stomach, her nose buried in the crook of my neck, right where the mark from her teeth is.

She inhales deeply, her other hand moving to my wrist. She doesn’t speak, nor move.

Instead, she simply smells me, her chest moving up and down against my back.

Then, a small click breaks the cloud of haze, and I’m returned to reality when Ophelia steps back. I glance down, noticing the golden bracelet wrapped around my wrist. I lift my hand toward the sunlight again, and nothing happens. It doesn’t burn.

“You’ve had one of these all along?”

I turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the wall.

She’s wearing a deep navy-blue suit. The pants are tailored to her size, yet not too tight on her body.

She has a white dress shirt on, buttoned up to her neck, with a matching blue vest on top.

A pair of gold earrings dangle from her earlobes, and a few matching rings adorn her fingers.

Her beautiful dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail, two strands framing her face perfectly. A coat of light pink blush is blended onto her cheeks, bringing back warmth, a perfect contrast to her pale skin.

“It’s not mine,’’ she responds.

Her eyes dip down to my chest, to the dress as a whole, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. She’s looking at me like I’m her next prey, which is so ironic, given that I’m the hunter here. Well, was.

For a while, all she does is stare at my chest. She barely blinks, soaking in the sight. If I could blush, I think I’d be the same shade as her eyes, and it only now hits me how provocative the dress might seem.

“You look good in my clothes, little hunter,’’ she murmurs, voice lowering. I have to close my eyes for a moment before I do something irrational, and by the time I’ve opened them, she’s standing right in front of me. “Although, next time, feel free to take a pair of shoes, too.’’

I swallow thickly, the tension around us palpable. With a deep breath, I decide to redirect the conversation, because I’m getting too close to doing something I might regret.

“If you’ve had the bracelet all this time, why haven’t you used it while yours was lost?”

Ophelia chuckles at the topic change, but doesn’t comment on it. “I didn’t have any reason to. No human dares to set foot in here. Well, they rarely do. Valerio always brings me blood, and living in nature, away from all the chaos, is rather liberating.’’

“Didn’t you ever, like…get bored?”

“Sure I did, but you cannot tell me you also didn’t get bored from time to time while living in the big city.’’

That clamps my mouth shut. I step back and, surprisingly, Ophelia keeps the distance between us.

“Fine,’’ I sigh.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and continue walking down the corridor. The sound of her heels echoes, bouncing off the walls loudly, and she’s not shy at trying to follow me. In fact, she’s slowly speeding up, getting closer.

“Where are you going?”

“Just exploring,’’ I say. “Why? Is it forbidden?”

She chuckles. “No, but there’s nothing over there.’’

“What?”

“It’s a dead end. The castle is filled with them. I’ll give you a proper tour.’’

I pause, debating whether to take her up on the offer. Eventually, the desire to explore these ancient walls wins, and now, I’m the one silently trailing behind her. She’s leading me through a mass of corridors, down a flight of stairs, until we reach a pair of double wooden doors.

They resemble the ones of the library, but the design is what separates the two. Where the ones of the library have a maze carved out all around, these just have a lot of initials engraved, and they were clearly handwritten.

I decide not to ask for specifics and follow Ophelia into the room, taking in my surroundings.

It’s a massive living room. There’s a fireplace on the left, and it’s bigger than any I’ve seen before.

The bricks are in a dirty white color, the corners tainted with years’ worth of dust. It’s giving it the vintage look many people these days try to imitate.

Above the fireplace is a big map, though it’s clearly too old for me to know which period it’s from.

There are multiple dark bookshelves on the walls, filled with ancient texts that I’ve never seen before. In the middle of the room are two big couches, plush with red cushions. The edges are sprayed with golden details, and there’s a matching small table in the center.

However, what captures my attention is the massive portrait on the wall behind one of the couches. It’s taking up the entire wall, from side to side, and it’s detailed in a way only a human hand could ever draw.

“Those are my siblings and I,’’ Ophelia says, appearing to stand next to me. She’s looking at the portrait almost fondly, nostalgia overtaking her features. Slowly, I force my eyes away, turning them back to the portrait.

Ophelia sits on the chair, hands on her lap. Her back is straightened, her posture flawless. She’s wearing a floor-length gown and gold jewelry. Her hair is curled into loose waves, and there’s not a single hint of a smile on her face. But the artist managed to capture the essence of her perfectly.

Powerful and dominant.

Anyone looking at it would be able to tell.

“Can I get an introduction?’’ I ask.

Ophelia chuckles, shaking her head.

“The man sitting to my left is my older brother, Lucifer. The one Yvonne put to sleep. He’s the oldest, and I’m the second oldest.’’

I can tell that he radiates the same amount of power as Ophelia. They’re similar physically, too. Red eyes, the same nose shape, and even the length of their hair is the same. However, instead of raven black, his is in a deep shade of silver.

“His hair is silver. That’s not a color you see every day.’’

“As opposed to Yvonne’s pearly white?” She snorts. “But yes. His hair was black, too. When the curse hit us, it turned white. Probably a reaction of sorts.’’ She shrugs.

“Now, standing behind us, from the left, and it goes by age, oldest to youngest, is Valerio, and you already know him.’’

Even Valerio looks good in the portrait. Hands behind his back, a soft smile on his lips, hair pulled into a low ponytail. His eyes tell a story I can’t unravel, but just by looking at him, I know it’s beautiful.

“Next we have Darius, and to this day, he looks more or less the same.’’

The man has a blank expression. That’s it. He looks a lot like Valerio, and if I were to see them in a room together, I’d probably mistake them for twins. He’s an inch shorter than Valerio, and his hair reaches just below his ears, one strand falling over his eyes.

“Then…Aurelia.’’ She sighs.

Oh, wow.

She’s beautiful.

Long black hair, similar to Ophelia’s. Their eye shape, lips, and nose are different, but there’s a striking similarity that I can’t ignore. The main difference? Where Ophelia just screams power by the way she’s walking, talking, and carrying herself, Aurelia screams…mischief.

There’s something that’s causing me to pause for a moment, and I can’t quite place it. She looks ready to wreak havoc wherever she goes, and she’s not bothering to hide it, even for a portrait.

“She looks…fun?’’

“She’s just insane.’’

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

“Next to her is Cassius,’’ she explains, eyes hardening for a moment. I lift an eyebrow to that.

“Not a good relationship with him?”

She scoffs. “He’s reckless, and I don’t like that.’’

The man in question resembles Lucifer. The two look the most similar out of them all, but even just through the canvas, I can tell he’s not thrilled about it.

I’m unsure what it is, but he’s not giving me any good vibes — not that any of them are, to be fair.

Well, maybe with the exception of Valerio.

My eyes fall onto the last girl.

“That’s Juliana.’’

A small frown etches onto my face.

“I know what you’re thinking. She doesn’t look like us.’’

“She doesn’t.’’

“That’s because she’s not blood-related.’’

The girl has blonde hair and is shorter than the rest of them.

There’s a certain glint in her gaze, the blood-red dress matching the color of her eyes.

Her upper lip is tugged into a faint, almost sadistic smirk that manages to send chills down my body.

She’s definitely not someone I’d ever want to be alone in a room with.

“Is she…maybe a half-sibling?”

Ophelia shakes her head. “No. The six of us, minus Juliana, grew up in a poor village in the south of England. When Lucifer was sixteen, our parents bolted. We haven’t seen or heard from them since, and well, they’re long dead by now.

But Lucifer and I took on the burden of raising our little siblings.

It was like that for years, and although we were struggling a lot, we had food and water most of the time, and we were happy. ’’

A sad, sardonic smile is on her lips. She’s staring at the painting like she can’t look away, her eyes softening. That look tugs on my heartstrings. I’ve never seen Ophelia with even an ounce of vulnerability, and I don’t dare to break the moment.

She looks real. She looks raw.

Like someone who’s gone through hell and back, and someone who carries a burden so heavy that I’m surprised she’s still standing straight.

Raising one sibling is hard, let alone five, especially as a child herself at that time. I don’t even want to imagine what her upbringing must’ve been like.

“It was fine for a few years. Then, when we were all almost adults, with the youngest, Cassius, just turning seventeen, a young girl stumbled across our small cottage. She was about eighteen, nineteen at the time. She was banging at the door in the middle of the night and begged for help. Apparently, her father wanted to sell her, and she escaped with nothing but the clothes on her body, and she was barefoot. Darius was the one who opened the door, and we all welcomed her in. A couple of days after, Yvonne put the curse on us, by throwing spells and potions at the cottage. We were all inside, including Juliana. So, by default, the curse hit her as well. That day, she became one of us. She may not be our blood-related sister, but blood doesn’t define family. ’’

I step back, giving her a moment to compose herself.

That was not what I expected at all.

My eyes lift, looking at the portrait again. Despite the circumstances, they all seem…somehow content. Perhaps it was the artist’s way of drawing them, but it’s a happy moment, one of the rare ones they’ve had.

“Why did Yvonne curse you?”

Ophelia turns to look at me, and for a split second, I see genuine remorse flash behind her eyes.

“Yvonne belongs to the oldest, the very first, coven of witches. At the time, she was just an apprentice, learning from her betters. But it wasn’t a secret. People were scared of the witches; they were scared of the unknown power.’’

“Go on.’’ I swallow a sudden knot that forms in my throat. Something about her tone tells me I won’t like where the story is heading.

“We were one of those people. The coven was dangerously close to our cottage. So we killed them. Every single one of them. Yvonne wasn’t there at the time, and because she was a part of the coven officially, despite being an apprentice, the power of the twelve witches we’ve killed went to her.

That’s why she’s as powerful as she is. She’s the oldest witch alive. ’’