Three hundred years?
Her angel smiled innocently. “Because that’s what I do, Harrison. I know things. I admit I was a little distracted when you took your unexpected holiday. I hadn’t seen that coming. When you’re in there you lose track of the outside world. But I’ve known about Callie for years now, and I knew Jenner would tell her when the time was right. I also knew that my sister, the most powerful witch of her generation, would join forces with the rest of this talented family and find the answers I couldn’t. Find a way to grant Sarah Blackwood her freedom.”
His smile dimmed as though recalling something sad and Sarah frowned. No one as beautiful as he was should ever be sad.
“I told you I was looking for our ancestor, remember? He was the you of his generation, Harrison. The most powerful. From my research, he was looking into a way to break some kind of complicated spell—this spell, but disappeared without a trace before he could. Once I arrived, I literally stumbled on his location. That is, after my first death.”
Sarah was confused. No one had tried to break the spell. She’d never sensed anyone other than her true tormentor during those first, horrifying years. And even he eventually stopped coming. There had been no one else until Lorie. Who was he talking about? What had he found?
The young Harrison must have read her mind. “What did you find? And what the hell do you mean by first death?”
Lorie’s sharp laugh was filled with anger and pain. “You don’t want to know. And besides discovering that the third part of my triad had been tortured for centuries in a book I’d walked past in the library for as long as I can remember? When I woke in my designated spot for round two of the killing games, I found a body. Our ancestor’s body to be exact. He’d been murdered and pushed into the spell along with her, by one of the people who put her in there in the first place, I imagine. It had to have happened before he was placed inside; otherwise the power of the curse would have revived him. The same way it kept reviving me.”
The matching expressions of disgust and sorrow were, in an odd way, comforting to Sarah. They stood in stark contrast with the remembered sneers of delight she’d seen before she was locked away.
The water spilled out of her shaking hands, breaking the spell. This was too much. All of it. No one had come in to drown her. No mob was banging on the door demanding entry to kill the witch. She had touched people. Spoken to people. People who seemed genuinely disturbed at the idea of others suffering. Perhaps it was true and she was finally free.
Something else Lorie had said struck her. Triad. Did he actually believe that she, Sarah Blackwood, was part of his triad? It was inconceivable. Was that why he’d stayed? He’d suffered, she’d seen it. Truly suffered. For her? Because of what he imagined she was?
She could recall with crystal clarity how painful her first death had been. How disorienting and emotionally disturbing it was to be slain, over and over again, for being a witch. He’d risked that damage for her? This angel had died in her name?
“No.” She banged her fists in the water. That wasn’t why she’d been trying to escape. That wasn’t in her plans. She’d held on for hundreds of years based on the slim thread of hope that she would find a way out, discover the fate of her loved ones and destroy whatever remained of the ones responsible for what she’d become.
Three hundred years and more had passed. There was no future for her. No future she recognized. The notion was almost laughable. Impossible. She was too damaged. Too broken. Her soul too chipped away, despite her healing ability’s return.
The door flew open, banging against the counter. She was lifted out of the water before she realized she’d been screaming and banging her hands against the tiled wall. They ached, but she didn’t care. That was real. Pain was real. This group, these strangers meant nothing to her. They were as insubstantial as her illusions.
“Hush, babe. You’re breaking my heart. Please stop,” he murmured as he rocked her in his embrace. He was so strong; her weight seemed to be nothing to him. She rested her bruised hands on his shoulders, feeling like a feather in his arms. She wasn’t used to feeling this weak. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with us. What scared you?”
Sarah allowed her fingers to open, and then curl into his flesh through the fabric of his buttoned shirt. He was truly handsome—the small scar along his strong jaw, the laugh lines around his eyes. But she couldn’t let his features distract her.
“I’m no simpleton,” she growled, digging her nails into his flesh and wondering at the sensual thrill she derived from the savage act. It was almost as satisfying as the clenching of his jaw. “I do not require lies to ease me. I require answers and my freedom, nothing more.”