Married (2 page)

Graves stood up and leaned against his walking stick. “I am the head of the secondary branch of the Family. If I require your presence, it is not for you to question me.”

Tulah took a step forward, indiscreet with the anger clamping down around the knots of fear in her belly. “I think it is, you murderous son of a bitch. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The back of his hand slammed against her cheekbone before her words could fully leave her mouth. The crack of his knuckles stilled her, even as fire swept over her teary eye. Her mother grabbed her shoulder and pulled Tulah behind her. Ludicrous, as Chelsea was so very tiny and Tulah had gotten her father’s height.

It had happened so quickly, immediately tossing Tulah back into her childhood. Old fears poured over her, blinding her for an instant as her cheek throbbed, mocking her moment of confidence. It was a brutal reminder of how fast Graves was, how ruthless. Tulah struggled to hold on to her strength and tried to remember how hard her mother had worked to make her into a strong, confident woman.

Not a patriarch’s chattel to be abused, or a weakling prone to tears.

Graves tugged at the cuff of his jacket. “There will be a great gathering. Ngozis and Levys both, with a few other guests specially invited.”

Chelsea took an audible breath. “What does that have to do with us?”

Graves took a step forward and both women took an instinctive step back. He smiled. “Muso Ngozi is coming to the betrothal celebration. He has requested your presence.”

“He’s not coming to England.” Chelsea shook her head. “He swore he’d never return here, after…after…”

She wasn’t willing to finish her thought, and neither was Tulah. Graves was too intimidating to voice the truth to. Even saying as much as she had was enough to have his face closing down, his skin tightening until his cheekbones shone nearly blue. His black eyes became an abyss of rage.

“Well, here he comes, darlings. He wants to meet the bride, apparently.”

“Who?” Tulah managed to ask. Hearing the shakiness in her own voice, she stepped to her mother’s side, unwilling to continue cowering behind her. She needed a greater show of strength than girlish tears and wobbling words.

“Constance Gage-Levy. She’s on her way to London as we speak.”

Tulah shared a look with her mother. This was huge news—not the bride, though Graves’ voice had softened to a surprising degree when he’d said her name, but the Father. This could be a chance to gain his ear, to find recompense for all they’d lost.

Her mother went rigid, eerily calm. “I see. Then we’ll go pack our bags.”

“Oh, no, no, no, darling Chelsea, not you.” Graves smiled wickedly. “Muso didn’t even mention you at all. Just Joseph’s daughter.”

Tulah’s heart stopped. She’d never been away from her mother, not even for the night. It was much too dangerous for them, in the heart of Ngozi territory. Ice clogged her veins but fire licked the inside of her skull. Tulah struggled to keep breathing, ignoring the ragged edge of every pant.

“I’m not letting you just take her!” Her mother’s hands clenched.

“You are.”

Chelsea tried again. “She can’t go without me.”

Graves made a patently false moue of apology. “Darling, you have so many more things to concern your pretty head with.”

“I promise you, I don’t! She’s my daughter.”

“Mmm, but you’ll need to spend time searching for lodgings. Preferably in France.”

Both women stilled. Tulah grabbed for her mother’s hand again, squeezing her fingers as she tried to decipher the cold slide of Graves’ tone. Moving to stand at his leader’s side, his big body blocking the weak light from the window, Charles grinned. Tulah didn’t trust the look in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” she finally asked.

“I am now the proud owner of this tiny little hamlet you’ve found in the back alleys of the city. I bought the whole block, when I learned of your whereabouts.” Graves grinned. “It’s the perfect place for a parking lot, don’t you think?”

Tulah blinked, fought for words. “You bought our building?”

“The whole block, pet. All the buildings.”

Tulah looked around the tiny space, dumbfounded. It was small and cramped, all they could afford on both their meager salaries. Chelsea had been raised in the midst of a patriarchal Family of witches. She hadn’t been taught the skills of autonomy before her husband was killed and she was thrown out of the only protection she’d ever thought she’d need.

She’d scrimped and saved, and had taken her daughter all over the city, from hovels and hotels to rented rooms and dismal flats. Once Tulah had been old enough to take a job as a cashier, they’d been able to save enough to rent the house.

Dingy peeling walls, claustrophobic rooms and cracked window casings aside, it was the first home they’d had since Joseph Ngozi’s death. They’d survived, they’d eked out a life for themselves, and Graves was taking it away. Again.

“But it’s medieval,” Tulah said stupidly, and kicking herself for it. “It survived the Fire.”

“But it won’t survive my wrecking ball.” Graves slid forward, raising his hand. He stroked his fingers over Tulah’s cheek gently, but fresh flames licked over her skin. He’d hit her hard enough to bruise, and now was admiring his handiwork. “I suggest you pack all of your things. You won’t be coming back here.”

“And where do you expect
me
to go?” Chelsea demanded.

“I don’t give a fuck where you go, so long as it’s out of my country.” Graves flashed her an angry glance that had Tulah squeezing her mother’s hand tighter. “Why don’t you go back to Japan?” he said silkily. “Back to your own Family.”

“I’ve never even been to Japan,” Chelsea grated out. “As you well know, my parents came here before my birth.”

“Perhaps it’s time to see a different part of the world, then. Surely the Shimizu Family will welcome you with open arms?”

Chelsea’s jaw clenched, obviously refusing to give him the words that would prove the statement false. She’d never met the Shimizus. She’d been betrothed to Joseph Ngozi when she was a teenager, her mother dead and her father ill and banished from his homeland. She’d moved into the Ngozi stronghold soon after, never knowing another Family’s customs.

“I have a cat!” Tulah jerked as the words left her mouth, praying she could slide this by Graves. “I’ll need to bring it, if this won’t be my home anymore.”

Graves waved impatiently. “Whatever, pet, just get the fucking beast and let’s go. I’ve wasted enough time on you today.”

Tulah nodded quickly, dragging her mother with her as she turned for the stairs. “We’ll go pack my things.”

“Ten minutes, Tulah.” His hard tone was all the warning she would get. He said nothing else.

Together, the women raced upstairs. Tulah charged into her room, throwing the creaky door open with enough force to send it bouncing against the wall. She let go of her mother and ripped open the door to her pathetically barren closet.

Tulah grabbed everything in a single sweep of her arms and raised her brows at her mother. “Go get your things. Hurry!”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“It will.” Tulah threw everything on the bed and dropped to her knees, blindly seeking the faded old duffel bag stowed beneath. “He won’t blink an eye at two pieces of luggage. He won’t even think about how little we really have, he’s so used to having too much.”

“He might understand, love.”

“Did Graves ever see you—?”

“Absolutely not! Your father never told a soul.”

“Thank God.” Tulah surged to her feet and dropped her voice. “We have to take the chance. All we have to do is get to Muso, then everything will get better, Mama. Please!”

With a growl of surrender, Chelsea moved into her own room. Through the paper-thin walls, Tulah heard drawers open and close, the bed creaking. Her mother was obeying her command.

It had been the same since Tulah had turned eighteen. Chelsea hadn’t been taught to think for herself and had been rabidly protected by her husband. She’d gone from a life where she wanted for nothing, to a nightmare where she had to fight for every gain. She could be a tigress where her daughter was concerned but, out of necessity, Tulah’s self-assurance was much more ingrained than her mother’s, and Chelsea almost always surrendered to her offspring’s determination.

Two minutes later, Chelsea returned with a battered carpet bag containing everything she owned. There was nothing downstairs worth taking. Their furniture was second-hand and there was precious little money for knick-knacks. Their entire lives condensed down into two bags.

Chelsea shut the door as she whispered a spell to hide her magic before letting it flow free. The air around her delicate shoulders took on a wavering quality, like looking through a gentle waterfall. Power flowed out of her skin to wrap her body in a gauzy shroud Tulah could just barely see. It didn’t matter, though, the force behind the magic beat at her skin, a warm pressure tap-dancing over her nerves.

Chelsea was Shimizu, a Family of kitsune witches known for their shape-shifting abilities. Predominantly taking fox form, the fact that a few could take the appearance of other small animals was a fiercely guarded secret. Her mother’s body dissolved, flowing into the form of a sleek black cat. Black was handy, unexceptional and easily able to melt into the background. Tulah had inherited the same gift and a similar form.

Tulah scooped her mother up in her arms and grabbed the bags. Chelsea hissed.

“Yes, Mama, I know. He could always remember that you are a kitsune descendant, but he won’t be able to prove anything, so long as we’re careful. And hopefully he’ll think fox, not cat.”

Tulah came down the stairs cautiously, protective of the animal snuggled in her arms. Charles surprised her by taking the bags.

Graves looked up the stairwell. “Where is your mother?”

“She said she couldn’t bear to watch you take me, too.” Tulah dropped her eyes, hiding the lie and attempting to look demure.

He only laughed before gesturing Charles through the narrow door. “It must be terrible to be in her position. A weak female with so very much to lose.”

Tulah said nothing as she followed the men to the car. Graves forced her into the back seat and the man who had opened his door when he arrived slid in on the other side. Blocking her exit.

Graves saw the look on her face. “It’s time you learned, pet, that I will win every battle.” He stroked his large hand over Chelsea’s furry head, briefly exerting a pressure that startled a squawk from the animal. “And if you try to fight me, I will take your kitten, too.”

Tulah wrenched back, gathering her mother closer. She burrowed into the side of the other man, glaring at Graves when Charles’ weight sank the right side of the car as he slid behind the wheel.

“I know what you’re capable of, Graves,” she said. “I’ve seen you in action.”

“Yes, you have, pet. Keep it in mind as you keep your mouth shut. Muso may want to lay eyes on you and see how you’ve grown, but he won’t wish to hear any tales. You know how he runs things in Africa, don’t you? Women have even less power than they do in my house.”

Tulah dropped her eyes and stroked the cat. “I know, Graves. I remember full well what kind of power the women have in the Ngozi Family. It’s why I was happy to have been banished.”

Chapter Two

Adam

“Let’s see if I have this right.” Madeleine Davenold, the stubborn, wily Family Matriarch, examined her three grandchildren’s faces closely before settling on the youngest. “Alexandru Lovasz took it into his deranged head to kill you, thereby prompting your betrothed to force his grandfather, Father of a magically powerful Family, into handing over his authority before the old man was ready to let it go?”

Adam sent a sideways glance at his cousin, Georgeanne, one of the three potential heirs to the Davenold Family magic, and took the opportunity to appreciate that, for once, he wasn’t the one being interrogated. Madeleine Davenold sat erect in her seat, the morning sunlight filtering through the window behind her. Beyond the pane, the English countryside rolled toward the sea—a sight Adam hadn’t expected, as he, his twin sister and his cousin were supposed to be heading toward New Hampshire.

They had yet to be told the reason for the rerouting of their jet.

Madeleine raised a single eyebrow. “Alexandru couldn’t kill you with magic, Georgeanne. You’re Bane.”

Bluntly put. There was no pulling back on the word, or any of its connotations. It was harsh, but Madeleine had taught them all to face facts long ago. A Bane witch had no magic—a deformity that, in other Families, usually resulted in the witch’s execution—and there was nothing Georgie could do to change that fact except build her strengths to cover the weakness.

“Yes,” Georgie agreed, gesturing to the bruises edging her jaw and wrapping her neck. “Alexandru tried to strangle me to death.”

“Silviu Lovasz is stronger than I gave him credit for,” the old woman murmured. Adam didn’t think it was a compliment.

“He made his choice, Grandmother.” Georgie’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. “He knew he couldn’t be Father of his Family and still marry me, if there’s a chance you’ll choose me to be the next Davenold Mother. He wants you to set a wedding date.”

“When I’m good and ready. Did you sleep with Silviu?” His grandmother’s question had them all tensing, thickening the atmosphere with its awkwardness.

“No, Grandmother. I obeyed your request,” Georgie answered with an even voice and no hint of embarrassment. She didn’t even fidget when Madeleine’s eyes narrowed in blatant disbelief.

Adam stifled a hysterical laugh. His cousin’s celibate status had looked touch-and-go for a while, when they were so recently guests of the Levy Family. Every so often, Georgie would let her rigidly controlled mask slip and Adam would catch a surprising glimmer of her true feelings for her betrothed.

She wanted him in a way Adam had never wanted anyone. He flicked a glance at his twin, Christiana, and remembered when she’d wanted someone just as fiercely. It hadn’t turned out well.