Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7) by Amber Kallyn

Author:Amber Kallyn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragon Heart Books
Published: 2016-04-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Matt couldn't help but feel the anger and worry radiating around the room. From Jordan especially. While Dalia didn't often force her way, when she did, Jordan was helpless. Everyone in the clan was.

Even so, Matt agreed with his King. Dalia should stay home where it would be safe.

He glanced at Anca, realizing he wanted to keep her here as well. Not that such a thing was possible, but it still burned in his veins, this instinctual need to protect her.

Only moments later, Shane Spencer strode into the room. And with him, the witch.

Short and thin, the old woman looked somehow diminished in her black, many pocketed cloak. White haired, her dark skin heavily wrinkled, Jezamine appeared ancient. Her black eyes seemed depthless and all knowing. All seeing.

He'd looked too long into that gaze before and been sucked into a whirlpool of haziness.

Anca jumped to her feet, and bowed her head. "Bunică."

Matt knew the word. Grandmother? But the witch couldn't possibly be Anca's grandmother.

"Hello, child. Ye be well." The old woman's statement held a strength and a well of magic that commanded attention.

"I am," Anca replied.

Squinting closer, the witch chuckled, a surprisingly soft sound. "Aye. Ye be well on yer way to a few things. 'Bout time."

Anca's eyes widened. Her lips pressed tight.

"Come." Jezamine strode to Anca's vacated chair. From a pocket, she pulled out a folded black velvet cloth. With a snap of her wrists she laid it over the seat. From another pocket, she drew out a small wooden box with something clattering inside of it.

Abruptly, she handed it to Matt.

He took it without thinking, then silently cursed himself.

Jezamine grinned slyly, grabbed the box, and dumped the contents on the velvet. Small bones scattered in the middle of the cloth, telling a story only the old witch could read.

Or so he'd always thought.

But Anca gasped, staring at the bones. Then she shot Matt a hard, angry look.

"Told ye, Anca Fieraru, daughter of György, great smithy he be." Jezamine laughed again and waved a hand above the bones. "She has seen yer will. What else need be?"

The bones shivered, shook, then redistributed themselves into a new pattern. The witch poked at them and muttered for long moments before straightening with a decisive nod. "The plan be set. It be doable, if we be hurrying."

Sweeping her things back into her many cloak pockets, Jezamine strode across the oval and sat opposite Dalia's chair. No one spoke as everyone settled in chairs surrounded by a thick relaxing quiet.

At the realization, Matt felt the lightest of magics in the air.

Between Dalia and the old witch, an almost imperceptible hum lingered at the fringes of his senses. Calmness, peace. Dalia's Omega abilities were apparently magnified with the witch here.

Anca remained stiffly unaffected, and the only one standing. At Jordan's nod, she outlined her plan. "Vampires are nocturnal. Our greatest power lies at the darkest of night. Sirens are the opposite. She'll be recovered and back on the hunt by sunrise. I hurt her earlier, so she's going to be hungry.

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