Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(107)

“Why?” I ask again. Although I’m not really looking for a reason. Not anymore. Because there is no reason, at least none that doesn’t speak of a life of bitterness and jealousy compounded by the kind of corruption that only comes from throwing oneself headfirst into darkness.

Tsura’s eyes harden at the question, her face frozen in a mask I’ve never seen from her before. But then her lips curl upward and she hisses, “Because I can.”

She extends a hand toward me, her mouth moving rapidly in a spell I have no hope of comprehending. Lightning dances across her fingertips as she gathers the power, condenses it, and I brace myself as I scramble to my feet. I don’t know if I can fight her, but I know that I don’t want to die lying on the floor staring up at her.

Electricity is arcing through the room now, dancing across the ceiling and skimming down the walls. It feels like it’s going to blow up at any second and I only pray that it doesn’t take the whole house—and Shelby—with it when it goes.

Tsura tosses her head back, lifts her arms above her head, and screams the last few words of the spell. I dive for the couch, hoping to get behind it before she lets loose all that power, but I’m a few seconds too late. With a shout of triumph, she lets the electricity loose—all of it headed straight for me.

I brace myself for the hit, but it never comes. One second I’m leaping toward the back of the couch and the next the electricity slams into something in midair and dissipates in an instant—the way fire winks out in a vacuum.

Tsura screams—this time in outrage—and we turn in time to watch Declan stride into the room.

Tsura howls, starts spinning a spell even as she leaps across the room at him. Terror, rage, determination explode through me—it’s been less than a day since Declan was nearly burned alive because of her. He may look fine, standing there, but I don’t believe he is fine. Not yet. And there is no way that bitch is taking anyone else from me. And certainly not Declan.

But my powers—seeing the dead, connecting with them—don’t lend themselves to this kind of magical showdown. I have nothing to hurl at her, no spell to stop her in her tracks. So, in the end, I do the only thing I can. I grab one of the heavy, stained glass lamps off an end table and leap after her.

She’s already attacking Declan, and though he manages to dodge her assault, I know it’s only a matter of time before something gets through. Tsura has the power of four Councilors running through her veins; their magic is sparking so violently inside her that it’s miraculous that she can even contain it.

Declan sends some of his own power back at her, and she’s not fast enough to get around it. I gasp as the blast hits, and I wait, expecting to see her stumble. Or fall. Declan packs a powerful punch and I can’t imagine anyone standing up under a full assault from him. But Tsura merely latches onto the power he exudes, and pulls it into herself.

That’s when I know for sure that he’s holding back—either because he’s too weak or because he doesn’t want to hurt my aunt, doesn’t want to hurt me. I want to scream at him to finish her, that this power-crazed woman in front of me bears no resemblance to the woman I knew in my childhood. But it’s too late, there’s too much going on. Already, I can see her preparing to turn that added breadth of power back on Declan.

I leap through the air, brandishing the lamp like a baseball bat, and crash it into the back of her skull with every ounce of rage and strength I have inside me.

Tsura drops like a stone.

For long seconds, I can’t believe it. I stand over her, lamp at the ready, prepared to beat her to death at the smallest provocation. But she doesn’t move, and eventually I allow Declan to pull the lamp from my numb hands.

I stand there, staring down at her, and feel a darkness take over me in full force. I want to injure her, to kill her, to rip her limb from limb for what she’s done to my family and to Shelby. I don’t give a shit about the Councilors and am not about to pretend that I do, but Hannah? Rachael? Declan? My father? I want nothing more than to make sure that she never gets the chance to do this again.

I reach into the small of Declan’s back, pull out the athame he always carries. Slowly unsheathe it. He watches me with steady eyes and I know—I know—he wants to be the one to kill her. To plunge the dagger through her chest and end her for everything she’s done. Everything she’s put us through.

The thought calls to me, his darkness seducing mine out of hiding until it fills me up, until it seeps into my every pore and envelops all that I am. All that I stand for.

There’s a part of me, a small part, that is screaming for me to stop. To wait. To think. I’m not interested in listening, though. Instead, I lean forward and prepare to commit murder.