Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 17

I remain in the garden, waiting for what feels like an eternity. The sound of the roaring fire is prominent in the background. Then, all of a sudden, it all goes quiet. It takes a few more moments before he emerges, tracking ash with every step. He dusts himself off when he comes toward me, his expensive suit thoroughly ruined and his jaw set in anger.

“Your rage somehow fueled the blood magic, making it slightly more difficult to put the fire out.” His voice is too calm and doesn’t match his composure as he grits his teeth and runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to get the ash out of it.

“The books—” I don’t even finish the sentence as a lump forms in my throat. My chest constricts at the look he’s giving me, like he’ll snap my neck if I utter one more word.

“Consider yourself lucky that I keep the most important ones elsewhere. Though seeing all of that work go up in flames stings.”

How is he not angrier?

“I am,” he says, finally looking at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you a proper punishment later.”

I swallow at that, not wanting to find out what he might consider a proper punishment .

He looks at his hands, black from the ash on his clothes and in his hair. He grumbles something under his breath then proceeds toward his quarters without sparing me another glance.

For a few moments, I stand there, looking at the open library doors until I find the courage to go inside. My arms fall to my sides, and I fight the urge to turn away. I quiver upon seeing the damage. I don’t understand how I was able to make such a stupid mistake.

A few bookcases still stand, the books inside somewhat intact. Others are only partially burned, but most of them are completely gone. The furniture in the heart of the library is nothing but piles of smoldering wood. The hardwood floor is blackened by the fire in most places, as is the wall that holds the fireplace and parts of the ceiling above it. I sigh and squat in front of the remnants of the fireplace. My eyes dart all over the room, and I find myself mumbling, wondering if there’s anything I can do to make it at least a little bit better.

“You could start by cleaning up the place.”

He stands behind me, his hair still damp from washing up.

Without hesitating, I get back up and start to cast a series of spells—to clean up the ashes, remove the debris, restore the furniture that isn’t completely destroyed. The damaged books remain unchanged by my spells, so I collect them in a separate bookcase, uncertain of what to do with them.

He keeps a close eye on me while I work, leaning against the open doors. He can now see the whole library, his sight no longer obstructed by the bookcases that used to be there, only further accentuating my shameful mistake.

Cleanup progresses at a slow but steady pace, because I don’t want to make the spells too big and complicated. All the while I’m thinking about what I’m going to do next. He was right in saying that I shouldn’t just accept it, that I shouldn’t let that man and his legacy haunt me forever. Which is what will happen if I let things be. But in order to be able to do something, I need more power. He said that I would be able to use his magic as my own, but I have no idea how that’s supposed to happen or work.

I throw him a look from over my shoulder, suddenly wondering how he plans to have us married. Will there be a wedding?

The thought actually makes me shudder. I had never considered myself to be someone that would or could remarry. Then again, I also never considered that any of this was possible, let alone that it could happen. At the same time, I wonder again what he will be getting out of a marriage. How will this arrangement benefit him? Because it has to, otherwise there would be no reason for him to even offer me this, to bind himself to me like that. Which means that I don’t like it, despite not having much of a choice.

He spoke the truth before, I know that much, because I feel that I’ve nearly reached the limit of my capabilities. It’s almost like a physical ceiling, right there when I raise my arms. I want to do more. I want to become stronger, so much stronger. I know that I’m capable of more, but the “power” just isn’t there. In other words, I’m going to need all the help that I can get.

I’ll deal with whatever he wants when the time comes.

Cleaning up the fireplace in the center of the library, I find some remnants of the skulls—two almost complete sets of teeth—somehow untouched by both magic and fire. Some spells are stronger when they are able to draw power from a piece of the intended, so I carefully pocket them. Then I get a fire started again, the flames casting long shadows over the empty floor and walls, its heat not really reaching me.

Once I’m done with the cleanup, I go to him and humble myself before him so as not to anger him any further.

“I’m sorry,” I say whilst trying not to make eye contact or fidget. “I truly am. ”

“Look at me,” he snaps, and I immediately do as I’m told, my head shooting up to face him.

He’s still angry, but there is something else there as well. “You can hate me all you want.” The ferocity in his voice has me taking a step back. “But if you’re going to be my wife, you cannot fear me.”

I stand there blinking at him, my words caught in my throat as I come to realize something. The fear I initially felt toward him has slowly been disappearing. Logically, I know that he has a use for me, so he won’t kill me, at least. That shouldn’t be enough for me to stop fearing him, though. And yet, it’s no longer fear of him , just fear of what he might do . And even that is slowly being replaced by something that I can’t quite name—yet.

“Good,” he says, catching on to my thoughts, baring his teeth in a wide smile. “Because even though I do quite enjoy your fear, it won’t do either of us any good in the long run.”

I’m not certain what to make of those words, and he can tell, for my blatant confusion makes him laugh. “Go get cleaned up,” he says, pushing himself away from the door. “I have preparations to make.”

B ack in my room, I take the teeth out of my pocket and slip them into a pouch to put away with the feather and the antique gold coin. I’ll find a use for them, some ideas already forming in my mind.

It’s only when the water from the shower hits me that I notice how much ash covers me. Exhaustion hits me as it washes away, disappearing down the drain. My mind wanders all over the place, thinking about what I’m to do next, the truly unforgivable acts that I’m planning. It’s looking even worse than when I was willing to sacrifice half a city to escape from here .

To top it off, doubt lingers in my mind. I know that I need him and the magic he can give me if I want to sort out the last part of my revenge. But why am I so willing to tie myself to this man that I know nothing about? A man that Sophia described as a monster, a man that already did monstrous things to me. I don’t even know why my feelings toward him are changing. He certainly hasn’t done anything to warrant it.

Biting the inside of my cheek, the hot water still cascading down my back, I start to wonder. Is it perhaps because, compared to any other man thus far in my life, he’s the most decent one? I’m biting so hard that I taste blood in my mouth, knowing that it’s true while also realizing how messed up that is.

My hand searches out the tiles, my palms splayed against them to ground me as my head hangs between my shoulders.

Yes, he took me against my will. But did he? Every other man has been worse. Henry made it a sport to abuse me whichever way he could think of. The man hired to kill me raped me instead, and then went on to sell me like I wasn’t a living, breathing human being. The men after… I don’t know if they knew it was against my will or not, but they certainly didn’t seem to care. And then there are those green eyes that haunt me. I’m still unable to place them.

“Urgh,” I mumble, my voice breaking as realization sets in. “He’s the most human of them all, and I don’t even think he’s human.”

But I can’t back down now. For one, I won’t be able to live with the idea that Henry’s blood still runs strong through his descendants. Second, I’m certain that he won’t let me go back on my word. I accepted his offer; there’s no undoing that. I don’t even know if he’ll let me go home after all is said and done. Will I even be strong enough to escape him if he won’t let me? To kill him?

Do I even want to escape him? This place, most definitely. But him? I don’t know, and that terrifies me. It terrifies me that I don’t know what to think about him, what to feel about him.

I’m not even sure if I really hate him.

Once I finish up in the bathroom, I quickly find myself standing in front of the library doors once more, feeling genuinely horrible for the destruction I caused. With a deep breath, I open the doors and step inside. My feet feel heavy and get heavier with every step that I take, because with every step deeper inside, the extent of the damage hits me anew.

There is a soreness in my throat when I find that the books that survived the fire no longer speak to me. It’s as if their magic left them, or they’re angry with me because of what I did. Both options are equally plausible , I think as my fingers gently touch their spines. My lip quivers, yet I’m incapable of crying. I haven’t been able to for a while now, as if my tears have all dried up.

“I hope that you realize how many centuries of work you destroyed.” His voice comes from behind me and is laced with anger.

I don’t blame him for it. It’s undeniably my fault, the result of my rash and anger-driven action. I wish I could undo it. “I won’t pretend that I know,” I reply sincerely, not bothering to turn and face him. “I do know how bad I feel about it.”

“You feel bad about it?” He comes closer to me, his viciousness preceding him and mixing into a strange yet delectable cocktail with that soft hum, sending chills down my spine. “Feeling bad about it doesn’t change anything.”

I bite my tongue, desperately attempting to hold back a retort. Turning around to face him, I flinch when I find him standing right behind me, our noses almost touching and my chest nearly grazing his. My magic involuntarily snaps out at him from being startled. It’s an uncontrolled surge, flowing away from me and toward him in waves resembling water.

He doesn’t even move out of the way. Blackness shimmers around him, and my magic crashes then flows around him like an ocean against a breakwater. It rolls past him and straight to a bookcase filled with undamaged books. No longer protected by their magic, they take the hit like any normal book would. They practically implode on impact, scattering pages everywhere. But I don’t care anymore, my anger and hatred consuming me.

He’s able to read my face like an open book, seeing and knowing every little thing that goes through me, and it ticks me off even more. A second, slightly more controlled spell shoots out, and he blocks it just as easily.

As I get ready for a third attempt, he moves forward and has my wrist in his grasp before I’m able to cause any more damage. He exerts so much pressure that I wince. I do the next best thing and try to kick him. My foot connects, but he doesn’t even flinch, which makes me swear at him instead.

He looks so calm and composed while I’ve lost my senses. How I would like to scratch his eyes out and wipe that infuriating smirk of his too-handsome face. My other hand lunges out to do exactly that, and he simply grabs hold of that one as well.

He gathers both of my wrists in his hands, pressing them together. Then he proceeds to lift me up and spin me around. Before I know it, he slams me onto my back on top of the only desk still standing. His hands hold my arms above my head, pressing them into the wooden tabletop. As I go to kick at him again, he swiftly moves himself between my legs, effectively holding me in place.

He grins at me, fully aware of the fact that I’m at his mercy in every way. The look he gives me, how he devours me with his eyes, that smirk around his lips... I can tell, and feel, that he wants to ravage me. I want him to.

He keeps one hand around my wrists and moves the other to my shoulder, keeping me pinned to the desk. Then he bends forward and kisses me, long and hard. I arch into the kiss but, as I do, he breaks away.

“I guess now is as good a time as any,” he whispers.

He steps back and pulls me up from the desk, every trace of whatever that was just now wiped away. He’s giving me emotional whiplash—even putting it like that is still an understatement. The way he switches between moods has me utterly confused. I stand there blinking at him, my chest heaving and my head dizzy from the impact against the desk. And then, most importantly, there’s the fact that I’m left hungry for what I assumed was to come.

I can’t even think straight anymore.

“You sure have changed,” he remarks, chuckling like he can tell what’s going through my mind.

“And whose fault would that be?” I snap back, pressing a palm against my pounding head.

It makes him laugh louder, but I also see approval in his eyes. I silently curse, starting to see that perhaps I’m in way over my head. That I really am changing.