Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
But before Megan could get out another line, Saint’s Drake landed and shrank down into Saint himself. He rushed right past Megan and into the circle and knelt at Avery’s side. Either the salt had been blown away so much that he could run right in like that, or else his love for Avery let him enter. Either way I saw him gathering Avery into his arms.
Avery looked up at him and I could see the agony in his eyes.
“I know you!” he exclaimed. Then he shook his head. “No—I’ve never seen you before.”
“Dios, Avery! It’s me—Saint!” Saint exclaimed. “You do know me—you’re my l’lorna. You broke the curse on my Drake—remember?”
Avery’s face cleared for just a moment.
“Yes, of course!” Then he squeezed his eyes shut. “No, it never happened. Never happened!”
Watching what was going on in the circle seemed to be making Mr. Connor almost crazy. I could feel him struggling against my magic and holding him back was like trying to hold back a speeding car! It was like someone stabbing a spike into my stomach, but I forced myself not to let go.
“No! No, get him out of there! He corrupted my son! Make him leave!” Avery’s father shouted, waving at Saint. “I have a whole new life planned for him!”
I glared at him and poured more magic into my “rope.”
“You mean a future where he isn’t himself anymore?” I demanded through gritted teeth. “A future where he’s a jerk all the time because the spell you put on him makes him objectify women?”
My words were clearly falling on deaf ears because Avery’s father continued to struggle. And he was so strong I was afraid he was going to break my magic rope at any minute! Lachlan and Bran were making their way around the circle to me, but things were happening fast.
Megan had stopped chanting and started shouting to Saint instead.
“Help him!” she urged. “He’s under a conversion spell and I can’t get it off! Help him remember what you mean to each other—bring him back to himself, Saint!”
And then everything seemed to happen at once.
42
AVERY
My head was pounding and it felt like someone was squeezing my temples in a vice. Why had I agreed to let the crazy redheaded witch girl do a spell on me?
Inside my mind, two sets of memories were fighting. In one, I had grown up in a happy home with a father who was proud of me. My magic manifested for the first time in a very masculine way—I hit a baseball so hard during a little league game I knocked the cover off it and broke some old lady’s window! My father nodded in approval and I knew that someday I would follow in his footsteps and become a mighty Warlock.
These memories seemed shiny and new—bright and exciting. But under them was another set of memories—ones that were more faded, like paper photos that someone had looked at over and over again.
In the faded set of memories, I flamed up when I called my magic needle for the first time. And in these memories, my father was terribly disappointed in me. I disgusted him—especially when he found out I liked other boys instead of girls.
Those memories were hard to look at. It seemed easier to believe the bright, happy ones where my father ruffled my hair and bragged about me to the other dads. But…they were missing something.
The bright new memories were missing friendship—they were missing all the nights I’d spent with my coven in the Norm Dorm, all the Second Suppers I’d cooked—they were missing Kaitlyn and Emma and Megan. And they were missing Saint, who was holding me now, calling me “l’lorna” and begging me to come back to him.
“Remind him of who you are and what you mean to him!” the redheaded witch shouted.
No—her name is Megan. She’s not just a witch, she’s a friend! whispered a voice in my brain. But I could also hear my father calling to me from just outside the circle.
“Don’t listen to them! Get away from there, Avery! You’re my son—you’re going to go to Brooker and have a whole new life!”
Then Saint took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes.
“Don’t look at him—look at me!” he demanded.
I looked and saw flames burning in the obsidian depths of his gaze. But not the flames of a Cursed Drake anymore—these were the eyes of a Drake who loved and cherished me. The Drake who had claimed me as his own when Saint had Blood-Marked me.
“I…I don’t wear your Mark anymore,” I whispered to him. “I had to…had to take it off.”
“I know. My Sire made me take yours off too,” he murmured. “But it’s not too late, Avery. We can Mark each other again. We can be together always.”