Bleeding Red : A Reverse Harem Omegaverse Fairy Tale Retelling (Twisted Tales Book 1) by D.E. Chapman

Author:D.E. Chapman [Chapman, D.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: D.E. Chapman
Published: 2021-04-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Red

“I should have known you had a hand in my death. Silly child. You have no idea what you’ve done—what you’ve ruined.”

My grandmother is on some self-important rant like she’s not, in fact, dead. Some things never change, even when you’re nothing more than a spirit.

I slowly climb to my feet, studying her with a sneer. She looks the same as she did when she was still among the living, only now she’s gray in the face. Not to mention her form isn’t as whole, since she’s partly transparent. Even her expression of disdain is the same she’s worn since I was brought to live with my mother.

“Why did you do it?” I ask her. “Why send assassins after me?”

My grandmother hovers above the ground, trapped inside my summoning circle. “What does it matter, now that I’m dead?” She watches the two men flank me with derision.

“Answer me!” I bark, putting my magic behind the words and enforcing my command as her summoner.

She narrows her eyes. “Because I knew you’d be trouble the moment she brought you home. I warned her not to pursue that path with that mortal father of yours. She should have killed him once she got pregnant with you and been done with it.”

My blood boils and my vision goes red. How dare she speak of my father so callously? If only she were still alive—what pain I could put her through, what violence. My fingers itch to claw her eyes out. The magic still trapped in the summoning circle starts to swirl around my grandmother, reacting to my flare of emotions.

Ignorant of the dangerous direction of my thoughts, she continues. “Your mother certainly didn’t listen then, just as she didn’t listen when I told her you’d be the end of us.”

“You knew I’d kill you?” I grit. Speaking is a challenge when my rage sits so close to the surface, but I do my best to push the feelings aside and think rationally.

“Of course I did. We are from a long line of fiercely powerful witches; darkness runs through our blood, and you’re no exception. If not properly controlled, you’ll spiral out of control. Sending you to your father was a horrible decision. It made you soft.”

Her unspoken words say what she doesn’t. It’s why witches live with their mothers. Mortal men are perceived as weak and too kindhearted for our way of life.

“The death of your mortal father so late in your life broke you,” she concludes, “as I knew it would.”

My grandmother scoffs like it’s all just been one tedious inconvenience she can’t be bothered with anymore. I’m not surprised, though it does piss me off. She always acts like this with people she considers beneath her.

Myself included.

I snarl and take half a step forward. “It didn’t break me. His death made me stronger. Stronger than you or Mother.” I spit the last word venomously as the realization hits. His death did make me stronger. “Did you have a hand in what happened to my father?”

“No.

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