Unblessed Witch (Phases of the Moon #4)

15. Deva

15

DEVA

Lazaro was out of his damn mind if he thought I was going to leave him. I would never run from Lazaro. More than once he’d made me promise I wouldn’t, and I didn’t plan on breaking that.

Tears filled my eyes as I wrapped my arms around him, fury causing my heart to pump loudly in my ears. Blood soaked my hands that were pressed against his back, the sword having been ripped from his chest. The monster that had attacked Lazaro was gone—Alek and Oz had made sure of that. Alek’s power had collapsed over him the minute Oz’s body collided with the fucker, knocking him away from their teammate. But the damage had been done.

It felt like the world slowed as war raged around us, my gaze completely fixed on Lazaro as a glowing orb of brilliant lunar magic exploded out of his chest.

Searing heat hit my face, and blasts of harsh desert-like wind whipped around the two of us as I held him close. A shock of power so intense in magnitude that it caused the earth underneath us to crack, broke out from my lunar witch. My ears rang and blood leaked from my nose as the sounds of battle were replaced by agonizing screams of pure suffering.

This was the true strength of Lazaro’s magic, and it was terrifying.

Hot tears streamed down my face as his magic suddenly snapped back into his body, making it jolt like it was seizing up. I gripped him tighter as my gaze was pulled up, finding that what was left in the wake of his power was pure…destruction.

My vision was spotty from the force of his magic hitting me, but I was unharmed outside of that. I was one of the very few—outside of my men—that could claim that. Bubbles of shadow magic surrounded groups of black cloaked figures from the Society, but the enemy…there was no enemy left standing.

The crack of shadow orbs breaking around us, paired with Grim’s voice demanding our retreat, broke me out of my frozen state.

Without a word, I portalled Lazaro and I back to the center of camp. The wards cracked under the force of my magic, unable to stop me from slipping through. Our physical bodies manifested as loud thunder cracked over our heads and rain began to pour down heavily in cold, hard sheets.

I didn’t think about who was around—I didn’t care. There was only one priority now that we were safely away from the bloodshed, and it was Lazaro. Only Lazaro. Helping him, saving him. If his magic was depleted and he had nothing to pull on…no. Absolutely not.

My gaze ran over his chalky face as I tracked his barely there pulse. I would not lose Lazaro. Throwing my cloak to the side, I used my athame to cut open his shirt, revealing the lethal wound slowly seeping blood. Fuck.

“He’s going to bleed out.”

I blocked out the somewhat familiar voice, not needing to hear things I already knew.

At just the thought of my intention, my magic swelled up as runes pulsed under my skin, and I allowed myself to surrender to my magic.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t breathe.

I didn’t even imagine the house I normally conjured. I just closed my eyes and placed my hands over his injury, floating but barely touching, as I listened to his heartbeat. To my heartbeat. To the sturdy strum that connected me to Lazaro and my other men. With a single exhale, I allowed my magic to flow into him, giving him as much of me as possible.

I could feel his heartbeat, as if my hand was wrapped around his heart, and a tremble underneath me told me that the earth was responding to my magic. I had no idea what havoc it was wreaking, but it would be worth it if he survived.

A blinding light suddenly pierced my closed lids, and I opened my eyes to find my moonstone shining from the center of my chest, coating Lazaro in a silvery light. A crack sounded as I winced, my chest being wrenched forward. I cried out in pain but refused to let go of the thread of magic I was working with. The pain was nothing compared to what he was going through.

When Lazaro’s moonstone piece began to shine, a shaky breath left me, color returning to his skin. It was working…I was healing Lazaro.

At that moment, I realized that the moonstone was simply a power source, a conductor between us. The bond I had with my men was unexplainable, not something that could be pinpointed by what we knew about my magic or the heart.

My heart beat for these men, and because of that I planned on protecting theirs—even if it meant bringing them back from the brink of death. My gaze traced the skin that began to heal and graft back together, awe filling me at what my magic was able to do.

For so long, all I’d done was kill.

But this time I was healing. I was doing the opposite of what I’d been conditioned to expect from magic. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to focus, not wanting to ruin the process by being distracted. Not when we’d come so far.

It could have been minutes.

It could have been hours.

It could have been years.

Finally, Lazaro’s heartbeat began to sound loudly in my ears, and a low groan had my eyes snapping open once more. Holding Lazaro’s nickel-colored gaze, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my magic. Tears leaked from my eyes and onto him as his hand reached up and smoothed through my hair, holding me against him.

I had done it…I had fucking done it.

“You didn’t run,” Lazaro nearly growled in my ear.

“I promised you. Never. ”

As if my magic had deemed us ‘done,’ the world around us came back alive, the noises of camp and returning troops sounding. But nothing compared to the group that had formed around us. My gaze slowly moved up, past the boots, to find everyone staring at the two of us in shock, including Lazaro’s mother.

Although she recovered fast, kneeling next to Lazaro and grasping my hand. “Thank you, Deva,” she whispered, tugging Lazaro into a hug that seemed to surprise him.

Feeling dazed and more than a bit out of it, I sat back, not wanting to interrupt their moment. I felt a hand brush through my hair, and I briefly heard the men arguing with Lazaro about going to the healer. The woman from the Society who was a medical attendant—Ren, if I remembered correctly—came to talk to him. But I just continued to stare at him and my other men as my adrenaline dipped.

That had been close. Too close. I’d almost lost one of the men I loved.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I pressed my head against them and didn’t move when someone tried to pull me up, despite the cold rain that continued to soak me to the bone. Instead I focused on listening to my breathing and heartbeat, trying to quell the anxiety pounding through my chest.

We couldn’t keep doing this. I know we had lost people this time; I could sense the panic around us. I could hear voices talking about the enemy being slaughtered and their forces retreating to the compound. But I could also hear the shouts for healers and smell the scent of blood filling the air.

This hadn’t been a win. We had been taken off guard from the start.

The next time we attacked had to be the last—the final big move. The issue was that Astaroth could continue to send out waves of troops of his compound for ages—again and fucking again—until our forces were depleted. A frontal assault wasn’t going to work. But what would? We couldn’t afford to have everyone go through the damn dungeons.

I just didn’t understand. I didn’t understand anything about his motives, and maybe that was the point. Maybe my mom was right and he’d lost any semblance of reason. But why would he have waited until now to start this war? There was something I was missing, something big, and whatever that was, was probably tied to his potential weakness. I just had no idea how to get a better read on the situation.

A sudden thought occurred to me.

Hadn’t he mentioned that the two of us were connected? That he’d used it to get a gauge on what was going on at DIA? It could have been bullshit, but I’d always felt an odd film in the back of my head, like a membrane of his power that hadn’t fully been removed. Even so, whatever connection we’d had hadn’t been strong enough for him to find me in Carmina for two entire years.

But it was something. And maybe, just maybe, I could use it to my advantage this time.

“Starlight.” Oz’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. The group around us had cleared, leaving me mostly alone with my men, minus Lazaro and Grim, who had accompanied him to the medical center. I probably should’ve gone too, but I’d been too out of it. Now I stared at Oz with what I’m positive was a look of confusion.

“Are you okay, zaya ?” Alek asked.

“Just glad Lazaro is okay.”

“He did not want to go to that medical tent without you. Pitched a whole fit about it.” Cage shook his head as if amused. “So dramatic.”

“I didn’t even hear that.” I blinked, rubbing my throbbing temples. “I was thinking about how I could use this potential odd connection I have with Astaroth to our advantage. I think I’m going to try to connect with him and garner what information I can. It’s not like he could get anything from me he doesn’t already know since it’s clear he has eyes on us.”

“It’s still dangerous,” Alek warned.

“I know,” I said. “But I want to do this. We need something more, something that’s going to give us an edge on him, or else we’re going to lose more than half our forces just trying to get to the compound.”

The three of them didn’t disagree vocally, and that told me everything I needed to know. They were well aware of how dire the situation was.

Standing up, I stabilized myself on Oz’s arm and walked back toward our tent, wanting to be out of the public eye. I had no doubt that my magic had made quite the show when I was healing Lazaro, but I had no idea what would happen while attempting to connect with Astaroth’s magic.

Ducking into the tent, I instantly felt my chest relax. The familiar scent of my men calmed me considerably. Sitting down on the floor, I leaned my back against my cot, not wanting to get Lazaro’s blood on anything. My brow dipped momentarily, pushing past the ache of my head, as I considered whether to do a ritual spell circle or not…I didn’t think it was necessary.

I closed my eyes and thought back to the night when I had found my hands covered in blood—or thought they’d been. I was pretty sure now that it had been him reaching out to me through that unwanted connection. If he’d been able to do that fairly easily, I probably didn’t need to do anything more than search for it.

Whether or not I would find it was another question. After all, a lot had changed with my magic since it had awoken fully.

“Just make sure I don’t blow up the camp,” I warned my men. Cage smirked, but the other two remained extremely serious, watching me with concern. Inhaling, I let my body sink back against the cot and tried to feel out my subconscious space. Oddly enough, I was able to slip into it quite easily.

“Back here again,” I murmured to myself, looking up at the fortress that had warm glowing lights shining through the windows. Except the house seemed different now, more complete. There was even a stone fence and landscaping around it.

Clearly, my magic was feeling a bit better.

The door opened for me and I slipped into the grand foyer, the fireplace crackling in a room nearby. I briefly noticed that on the wood floor, carved deep, were runes that seemed decorative in nature. I was tempted to run my hand along them but instead continued through the foyer toward the back door of the house and onto the porch. If I was going to find Astaroth, it wasn’t going to be in here.

“That’s new,” I said as I looked around the lush back yard. This hadn’t existed the last time I’d been here, black and purple flowers lining a pathway that led to a fountain. Once again, though, all of this was far too beautiful for Astaroth.

Wherever it was that he existed in my head, it was going to be a place of darkness. Of sadness. Not one of beauty.

Walking to the edge of the back yard, I found a small black gate that led out into a grassy field. My subconscious world seemed to be ever expanding. Not far from the comfort of my home was a large silver door that sat on top of the earth.

Walking over to it, I used my strength to pull it open.

The scent of death filled the air, and flies flew out. Even they wanted to escape. Wrinkling my nose and reminding myself that this was inside my own damn head, I walked down the set of stairs carved into the ground, lanterns lighting the way. A bit of fear had my chest tightening, but when the room revealed itself, I found myself confused.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected to find, but an empty cement room with a large screen on the wall wasn’t it. I hadn’t even seen half of the things my brain was creating in real life, so I had no idea where this was coming from.

Still, I trusted that my magic knew what it was doing.

As I sat down in the center of the floor, the screen lit up, pulling me into a scene that was so visceral it felt like I was truly there.

“Please, sir. you have to understand?—”

The man’s voice was replaced by a scream as shadows wrapped around him, blood seeping out from under the mass, barely visible in the darkened room. My gaze moved around, instantly recognizing it as Astaroth’s compound. Silver cloaked figures lined the walls, unmoving, as they watched their comrade be slaughtered by the man in charge.

“Understand?” Astaroth’s voice was filled with a seething anger that made my hair stand on end. “I will not tolerate, let alone understand, another loss like today! Nearly two hundred of you worthless imbeciles were eviscerated by some boy and the Society’s efforts. We had the upper hand! We had the element of surprise, and somehow you managed to fucking lose!”

The room shook on his final roar, and no one said a word as he stepped into the light. Something was wrong with him. Most of his face was hidden, but his power was wobbly, unstable. Zapping off of him in green and yellow bolts.

“You have exactly one night to figure out a new solution. Go. Now.”

The screen flipped to a new scene.

A skeletal hand, white and covered in runes, reached out toward the mirror—the viewpoint as if it was my own hand and I was looking down. The room was pitch black except for the glow the hand emitted. Something was horribly wrong with the runes on the skin. They seemed to be infected and were pulsating with painful electric bolts.

Suddenly, the view snapped up and I found myself looking into Astaroth’s eyes, his hood falling back to reveal his face. My breath whooshed out of me because I had never seen him like this. His hair was patchy, halfway gone, and while I could feel immense power coming off of him, it felt volatile. His eyes were completely black and rimmed in red. He looked ill.

My eyes adjusted as the screen was filled with a much brighter image.

“At the pace you’re going, I’m not sure how stable your power will remain—or how many rituals you can withstand before…” The man with the deep voice let out a long sigh as Astaroth appeared in the corner of the room, dressed in all black. “What I’m saying is that you’re putting yourself in danger.”

“You worry too much,” Astaroth mused as he walked around the office, looking exactly as I remembered him. “Besides, I know of at least two others who have survived more.”

“I know it was before my time serving you, but from your notes and observations, as well as what others have said…

“Deva may have been young, but she had the capacity to contain power that was unlike anything we’ve ever seen. She also didn’t have such cemented power. She was far more pliable.”

“Are you saying I can’t withstand as much?” Astaroth snapped. I had a feeling we were going back in time with these memories because this was much more like the Astaroth I knew and hated.

“I didn’t say that. I just worry.” The man sighed. He seemed to be in a constant state of indifference, at odds with the concern he was expressing.

“Don’t worry,” Astaroth said, flipping back into a good mood. “Now, what have you found?”

“There is a containment spell that would work on the territory.” His words had my eyes widening. “But I can only assure that it would work on blessed witches, because it targets their magic. On a small scale, it locks magic inside of the power user to keep it from being drained as a defensive mechanism. On a bigger scale…well, your idea could work.”

“But it wouldn’t work on unblessed?” Astaroth’s jaw clenched. “Always a fucking problem. What is the spell?”

When the man turned the book toward him, the screen suddenly shut off.

Shit.

Rubbing my head, I stared at the screen for a moment longer before evaluating everything I had learned. Astaroth was sick, presumably from doing the ritual too often. He’d also been planning for some time to use a spell to contain the power of Carmina. So was he putting a rush on the plan now because he was sick? It made sense.

Maybe he assumed if he had enough magic to draw on, that he would be okay. Which meant he absolutely could not do that spell. I didn’t know what spell it could be, but I knew someone who would.

My magic released me the instant I decided that I wanted to wake up. I inhaled sharply, finding myself in a dark tent. I must have been exploring my own head for a while, because the candle nearby was close to burning out. Looking around, I noticed Lazaro was sleeping in his bed and Alek’s eyes were closed.

“Little jaguar, you’re back.” Grimshaw sat forward, having been leaning back against the cot like myself.

“We need to call another meeting. I think I know what we need to do.”