Chapter Thirty-One

STORM STARED AT where Rowan lay, wondering if he’d been abandoned by the Fates, ignored and cast aside in retaliation for his threats. Then, after just a moment, he heard a single long hiss of breath.

Refusing to release his magic or the contact, in case he accidentally undid whatever had happened, Storm watched and waited, his heart thudding painfully, his breath ragged and close to hyperventilation. A slow breath in, a rise of the chest, and Rowan’s eyes moved, his gaze shifting in search of Storm. When their eyes met, both realising he was alive, they laughed.

Tears fell as Rowan took a deliberate breath, blowing out and frowning at the black mist. Their gazes clashed as realisation sank in that the Fates had done nothing; that black mist was proof that Storm’s magic was responsible for this miraculous resurrection.

Storm had resurrected Rowan, which led to one inescapable truth: Storm didn’t love him. Necromancers couldn’t resurrect someone they loved. Seeing that understanding in Rowan’s eyes, the truth hurt more than the thought of losing Rowan forever.

“Congratulations, youngling. You mastered your necromancy,” Yael said, congratulating him without knowing the full truth.

Storm wished he had, then he wouldn’t have this empty hole in his heart, mixing up everything he thought he knew, turning truth into lies, the known into the unknown. Instinct said to run, to escape, to not stay around and see the recrimination in Rowan’s eyes, the knowledge that he wasn’t loved. Before he could move, a hand raised and cupped his cheek. Almost without effort, Rowan sat up and held his face in both hands, keeping Storm still as he forced eye contact that had always come naturally to them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Rowan whispered, leaning close enough to kiss but stopping just out of reach. “You think because you resurrected me that means you don’t love me. Maybe you don’t, but it doesn’t mean you can’t.” He smiled as he brushed his thumb across Storm’s jaw. Rowan crossed the last, short distance between them and pressed their foreheads together. “Nothing says you can’t love me now, in a few days, in weeks. We need to be thankful you don’t love me, or I wouldn’t be telling you this.” He continued the soothing caress of a thumb across Storm’s cheek and jawline, lost to the moment. “From now on, you choose your future. You choose your fate. If that means you don’t love me yet but can love me later, that’s good enough for me.”

Storm breathed freely, the pain fading as he accepted the embrace and rejoiced over having Rowan back. “I can’t believe they were going to let you die,” he confessed, tears welling and clogging his throat at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t been strong enough.

“I’m more surprised they were willing to let you die,” Rowan disagreed, dropping his hands to Storm’s chest. “You were willing to give up everything for me. You almost did. I could feel your soul pushing into my body…almost losing yours, because you’re still weak.”

Storm shrugged because he had no words, no awareness of what he’d been doing, except that he’d been willing to do anything, to give anything, to have Rowan back.

Rowan’s gaze sharpened, and he hit Storm’s chest with a weak blow. “Don’t be reckless with your life! I know you panicked but, Storm, you have a purpose. You have the prophecy to fulfil, and Yael and Kyrie to take care of.”

Storm smiled, loving this side of him. Gods, he hadn’t realised how much he needed Rowan to champion him, to believe in him, to bitch.

“Hey!” Yael objected with less grace than usual.

“We both know they need a leash half the time,” Rowan said, ignoring Yael’s huff. He shifted to sit on his knees, pulling his T-shirt away from his chest with a crinkled nose of disgust. “Don’t think you have no worth just because the Fates didn’t help. Maybe they knew you needed a push. Maybe they’re heartless bitches and don’t care about anyone. Either way, I care about you. Whether you love me or not, you were willing to die for me. Think more of yourself, okay?”

Storm swallowed at the look in those big, bright, alive eyes. He hadn’t realised he was willing to die for Rowan, just that the thought of being without him hurt too much. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

Yael's tone dripped with criticism as they cut through the cute moment. “After all this time, you still believe the Fates care nothing for you?” They eyed Storm with disappointment. “You have travelled through time, rewritten your future, and broken every rule I have known to govern magic. You befriended a demon, and you ask to combine our magic, yet you believe the only reason you resurrected Rowan was because you do not love him? Why must this be the one rule you obey?”

Storm blinked at Rowan, rolling those words through his brain, but they refused to make sense. “Are you saying that I brought him back despite already loving him?”

“What does your heart say?”

Rowan's lips twitched into a smile. “I know what mine tells me. That you're a miracle, as you've always been.”

But that would mean…he loved Rowan. Was the strength of his love the reason he'd been able to break the rules? Did the rules even apply to him anymore?

“Gods have mercy!” Yael rolled their eyes and turned away in disgust as a black blur came rushing toward them. As Midnight became discernible from the black fur, jumping against Rowan’s thigh, they sighed, sounding horrified. “How did you survive?”

The kitten meowed at Rowan, who instantly lifted the monster he unfathomably loved to pieces. “Don’t be mean,” he warned, butting his head against Midnight’s. “I’m fine, but you’ll have to be nicer to Storm. He’s the reason I’m okay.” He grinned up at Storm with such a look of adoration he shivered. Storm figured that look made up for the fact Midnight could rub all over Rowan in relief that he was alive, but Storm couldn’t.

He reached for the black ball of fur, grateful she hadn’t died or run away during the chaos, but stopped when Midnight started hacking. “I guess that sums up how she feels about me.” Unstable mage, horde of demons—Storm could handle them. But Midnight was an evil little bitch, and he wasn’t taking the risk of getting further onto her bad side.

Rowan had the cheek to laugh, though the humour was short-lived, turning into shocked silence when Midnight hacked up something large and black. “What have you been eating, you bad kitty?”

There was no way he would suggest taking Midnight while Rowan looked to see what she’d brought up, so Storm reluctantly pushed a finger into the ball of spit, to roll the black object across the ground. He was rendered speechless by the black amulet laying on the ground between them. Glancing up, he was about to ask if he was hallucinating the amulet, but the shock on their faces was answer enough.

Yael didn’t have to be asked. They summoned their cane to hand to Storm and watched, their white eyes screaming a protest that this shouldn’t have been possible.

Storm accepted the cane and used his magic to open the hidden compartment. He was disappointed to see the scroll inside, where the compartment had been empty just minutes ago. “I won’t ask why the Fates stole the spell and amulet, then returned them…or why I had to touch something your cat coughed up.” Storm shoved the amulet inside with less care than he should have, his patience for this day having grown thin long ago. Once the spell and amulet were secured, he handed the cane to Yael. “This day has been weird enough, and I don’t think I want to know.”

Rowan chuckled fondly as he petted Midnight and praised her for saving the amulet.

Storm didn’t doubt the little bitch had been following orders. And we both know who gave them, don’t we? he said, glancing at the sky to make sure the Fates were listening.

*

ONCE THEY KNEW Rowan could move, speak, and think clearly, without any pain or discomfort, they decided not to waste time.

Handing Midnight to Yael was never going to happen, so Rowan entrusted the kitten to Kyrie, to keep the cat safe while they dealt with Ithen.

Storm wasn’t sure what to do about the corrupt mage, but his magic sang beneath his skin and he could feel the growing presence of magic around the property. An inner instinct knew what was about to happen, what needed to happen.

Kyrie stood guard by Ithen, making sure the demon barrier around him didn’t wilt or weaken, which reminded Storm that he had Haven and his father’s horde to thank for capturing him. He owed them a debt greater than any amount of money or power could buy; they’d saved his life tonight—and Rowan’s.

Storm stepped in front of the barrier holding Ithen at bay and met his angry gaze. Raising his hands out to his sides, he turned his palms and allowed magic to crackle like lightning, recharged by Rowan’s resurrection and ready to do damage. His will stopped the magic from crushing Ithen like a bug, harnessing the power to push out until the barrier surrounding the property crumbled to ash.

“The Fates have named me the Chosen One, Dark One, necromancer, and dark mage. The gods have named me seer, light wielder and storm chaser. The demons call me master, life-giver, guardian of the lost and hopeless…for I am Storm Tera, last surviving Tera mage, commander of the dead and protector of demons.” Storm felt the power and heady weight of those titles for the first time and didn’t feel like crumbling under the expectation. Instead, he stood tall and proud as magic swept through his veins, rejoicing in the claim, his magic singing its relief.

The bubble of magic surrounding Ithen vanished with an audible pop, and the man’s eyes narrowed with victory. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Storm’s magic surged, pulsating and growing in strength, lifting Ithen off his feet into the air, where his body was spread like a sacrifice, arms wide, legs encased by invisible ropes of magic.

“Ithen Deontay, you will face judgement for your crimes against magic,” he called, pausing when he caught movement out the corner of his eye.

Gregory Glade emerged from the trees, standing by his coven members like a true leader and gestured for them to wait at the forest boundary. He walked forward with confidence and only a touch of fear as he approached Rowan, standing two feet to Storm’s right. Gregory met Storm’s gaze without pause and gave a brief nod. “Dark One,” he said with a faint twitch of his lips in allegiance, friendship, and the same casual nodding acquaintance they’d always shared.

“Gregory Glade, your coven are welcome to sit on judgement.” Storm hated sounding so formal and didn’t know where the words came from, but they felt and sounded right. Most importantly, Gregory nodded and signalled to the rest of his coven.

Because he could sense them, Storm called out a welcome to the others, starting with Rowan, who gave a mock bow. “Rowan Copry, Scott Sorrell, and Florence Lasym, you are welcome to bring your covens to give judgement on Ithen Deontay’s crimes.” He sounded arrogant, all-knowing and all-powerful, but there was no way to stop the magic guiding him. Before he turned away, he sensed one more magical signature in the woods, hesitant but intrigued. If Storm wasn’t wrong, the interloper had brought a show of allegiance. “Auden Bellamy,” he called, glancing at Kyrie to see that he tensed on hearing the name, “you are welcome to join the covens.”

Outsiders weren’t usually asked to join the local coven gatherings, and Storm’s welcome to Auden, without consulting the others, brought whispers from the Sorrell and Lasym covens who were eager to show their displeasure. Gregory either knew Auden or had warned his coven to keep quiet, no doubt for their own sakes.

Silence reigned as Auden made his way out from the cover of the trees, carrying himself with dignity, clutching at a satchel slung over his shoulder.

As they waited for him to reach the gathering, Gregory took a half step closer. “I’m sorry about my grandmother.”

Storm blinked, surprised he didn’t seem upset by the fact Gladys had been kidnapped by a horde of demons to pay for her crimes against magic.

“I didn’t know what she was doing. We haven’t spoken in years, outside of coven business,” he confessed with a shrug and a glance at his coven. When he looked at Storm again, he smiled. “I look forward to having your guidance as I step into the role of coven leader. We need a good role model who knows how to respect magic.”

The words were unexpected but appreciated more than Gregory realised. Storm was about to thank him for the confidence when Auden appeared at his left side, stopping far closer than the other covens had.

“As leader of the Bellamy coven, I hope you will forgive past mistakes, accept our loyalty to dark magic and show us how to properly connect with the magic binding us together,” Auden said, taking one more step closer as he removed the satchel from over his head.

Yael immediately lowered their scythe between Auden and Storm. They didn’t blink at the protective role they’d chosen or flinch when Auden glared, momentarily startled. He was quick to recognise defeat, tipped his head at Yael in apology and handed them the bag.

Yael passed the bag to Kyrie, who placed Midnight on his shoulder to free his hands. He took the bag with obvious curiosity, only to glance at Auden in surprise. “He has given you the family grimoire,” Kyrie explained, turning to Storm with wide eyes. “The passages are written in the old tongue, which only a demon can read. No Bellamy has deciphered them, no demon has understood its words, and the family believe the grimoire was cursed to hide its secrets from all who had magic.” The raised eyebrow suggested this was a valuable and rare gift, one that asked for leniency for past indiscretions and was meant to show fealty.

Storm wasn’t sure how he felt about any of that. On one hand, Auden had the gall to approach them tonight with a gift that implied he’d been made welcome and forgiven, but his presence at the most opportune moment meant he’d been lingering. Had Auden been waiting to see how the war panned out and head home if Storm lost, or had he been biding his time, convinced the Chosen One could deal with the problem?

Either way, he’d left them without much-needed aid, and if Storm hadn’t successfully brought Rowan back from the dead, Storm would have sent Auden to join Rowan in the abyss before he could utter a single word of apology.

“My demon,” Auden began, pausing when Yael growled a warning.

They would never stop protecting Kyrie, but Storm figured he may have to teach Yael that their fierce, possessive streak would get them in trouble one day, if the utter joy in Kyrie’s ice blue eyes was any indication. Kyrie was in awe and hearts-and-flowers about Yael, but if Yael didn’t notice that soon and act, there would be hell to pay.

“My apologies.” Auden tipped his head to Yael but didn’t sound apologetic. “The grimoire was considered too dangerous for any human to possess, and those with magic who attempt to read it are weakened and can’t use magic for days,” he said, smart enough not to reveal Kyrie’s name in front of other witches and mages. “I thought the strongest and darkest of dark mages may wish to keep the grimoire safe. Use it, if you can.”

Though the words sounded like a challenge, Storm also thought he detected hope, as though he would read the grimoire and share what he knew with Auden. That was unlikely, but by the feel of the man, Storm knew Auden wouldn’t be the head of his coven for much longer. “Thank you,” Storm said with a smile to remind Auden who was in charge. “We will keep these secrets from being misused.”

The ‘we’ took him off guard, but Auden glanced at Rowan first, presuming he was the sole reason. He eyed Kyrie critically and finished with a brief glance at Yael, the fear and curiosity evident. “Of course.” He stepped into the ranks of the other covens, leaving Storm in the uncomfortable and unfamiliar position of being the centre of attention.

“Hey!”

Storm wasn’t the only one who flinched at the shout, spinning to look towards the trees at the far end of the front of the property. He could barely believe his eyes when Denver hobbled out, grinning like a loon and waving while Foley held him steady. He gave a cheeky thumbs up that made even Yael smile.

“I didn’t die this time!”