Heavy is the Crown: A Gothic Grove Novel, page 27
Shadow
(“I Would Die for You” – In This Moment)
Weeks. That's how long it’s been since Ava was taken. Weeks of torment, feeling her down that bond until last night, when she was suddenly cut off from us, the feeling like a rusted piece of metal stabbing me in the heart. But that was nothing compared to the agonized scream of Drago as he collapsed to the ground, finally succumbing to all the feelings he had been trying to keep locked down. Whereas I’ve felt too much my whole life and tried to numb it out, Drago has always locked his emotions away, and the sudden cut off from Ava cracked that box wide open, flooding him with everything.
I push my hand into my pocket, feeling the crumpled-up piece of paper I’ve carried around with me ever since I found it, addressed to me. She knew what would happen if she was taken, and yet, she still let it happen. She knew how Drago would fall apart, and how it would be up to me to keep us afloat. Even if Ava hadn’t left us those fucking letters, making me promise to watch over Drago, I still would be.
I look over to him where he stands in the frost-covered forest next to Astrea and Ciaran. His hair is a mess since he can’t seem to stop pushing his hands through it. His normal dress pants and shirt have been discarded for sweats and a hooded sweatshirt. He looks beautifully wrecked, and it shatters my already broken heart.
We will get her back, my dragon growls. No argument in his tone.
I know.
Because there is no alternative for Drago and me. We either get her back or die trying. We won’t be leaving Hell without her. Which is exactly why we find ourselves standing outside in the freezing morning air as we wait for Jackson to portal in. Drago had been hesitant to involve Astrea and Ciaran, but we don’t stand a chance without them, which I reminded him of. He isn’t happy about it.
Glancing over at the two, I can’t blame him entirely. They are both different, their energy shifted, even outside the fact that Ciaran hid being from Hell.
Samhain lets out a caw as he flutters down onto my shoulder, the familiar suddenly attached to me now that Ava is gone. Another caw echoes through the woods, which have gone eerily quiet. A warning. We all go on high alert, each pulling our magic up and at the ready.
The air shimmers as a portal opens in front of us, and I see familiar blond hair come into view. Jackson is followed closely by another man with rich toffee skin covered in whirls of tattoos, and when his blue and green eyes lock onto me, I let out a hiss.
“El Dador de la Muerte. The Giver of Death,” Drago rumbles, and I don’t have to look to see that he’s starting to shift slowly.
A soft chuckle comes from the newcomer. “Hola, Drago.” He nods toward me. “Shadow.”
“What are you doing here, Dios?” I ask, my eyes bouncing between the two men. They seem oddly familiar with one another. Dios, or as most know him, El Dador de la Muerte, is part of the Primal Knights MC. Last we heard, he was Demon’s sergeant at arms. What he was doing with the king of Hell was a mystery to me and worrying.
Jackson steps forward, angling his body almost in front of Dios. “He’s with me.”
Astrea moves forward, Onyx snaking around her in his shadow form. Ciaran moves to grab her, but she brushes him off. “How do you two know each other?” She may not know who Dios is, but like calls to like. Her power would recognize someone similar.
Dios offers her a chilling grin, but it’s Jackson who answers. “It doesn’t matter. And he is helping us for now.”
“Helping us with what?” Drago asks. His voice is low, but the fury and grief are thick within it. My heart breaks a little more as I watch my normally stoic mate finally start to crumble.
“Rescuing my sister,” Jackson starts. “And getting my gods damn kingdom back.”
“You’re lucky we don’t gut you right here,” Drago says.
Jackson looks us over, cocking his head to the side. “Ah. Did she tell you, then?”
Drago lets out a snarl that is more animal than man and has me stepping forward without thought. “Drago.” I cut him a sharp look, angling my body between him and Ava’s brother before focusing back on Dios and the king. “She didn’t tell us anything except that we couldn’t kill you. Which, as you can see, is testing the limit of control that we have.”
I watch his fingers start to tap his leg before he shakes out his hand in a quick motion. Dios’s eyes track the movement, too, and I watch the shifter lean in and whisper something. Jackson flushes and clears his throat. “Look, nothing changes. We need to get her out. That’s all that matters—but to do that, we need to get you all into Hell.”
THIRTY-NINE
A Heat Cycle is unbearable for the individual without use of the ritual.
Their bodies are anxious to channel the magic.
They will need sexual release during this time.
For those who are not channeling, they must have a partner to help them.
– Priestess Codex
Ava
(“How Villains Are Made” – Madalen Duke)
Slowly, consciousness begins to take hold of my hazy brain, and I blink open heavy lids to see the canopy of my bed above me. I try to push up, but my body is having a difficult time responding. It feels heavy and sluggish. Almost as if I have strings attached to each limb, and they are pulled taut around me. Unease creeps through me. Once I’m finally seated and my head stops spinning, I look down at my body. No longer in the clothing I passed out in, I find my breasts are banded with white cloth and my legs are covered with a similar white cloth. I feel around my neck and meet the thick band of that golden collar, the cool metal smooth against my fingertips. The leash . . . I follow it with my eyes and see the end of it is now tethered to the bedpost.
“What the fuck?” I murmur. I move to get up, but my body still feels too heavy, still feels attached to something else I’m not seeing. As if I’m trying to push through water while the tide is trying to drag me out.
“Ah, you're awake. Finally.” The dark voice comes from my left as the large door swings open.
Oisin saunters into the room, a smile across his face and his one red eye gleaming. His long hair is slicked back, exposing the jagged scar through his eye. Despite all that, he is still objectively beautiful. Behind him, Harrow follows, her head bowed low, eyes focused on the carpet. Cordelia Fairmore comes in last, her body clearly rotting and hanging on by a thread. Her skin is mottled and gray, her once fine hair hanging in wisps around her scalp.
Instinct has me moving to stand, but my body still won’t work, and my vision swims, making me slouch back down against the pillows behind me.
Oisin comes to a stop in front of the bed. “Ah, yes, the drugs might still be in your system. I did tell Cordelia not to overdo it, but . . .” He shrugs. “She doesn’t always mind. You should be fine by this evening.”
“What have you done to me?” I growl. “You drug and chain up your fiancée? I came to you willingly, and this is how you treat me?”
He keeps his hands in his pockets, smiling at me. “I was truly hoping you would come to me willingly. But your mother knows you best and doesn’t seem to think you’re here with altruistic intentions.”
Stepping forward, he unchains the leash from the bed. The minute his hand touches it, my body responds, as if I have no control over what I’m doing, and that collar tightens around my throat. His lips pull up into a smile, the scar through his eye looking brutal in this light. My magic roars to the surface, toward him, along with the remnants of Drago’s and Shadow’s magic. His eyes roll back in his head, pleasure seeming to swim over his body.
“What the fuck is this?” Dread pools in my belly.
He plays with the chain in his hand before wrapping it around his fist. “It’s truly remarkable, really. This little piece of jewelry will allow me to control you, including how you use your magic. The Mori grimoire offers so many fun little spells, this one in particular. So, you see, I don’t need you willing. In fact,” he adds wickedly, leaning down close, “I would rather you weren’t. It’s my magic now.”
I command my body to rebel, to fight, but he continues to pull from me undisturbed. “The wine. You drugged it with this magic. It activated the collar,” I say as it all clicks into place.
My body goes cold, like all my blood has turned to ice water. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.
“Fuck, your magic feels good,” he pants. I can see it now, shimmering around him in a red haze. His pupils are blown wide, and he bites down on his lower lip as his gaze travels over me. “Oh, Ava, we are going to have so much fun together.”
“They’ll stop you,” I wheeze as my body weakens. “They won’t let you open the gates.”
He lets out a laugh, yanking me into his body. “While I would love Gothic Grove, that was merely a distraction. Keep my brother and his pesky witch occupied while I go in search of what I truly want. What you’ll help me find.”
The reality of the situation guts me as I understand just how fucked I truly am.
“The Well,” I whisper, eyes widening. “You're after the Well.”
His grin widens. “Ah, you finally understand. With you, I’ll have the magic to access it. And with your dragons, I’ll have the means to keep away anyone who would want to stop me.”
He drags his nose up my cheek, and I cringe inwardly, his touch burning. “They won’t help you. They’ll kill you.”
“They’ll help me because you’ll ask them to. You’ll demand they help your new husband. Demand that if they wish to stay with you, they’ll bow to me. Serve me.”
A low growl rumbles through my chest. “They’ll know I’m not here willingly. You may have my magic, but they’ll fucking know.”
He lets out a laugh, pulling on the leash again, and my body responds. I have no control. “I think you’ll find the performance very convincing.” When he presses his lips against my own, I can’t help but respond, my body betraying me to whatever magic is within this fucking collar.
FORTY
While most priestesses are simply witches, every few generations, there is one born who is more powerful.
– Priestess Codex
Astrea
(“California Dreamin’” – Sia)
Stepping into Hell is like walking into a disjointed time capsule. Horse-drawn carriages roll next to motorcycles. Cobblestones line the streets while electric lights buzz overhead. Signs flash, attempting to draw people into the casinos and clubs that line the streets. Individuals stand on balconies beckoning others into pleasure houses next to steampunk-style buildings. I can barely take everything in.
While Gothic Grove abstains from any color, it seems Hell is bursting with it. The sky overhead is a deep shade of red split with light hues of orange. Dusk is upon us, the time of day right before the sky transitions into a burgundy star-freckled oasis. The streets of Hell are abuzz with people and beastly creatures being walked by demons, witches, and cacodemons. All manner of individuals are busy in preparation for the upcoming nuptials.
I have to give it to Jackson, he dressed us well. We each have our part to play to blend in. Unfortunately, my part is the most uncomfortable.
Shadow and Drago wear matching black linen pants that are tight to their bodies. On top, each has a white button-down shirt with a dark button-down vest over it. Both their faces are covered by plague-doctor masks. Power rolls off them in waves, uncontained. It's intoxicating to be around. It also keeps people out of our bubble—citizens skirt around us the moment they hit that wall of power.
Glancing at Ciaran, I see him swipe his hand down the black shirt he has on before rolling up the sleeves. He doesn’t wear a plague mask but instead has his face painted, black makeup streaked over his eyes and dripping downward. His blond hair is pulled back in a braid, those runes shining bright. He is unrecognizable from his usual self, but looks the most comfortable out of all of us.
He would have been a good ruler, Onyx whispers.
Yes. He would have. But we have our own kingdom to worry about, I reply quickly.
I grumble as I pull a sheer black veil over my face, longer panels of it flowing down my back. The bodice is rippled leather that molds to my supple frame and has two thick straps holding it up. The skirt is multi-layered sheer black material that flows out long, covering the twin blades always strapped to my thighs. Onyx remains hidden under the skirts.
“I hate that I’m in a dress,” I whine as Ciaran drags me into his body.
“You look good, kamerat,” he whispers, sending shivers down my spine and straight to my core. “Remind me to have you dress in this when we are home.”
He plants a kiss on my temple before backing off and taking his place at my side, as a guard would.
“Let’s get a move on,” Drago grumbles, his muscular body pushing forward.
FORTY-ONE
I worry for us. The Order is coming, and they will not allow us to run.
– Priestess Codex
Drago
The room at the safe house we arrived at is tiny, the four of us barely fitting into it but unwilling to separate.
“Could they be any fucking louder?” Astrea grumbles with her arms crossed over her chest. She’s changed into one of Ciaran’s sweatshirts and a pair of black leggings. Her hair is now a mixture of black, red, and white, thrown into two messy space buns, one on either side of her head. It’s a style Ava would wear. Fuck. Even thinking about her sends a bolt of pain through my chest, like a lance of fire burning into my heart. I rub at the spot, aware of Shadow tracking the movement.
Ciaran nuzzles Astrea’s neck. “Jealous, kamerat?” She blushes a deep burgundy, and he only huffs out a laugh. Astrea is a walking contradiction. At times, you can see that destructive magic rolling under her skin in thick waves, her eyes glazing over to the power, and at others, she is like this. Quiet, almost shy. More sounds echo upstairs from Jackson and Dios, making her roll her eyes.
“Do we have a plan?” Shadow asks the room, his voice attempting to cover up the sounds of Dios and Jackson next door. That had come as a shock, to realize the king of Hell and Dios were fucking. An odd pairing, but judging from the noises, one that seems to work well. “Or are we just winging it?”
Ciaran snorts. “I think we need to talk to Jackson and Dios; they are going to be a huge part of this. It seems pointless to plan without them.”
I watch Astrea chew on her nail before her head tilts to the side, as if she's listening to something. Her eyes widen before she suddenly sucks in air as if she hadn’t been breathing at all.
“Astrea?” Ciaran looks at her in alarm. She quickly fumbles with her sweatshirt, ripping it off to reveal her scarred body—along with not one but two snake tattoos.
“Buttercup,” she murmurs, worry lacing her voice and fear decorating her face. “Ava sent Buttercup back.”
Shadow surges forward. “What?!” Ciaran puts his body between the two out of pure instinct. I have to bite down my own rising panic as I clutch Shadow, pulling his body into mine.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
Astrea tilts her head toward some invisible voice again. “Ava went of her own accord, to prevent a future she saw. Jackson helped coordinate it. But . . .” She pauses again, listening. “Oisin was able to obtain a spell from the grimoire. He has placed a collar on her. When holding the leash, he has full control over her body and magic; he’s draining her and is looking for something called the Well. She worried Buttercup would be controlled as well and didn’t want to risk that.”
My body is vibrating with rage. Her eyes look far off as she continues to listen to whatever that dark magic whispers to her. “Ava asked Buttercup to return while she knew she still had the ability to. She knew we would need her help.” Astrea’s face pales. “She believes he has other collars that he plans to use, but she has been unable to locate them, given she is now under his control.”
The room goes quiet. Everything in me slams to a halt. Shadow grips my hand hard. “We need to get her out, now,” he growls.
Astrea shakes her. “Buttercup says to wait. That until the wedding, she needs to stay in hopes she can find the grimoires.”
“Bullshit!” I yell. “We are pulling her now. I don’t give a fuck what she wants. That motherfucker has my gods damn mate and he’s using her in whatever way he sees fit!” A plethora of intrusive thoughts ravage my brain. Image after image of all the things he could do to her play through in a slideshow of horror.
The words are barely out of my mouth before I lose control, then I’m nothing but a mist of shadow and darkness stepping into the bedroom where the king of Hell is lounging as Dios casually sucks his cock.
Ciaran
“Stay here,” I growl, despite knowing Astrea has zero interest in remaining behind.
Throwing myself out of the bedroom, I follow Shadow out into the hallway to come face-to-face with Dios squaring off against a half-shifted Drago. Darkness flows up Drago’s skeletal hands and his face, partially shifted, looks like a macabre drawing. Behind them, Jackson’s wings are flared wide, lightning crackling over his form as his eyes move from silver to black. As Shadow moves to intercept Jax from breaking up Drago and Dios, the entire room halts as I feel my mate’s magic pulse over everyone.
“I’ve had about enough of this,” she grumbles, stepping forward. “Honestly, you are a bunch of children. This isn’t helping Ava. Now, who wants to start talking so we can hurry this along and rescue my friend?”
No one says a word. Silence so thick you could cut it with a sword descends upon the townhome. My mate grumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking alpha asshats,” before she and Onyx walk into the center of it all, Buttercup still tattooed on her body.
“Astrea,” I warn.
She cuts me a withering look that communicates just what she thinks of the caution I want her to embody. “Ava has been placed under some magical hold. They managed to use a spell out of my grimoire so Oisin can siphon her magic and is in complete control of her through a collar,” she says to the room. “That’s what we discovered upon Buttercup’s return, so now, who wants to go next?”
