Torn Ivy (Thornfield Supernatural Academy #2)

37. Bram

37

brAM

I stare at my hands, willing even the smallest flicker of magick to appear. Nothing. The hollowness inside me is a gaping void where my power used to reside. I’ve never felt so empty, so utterly useless. Tapping into my royal power on a level I haven’t had since I came to this realm was more complicated than I thought it would be. Then, I had to dig even deeper than that. The Ancient Fae are part of my lineage. The Royal lineage. I’m directly descended, not some watered-down version like most of the Dark Fae running around. I didn’t even know I was capable of channelling their shit. To be honest, I didn’t even know it existed.

I fucking do now.

Black veins.

Scarab Beetles crawling under my skin, which raises a whole shit ton of questions.

Fucking vomiting out snakes.

“Err, guys. Where’s the snake?”

“It slithered off into the bushes,” Cathy murmurs. “I wasn’t going to chase it. Should we?” she asks, nose scrunched up but looking determined if the need arises.

“Maybe it’s a good idea,” I mutter, standing up.

“Let me go get some tools,” she says and marches off with brutal efficiency I’m grateful for because I can’t think for shit right now.

Torin glances over at me as I stand up, his expression grim. “Still nothing?”

I shake my head. “It’s like it’s been ripped out by the roots. I can feel where it should be, but there’s just... nothing.”

He nods sympathetically and sucks on his blood bag. “Give it time. We’ve all paid a heavy price for this ritual.”

I glare at him in annoyance. He seems just dandy now he’s got a mouthful of blood. Even the wound on his wrist is gone. My gaze shifts to Tate and it’s like being hit in the gut by a dragon claw. “Some more than others.”

Cathy returns with a heavy-duty drawstring bag, a couple of hooks and some thick gloves. “Right, let’s go demon snake hunting. Though I’m not sure what we’ll do with it if we catch the damn thing.”

“Ancient Fae,” I mutter.

“Hmm?” she murmurs.

“Not demon. Ancient Fae,” I say louder.

“Well, that makes it all better now, doesn’t it?” Her sarcastic smile makes me snicker.

“Sorry, I’m spicy today.”

“Aren’t we all, young prince? Aren’t we all?”

We head outside, scanning the overgrown garden for any sign of the serpent. The ritual circle is still scorched into the grass, a sharp reminder of what we’ve done.

“There!” Torin points to a flash of scales disappearing under a bush.

We converge on the spot, Cathy wielding the hook like a weapon. As we push aside the branches, we see it. A sleek black snake with eerily intelligent eyes. It rears up, hissing at us.

“Careful,” I warn. “We don’t know what kind of magick it might possess.”

“Or what thing from the bowels of hell possesses it ,” Torin mutters.

Cathy lunges forward with the hook, a braver creature than me, but the snake is faster. It slithers between her legs and makes a beeline for the house.

“Shit!” Torin curses. “It’s heading for Ivy!”

We race after it, bursting through the back door. The snake slithers across the kitchen floor with unnatural speed, heading straight for the living room where Ivy is resting.

“Stop it!” I yell, though I know it’s futile. Without my magick, I’m powerless to do anything.

Torin vaults over the kitchen counter, using his vampire speed to try to cut off the snake’s path. But it’s too late. The serpent slides under the couch where Ivy is sleeping.

“Fuck!” Cathy swears, brandishing her hook. “We need to get her out of there.”

We approach cautiously, unsure of what the serpent might do. Ivy stirs at the commotion, blinking up at us in confusion.

“What’s going on?” she asks groggily.

“Don’t move,” Torin says cautiously. “There’s a snake under the couch.”

Ivy’s eyes widen in alarm, but she remains still. “A snake?”

“Not just any snake,” I explain grimly. “It’s magickal.”

Cathy moves forward with the hook, ready to try and fish the creature out. But before she can, the snake emerges on its own.

It slithers up onto Ivy’s lap, coiling itself around her arm. I tense, ready to lunge forward and rip it off her if necessary. But Ivy doesn’t look afraid. If anything, she seems fascinated by the creature.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, watching as the serpent winds its way up her arm. Its scales shimmer with a mystical iridescence, shifting colours in the light.

“Ivy, don’t move,” I say cautiously. “We don’t know what it’s capable of.”

But she doesn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes are locked on the serpent as it makes its way to her shoulder. Then, to our horror, it begins to slither around her neck.

“Ivy!” Torin grits out, taking a step forward.

She holds up a hand, stopping him. “Don’t,” she says. “It’s mine.”

“What do you mean, it’s yours?” I ask carefully.

Ivy strokes the serpent’s head, a serene smile on her face, but she doesn’t answer me. It’s like she doesn’t even hear me.

Torin and I exchange worried glances. This can’t be good. I glance around for Tate, but he is nowhere to be found.

That snake is Ancient Fae magick, black and unpredictable. Having it bonded to Ivy can’t be a good thing.

“Maybe we should try to remove it,” Torin suggests cautiously.

Ivy’s eyes flash with sudden anger. “No! You can’t take it from me. It’s mine.”

The vehemence in her voice takes us all aback. This isn’t the Ivy we know. Her tone and her possessiveness over this dangerous creature are all wrong.

“Ivy,” I say carefully, “That snake came from the ritual to bring you back. We don’t know what kind of magick it possesses or what it might do to you. Please, let us remove it safely.”

She glares at me, her eyes flashing with purple light. “You don’t understand. It’s part of me now. I need it.”

The snake tightens its coils around her neck, but Ivy shows no signs of distress. If anything, she seems comforted by its presence.

“What do you mean, it’s part of you?” Torin asks, his voice tight with concern.

Ivy strokes the serpent’s scales, a dreamy smile on her face. “It knows me. All of me, across every dimension. It’s the only thing that feels right.”

A chill runs down my spine at her words. This creature seems to have latched onto the scattered fragments of Ivy’s essence that we pulled back together. But at what cost?

“Ivy,” Cathy says gently, “I know everything feels confusing right now. But that snake could be dangerous. Please, let us help you.”

For a moment, Ivy’s expression wavers, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But then the snake hisses softly, and she shakes her head.

“No,” she says firmly. “It stays with me.”

We stare at her, at a loss for words. If we try to remove that snake from her grasp, she will fight us, that much is clear.

The question is, what hold does it have on her, and how the fuck can we break it?