Page 35

Chapter

Twenty-Three

JUNIPER

I barely made it through the café door before the tears took me over. My vision blurred, transforming the streetlights into hazy stars as I stumbled forward, desperate to be anywhere but here. Pride's cold, clipped "No thanks" echoed in my head with devastating clarity.

I deserved it. Of course I deserved it. But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.

People milled about on the main street—faeries with gossamer wings, a trio of vampires debating the merits of synthetic blood, a werewolf checking his watch as the moon rose. Too many witnesses to my humiliation.

My feet carried me toward the small park at the end of the street, past a fountain where teenagers had gathered to share cigarettes and gossip. Their easy laughter followed me as I found an empty bench beneath a streetlamp, settling onto the cold metal with a heavy sigh.

I'd fucked up. Badly.

He'd dressed up tonight. Had probably spent time choosing it, planning what to say, maybe even been nervous about seeing me.

And I'd turned it into a joke.

The worst part wasn't even that I'd pranked him. It was why I'd done it. Because I'd felt powerless, out of control, like everyone around me was making decisions about my life without consulting me. So I'd decided to make someone else feel small instead.

Just like my mother always did when she felt cornered.

The thought made my skin crawl. Was this who I was becoming? Someone who lashed out at others when I felt threatened?

"Excuse me, miss?"

I looked up to find a middle-aged man in an expensive suit standing near my bench. Something about his posture, the way he held himself, made alarm bells ring in my head.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I asked, my grip tightening on my phone.

His smile was perfectly polite and completely cold. "I work for someone who's been looking for you. Would you mind coming with me?"

"I'm fine here, thanks." I started to stand, but froze as another figure emerged from behind the fountain. Then another from the opposite direction.

They'd surrounded me while I'd been lost in my own thoughts.

"Now, now," the first man said, his voice still pleasant. "No need to make this difficult. Ms. Blackwood is very eager to see her daughter."

My blood turned to ice. "I think you have me confused with someone else."

"Juniper Grey," he said, pronouncing my chosen name like it tasted bitter. "Age thirty-five. Recently employed at Eternal Matches. Living in a cottage on Diana Morningstar's property." His smile widened. "Shall I continue?"

Before I could answer, a familiar voice cut through the evening air. "That won't be necessary."

I turned as my mother approached from the direction of the main street, her silver hair perfectly styled despite the evening breeze. She moved with the same regal bearing she always did, like she owned whatever space she occupied.

Behind her, Xavier emerged from the shadows near the park entrance.

My heart hammered against my ribs as fight-or-flight instincts warred in my chest. There were too many of them, and we were in public. Whatever they wanted, they'd planned this carefully.

"Hello, sweetheart," my mother said, settling onto the bench beside me like we were old friends meeting for coffee. "You look well. That dress suits you better than your old clothes did."

I forced myself to breathe normally. "I'm sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else."

She laughed—that tinkling sound I'd heard a thousand times growing up, usually right before she said something devastating.

"Oh, darling. Do you really think a different name and playing dress up would fool your own mother?" She reached out as if to touch my face, and I jerked backward. "You have your father's jaw. My nose. And you're biting your lower lip exactly the way you did as a child when you were trying to lie."

Xavier smirked. “See? Told you she’d try to deny it. Gaslighting bitch.”

Shit. I released my lip immediately, but it was too late.

"There's my girl," she said, shooting an irritated look at Xavier. "Though I must say, this whole performance has been quite impressive. New identity, new job, even new men in your life from what I hear."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." She gestured to Xavier, who positioned himself at the bench's far end. "Xavier has been beside himself with worry. When you disappeared, we thought the worst."

"Disappeared?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Her smile never wavered. "You left without a word, Hazel. Vanished from your cottage in the middle of the night. We found signs of a struggle, blood, your things scattered everywhere. We thought you'd been kidnapped."

The casual rewriting of history hit me like a slap. They were acting like Xavier hadn't strangled me, like I'd simply run away like a petulant teenager.

"Signs of a struggle," I repeated slowly. "That's an interesting way to put it."

"We've been searching for weeks," Xavier added, his voice rough with what someone who didn't know better might mistake for genuine emotion. "When we heard about a woman matching your description working at a matchmaking agency, using a false name..."

"I had to see for myself," my mother finished. "And here you are, safe and sound. Though this little rebellion has gone on quite long enough."

Who the hell did Xavier think he was fooling? ‘When we heard?’ He was there!

The men who'd surrounded my bench had adjusted their positions, forming a loose circle that looked casual to any passersby but effectively trapped me in place. I admit, Xavier had been smart. I didn't see anyone from his pack—everyone he'd hired was a stranger, so I wouldn't be tipped off too soon.

A few people had glanced our way, but nothing about the scene looked threatening to outside observers. Just a family having a conversation in the park.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said quietly.

"Oh, but you are," my mother replied, her voice taking on that steely edge I remembered from childhood. "Do you have any idea what your little stunt has cost us? The terms you've put in jeopardy?"

"What terms?" But even as I asked, I knew.

"The Blackwood-Xavier terms from your contract, of course.

The magickal binding that protects our coven.

The trade agreements that keep us prosperous.

" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Thirty-seven families, Hazel. Thirty-seven witch families depending on you to do your duty. That doesn’t even count what the pack will get from Xavier becoming stronger. "

The familiar guilt crashed over me like a wave. This was her favorite weapon—making me responsible for everyone else's welfare, making any choice I made for myself seem selfish and cruel.

"That's not my responsibility," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

"Isn't it?" Her smile was razor-sharp. "You are on that contract. Your potential magickal signature is bound to it. There's no running from what you are, darling."

"I was a child!"

"You were a Blackwood," she corrected. "And Blackwoods honor their commitments."

Xavier straightened from his position at the bench's end.

"I know this has been overwhelming," he said, his voice gentle in that way that had once made me trust him. "But you belong with your family, Hazel. With me. This game you're playing, pretending to be someone else–it needs to stop."

"It's not a game."

"Of course it is." My mother stood, smoothing her skirt with practiced precision. "And while I admire your creativity, it's time to come home. The bonding has been postponed long enough."

The word 'bonding' hit me like a physical blow. After everything that had happened, they still expected me to commit to him for the rest of my life. Still thought they could drag me back to that life like nothing had changed.

"No." The word came out stronger than I felt.

Her eyebrows rose in perfect arcs. "Excuse me?"

"I said no. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not bonding with anyone. And I'm certainly not honoring any contracts I was committed to as a child."

The air around us seemed to thicken with tension. Her pleasant mask slipped, revealing the cold fury underneath.

"You don't have a choice in this matter," she said, her voice cutting through the evening sounds like a blade. "You can run, you can hide, you can play dress-up and pretend to be someone else, but in the end, you'll do exactly what you're told. Just like you always have."

The casual cruelty of it–the assumption that I was still the same frightened girl who'd bent to her will for thirty-five years–sparked something dangerous in my chest.

"Watch me," I said.

Xavier moved then, faster than I'd expected, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist. "Enough of this. You're coming home."

His fingers closed around my arm like a vise, and suddenly I was back in my cottage kitchen, his hands around my throat, the world going dark as he squeezed?—

"NO!"

The scream tore from my throat with volcanic force, echoing off the surrounding buildings and causing every head in the vicinity to turn our way. I twisted in Xavier's grip, my free hand clawing at his fingers, panic and rage warring in my chest as that familiar crimson energy began to build.

"Let go of me!" I shouted, loud enough that several people stopped walking to stare. "Get your hands off me!"

Xavier's grip loosened and I yanked myself free, stumbling backward off the bench. My chest heaved as I glared at all of them–my mother with her cold disapproval, Xavier with his predatory smile, the hired muscle pretending to look casual while blocking my escape routes.

"Help!" I called out, my voice carrying across the park. "Someone help me!"

Several people were converging on us now, concern clear on their faces. A woman with a stroller had pulled out her phone. A group of college students were advancing from the fountain.