Anya Bast - Witch Fury

He’d fought them every inch of the way, a thing that had only made them more intent on breaking him. Eventually, once his torturers had figured out they weren’t going to win, they’d used him as a toy. Then their treatment of him had come from pure sadistic ire — hatred of him and his resilience, his rejection of what the Duskoff stood for.

By the time the Coven had come in on a raid just like the one they were about to conduct, Theo had had broken limbs and organ damage. He’d almost died.

But he hadn’t, and when he’d recovered the Coven had garnered his undying loyalty. They’d also become the family he’d never had.

Scars marked his torso as a result of the ordeal, trailed down his arms and legs. They’d been made by a whip and a very sharp knife. Theo could still clearly remember the man who’d made the cuts, his greasy face shining in the wan light of the building’s basement. Years later Theo had looked into that face again, right before he’d dragged his ass to Gribben. Being in Gribben, a place that magickally neutered all witches, was worse than death.

Otherwise he’d have killed him.

Ink covered a lot of Theo’s body now, playing counterpoint to the scars. The tats weren’t there to cover them, but to celebrate them. The black tribal marks twisted alongside his scars, swirled around and dovetailed them. Theo wore his scars like badges of honor.

He always would.

Theo hit the bag hard enough to send it sailing into the wall behind it.

He was looking forward to tomorrow.

“WHO WAS THE MAN WHO CAME INTO MY ROOM last night? Big guy, glowing red eyes.” The words came out surprisingly calm considering the fact that Sarafina’s stomach wobbled like a mountain of Jell-O. Perhaps the last few days had numbed her to strange and bloodcurdling events.

During the second night of her kidnapping, a man had entered her room while she’d been sleeping. She’d awoken to see him looming over her bed, studying her in the dark with eerie red-colored eyes.

Yes, red eyes.

It was too much. Too weird. Far too creepy. All of this was one step beyond what her rational mind could take.

She’d snatched Grosset close to her and screamed. The man had simply smiled, melted into the shadows, and left the room. Actually, it had seemed as though he’d disappeared , but that was impossible.

After that she’d wedged a chair under the doorknob and been wide awake until morning. Today she was exhausted, past her weird threshold and annoyed as hell.

Stefan’s jaw locked for a moment and his expression looked pinched. “Calm down, Sarafina, I’m certain he was only curious about you. I will give Bai a stern talking to and it won’t happen again.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll give Bai of the red eyes a stern talking to? Do monsterlike men with red eyes accept it when you talk sternly to them, Stefan? Do they obey you?” Sarcasm drenched her words. “I want out of here now. I demand to be set free.” Stefan chuckled like she was cute, which ratcheted her blood pressure into the stratosphere. “Have you had some time to think?” “I don’t want to think. I just want to go.” She moved toward the door, Grosset at her heels.

Fire puffed into existence two feet in front of her. She gasped at the intense heat and coughed when smoke filled the air. “I suggest you sit down, Sarafina.” All the chuckle was gone from Stefan’s voice now.

Defeated, she sank into a wing-backed chair across from Stefan. Grosset jumped into her lap and bared his teeth at the man across the room. At least the little dog was finally figuring out the score.

It had been just yesterday when her world had been tipped on its axis and shaken like a bone between Grosset’s teeth. They’d given her the rest of that first day alone to absorb the information. Yesterday evening Bradley had come to her and again she was shown the magick she held within her. Bradley had done it in a much gentler way, no yanking it from the center of her the way Stefan had.

She’d learned how to pull threads of her power and perform tasks with them, like lighting candles and producing puffs of fire. She could do everything Stefan could do, but she knew all too well he outmatched her in the power and experience department.

She stroked Grosset’s head. “I would need a lifetime to get used to the idea that magick and witches are real.” Stefan shifted in his seat. “I find that hard to believe considering your younger years. You must have had some clue.” “The only clue I had was the one that told me my mother was insane,” she snapped.

“You never once entertained the notion that all those times your mother called you a witch she might be telling the truth?” Sarafina tipped her head to the side. “What the hell is wrong with you? Of course not.” Stefan’s faint smile faded. He leaned forward. “Most witches worth a damn can feel it somewhere deep inside.” She flinched. How could it be that the comment actually hurt? She didn’t care about being a witch “worth a damn,” did she? At this point she barely believed she hadn’t gone insane herself.

Irritation swept through her. “Look, you told me what I need to know, showed me beyond a shadow of a doubt my true nature, now it’s time for me to go. I have a life, you know? I have a job I need to get back to, bills to pay, friends who—” “You’re not cut out for data entry, Sarafina.” He shook his head. “Fire witches don’t work in cubicles or fetch coffee for their bosses. Stay here with us so that we can show you your true potential, so you can harness your birthright and get all that is due you.” Due her? Apparently, she lacked the sense of entitlement that this man had decided she should have.

Sarafina looked down at Grosset. “Look, I’m grateful that you”—her mouth snapped shut as she searched for the right wording—“unlocked this unexpected part of me, but I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t think the world owes me anything, either. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you-all.” She would, of course, but it was no help telling him that. Holding Grosset close to her chest, she stood. “I really am leaving now.” Stefan stood, his handsome, pleasant face overcome with storm clouds. “You’re not going anywhere. You do owe us, Sarafina. Don’t make us do this the hard way.” Yeah, she’d been afraid he’d say something like that.

Her anger flared. In response, that seed of hot magick buried in the center of her chest pulsed with newfound power. Sarafina knew Stefan was a fire witch, one far more skilled than she was at wielding the element as a weapon. Newly born, so to speak, she had no chance against him.

But there was no way she was staying here, and no way she was going down without swinging. She set Grosset to the floor so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Unbidden and largely untutored, raw fire magick bubbled up from her, streaming down the backs of her arms.

Stefan stiffened, sensing the swell of her magick. The air suddenly smelled hot as the witch in front of her allowed his own power to rise. Apparently, it was high noon and they were headed for a showdown.

Shouting came from beyond the room. Stefan turned his head and Sarafina took the distraction as an opportunity.

She fumbled for a moment, wondering what the hell she should do next, when an uncontrolled burst of flames exploded from her. It felt like she’d fired a cannon and hadn’t aimed well. It went wide, toward the door of the room.

The door burst inward, ripped from the hinges at the same time the uncontrolled blast of fire hit it. Sarafina screamed in surprise, stepped backward, tripped, and fell on her ass.

For a hazy, confused moment she thought her magick had exploded the door. Then she focused past the smoke and saw the dark outline of a man — tall, muscular build, long dark hair, grim expression on his face.