Into Darkness

30

“I had a family,” she said vehemently, her trembling growing worse. “They’re dead.”

“They weren’t your Blood—”

“It’s not about blood!” she cried, stiffening. “Family is who takes care of you, who sacrifices for you, who would take a bullet to keep you safe!” Her face contorted; she was trying not to cry. “There’re more powerful things than blood!”

Magnus gazed at her, feeling all her rage and pain and confusion, wishing he had the right words to help her. Wishing he wasn’t so broken, so he could simply take her in his arms and comfort her, one lost soul to another, no questions asked. But he knew from hard experience that wishful thinking was nothing but a waste of time. He was broken, and had little to offer except the truth. So he simply spoke it.

“There is nothing in this world more powerful than your Blood. Not a single thing.”

She just stared at him, lips pinched to a don’t-cry grimace, eyes fierce with unshed tears. Even like this, in dirty clothes with uncombed hair, with an unwashed face and her features twisted in anguish, he thought she was the most painfully exquisite thing he’d ever seen. Honor had the same face, the same body, but it was Hope’s spirit that elevated her from merely pretty to perfect. That—literal—fire she possessed lit her up from the inside so she glowed.

“Tell me.”

Her voice was ragged, the emotion behind it raw. Magnus inhaled a slow breath, debating. He quickly decided that not only did she deserve to know, but in her shoes, he’d demand it, too.

“You are Hope Catherine Moore McLoughlin. Your grandfather, Charles, known to humans as the Earl of Normanton, was, in his time, the most powerful our kind had ever seen. He was called the Skinwalker, able to Shift into any form, any element, any thing or even idea. I understand he particularly enjoyed being a crow, a butterfly, and a cold wind.” His voice turned wry. “Maybe that’s where Honor gets it.”

Hope’s eyes widened. Her lips parted. She stared at him, rapt.

“Your mother inherited her father’s abilities. Though her own mother was human, Jenna—”

“My mother’s name was Jenna?” Hope said, her voice small. “And she was . . . half-human?”

He nodded. “She was even more powerful than her father. And you and Honor are even more powerful than her.”

She processed that a moment. “Is her grave here, in Wales? Is she buried nearby?”

She leaned forward. The scent of her hair and skin filled his nose, and his mouth went dry. His heart contracted with a horrible, acute ache, and he had to resist the urge to jump up and run or smash his mouth against hers and kiss her.

For God’s sake, keep it together, Magnus!

He dropped his hands from her arms, tucked them under his armpits, and rocked back onto his heels. He said gruffly, “No. She’s not buried nearby.”

Her face fell. She sagged back. “Oh.”

“No, I mean, she’s not buried at all.”

She blinked at him, confused, and he realized he was making a mess of the whole explanation. He carefully chose his next words.

“She’s not buried because she’s not dead, Hope. Your mother is very much alive.”

TEN

Morgan made her way through the dim tunnels quickly, not needing light to navigate the corridors she knew so well. Like all her kind she could see in the dark, but even if she hadn’t been able to, she’d lived in this chilled palace of ancient stone and flowing water for over two decades. She could navigate the twists and turns with her eyes closed.

In spite of the damp that made her bones ache and the lack of natural light, she loved it. The caves of Ogof Ffynnon Ddu, over three hundred meters deep and sixty kilometers long, featured roaring rivers, thundering waterfalls, and vast columns of glistening limestone, formed as stalactites and stalagmites grew together after millennia of longing from above and below. Cave shrimp, pale as bone, scurried in the rocky beds of pools, fish swam aplenty in the underground lakes, and an entire ecosystem of subterranean plant and animal life abounded on which to feed.

And there was music. Hauntingly beautiful, the song of water—running and dripping and flowing all around—underscored all her days and nights with the loveliest melodies. For Morgan, a woman once blessed with considerable wealth and cursed with a fetish for beautiful things, this music was the only thing of true beauty left in her life.

Well, that and her husband, Xander. She smiled, wondering how long it would take to turn his growls of anger when he heard she’d been smart to the Alpha—again—into purrs of contentment when she snuggled against him and said she was ever-so-sorry.

Ten seconds. Tops.