Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the sense of familiarity I felt was because of the dream. Or was it because I saw such a similar face in the mirror every single day? Was there something buried and long forgotten in my subconscious that was making a connection with this woman in truth and not just out of the desire to have a mother?

  I didn’t think that was something I even cared about…in fact, I had purposefully never wanted to know about my parents because I thought they’d abandoned me. I was so young then; too young to ever have hope of remembering her. Too young to question the story that I’d been willingly surrendered to the orphanage.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered. I felt unstable, my understanding of my past being called into question. My expression was purposefully neutral, but I knew my voice gave it away when Lazaro’s mother tensed and placed a hand on her mother’s back. I didn’t know if it was to stop or encourage her from explaining.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted her to explain.

  The dream had been…well, a dream. Something I could pin on a wishful fantasy of having a loving mother. To have someone confirm that I not only had a mother, but that both she and my grandmother had been presumably killed when I was ‘lost’ to everyone? I had absolutely no idea where to start with that. Should I feel grief? Sadness? Anger? I truly had no idea.

  For so long, my identity had been tied to being unwanted, which is why I had even landed with Astaroth to begin with. How he’d been able to find me, abandoned and unwanted like so many of the others he tried to mold into his image. At that point I’d just been thankful that someone wanted me, someone cared about me.

  It wasn’t until I was older that I learned what a sadistic monster he truly was and recognized that he was using me. No, younger Deva had sought his approval, and while I felt like an idiot now I couldn’t deny that it had been a process—my hatred hadn’t started out as that.

  “This is your mother. You may not remember her, but I remember you,” Ravette explained the word ‘mother’ sounding foreign when used in reference to me.

  Of course, biologically I’d known I’d come from somewhere… But my history was being reshuffled in a dizzying effect that had me feeling lightheaded.

  “Little thief.” Lazaro was suddenly behind me to my right, catching my elbow. “What’s wrong?” Oz and Alek approached as well as I stared at the picture. When the room went eerily quiet, I knew it was because the three of them were staring at the undeniable similarities between myself and this woman—Wynna.

  “I need to sit down,” I said shakily, feeling a bit weak in the knees. There was no point in trying to train or work out with this laying in front of me, waiting to be explored, so instead I walked towards a set of leather couches that overlooked a fighting and sparring center. I had a feeling Lazaro’s parents and grandmother would follow, and as Alek and Lazaro sat on either side of me, I felt Oz run his hands through my hair from behind the couch, leaving the other open for the three of them.

  When Ravette sat down, she placed the photo book in her lap and offered me a small sad smile. “I know this must be a lot.”

  “How do I know that’s my mom?” I asked sincerely before my tone grew a bit more frustrated. “I’m not saying we don’t look very similar, but how did you know her? Or know me? Better yet, if everyone knew about me as you’re saying, why was I abandoned at an orphanage?”

  Lazaro’s mom shot a concerned look towards her own mother, as if she expected her to be offended by my tone, but Ravette sat patiently long after my line of questioning had ended. Then she nodded, as if deciding something.

  “Let me tell you what I know of Wynna and why I’m positive you’re her daughter. You don’t have to believe me, Deva, but I think once you hear her story…it may explain a lot.”

  Settling back into the couch, I nodded, willing to at least hear what she had to say. I mean, I had to at this point.

  “Eirisse—Wynna’s mother—and I went to DIA together. We grew up within the same social circles of powerful lunar witches, so when we both applied and got into the academy, it seemed our friendship was set in stone.” Ravette smiled fondly. “It was where we learned how to hone our magic, but also where we met each of our future husbands. Which is why when we graduated, it was pretty easy to decide to settle down near one another to build our families. Stery and your grandfather—Davorian—were fast friends, and the four of us were like family up until…well, things changed.”

  Lazaro squeezed my leg in comfort, but I was absolutely captured by her words. It was like I was listening to some elaborate fairytale. An interesting story about someone else’s life—I couldn’t yet let myself believe that it had anything to do with me.

  “Davorian began to act differently. Your grandmother, Alf, and I tried to ignore the signs—mostly because we all had young children at the time, Wynna being the oldest at only three. But before long it was impossible to ignore. His blatant hatred for unblessed witches began to consume his life. We realize now that he’d started to spend time with a teenage Astaroth, who was already establishing his empire.

  “It got so bad one night,” she said, pain flashing across her face, “that Davorian nearly hurt Alf, so heated over his right to kill those that were unblessed. The next morning we packed up our family and left for the other side of Carmina.

  “I hated leaving Eirisse, and I visited as often as I could, but she was in denial that there was a problem. She wanted to believe the man she married, the gentle one who loved her and their daughter, still existed. She just couldn’t accept how volatile he’d become.

  Before Stery passed away, he made me promise I wouldn’t bring them back into our life, and I kept to that promise. I kept your grandfather away from my family, but your grandmother I saw often, and as a result, your mom.

  “By the time Wynna was seventeen, it was clear that she not only hated her father, but that she was so incredibly powerful, more powerful than any other lunar witch I’ve yet to meet. I hoped she would go to DIA, but before she could even try to get admitted, your grandfather’s actions finally had irreversible consequences.

  “Wynna was taken prisoner by Astaroth’s men by his order. She was kidnapped, imprisoned, her location protected by her own father, who was killed shortly after the incident—he’d outlived his utility, in Astaroth’s mind. We tried to reach out to every resource available, but Astaroth was so extremely powerful, at the height of his strength, or what we assumed would be so… Eventually, your mother managed to break herself out.”

  I let out a slow breath as I tried to process how long Astaroth had been in power. It was terrifying.

  “Your grandmother called me immediately, and because all of my children were at DIA, I was able to stay with her and get Wynna into hiding. It was then I learned how your grandfather had traded her to Astaroth in order to move higher within his ranks…but only one part of that was fulfilled.”

  “Traded?” I whispered in horror.

  “Wynna explained how Astaroth became fixated on her, which is why he arranged for the trade, promising her everything except freedom.” Ravette swallowed, her eyes closing. “Of course she rejected him and escaped her prison, but by then…well, things had already been set into motion.”

  I closed my eyes to brace myself as she continued, having a feeling where this story was going. “Nine months later, you were born and given the name Ayla.”

  Static filled my ears as everything began to grow cold around me. Ayla. My true name…was the one that Astaroth had called me as well? Astaroth, who had held my mother in prison and fixated on her…until she escaped and gave birth to me.

  “Your mother managed to stay hidden for the first few years of your life, but one night, when I had gone to retrieve supplies, they attacked. They slaughtered both your grandmother and your mother before taking you. Before taking our sweet Ayla back to Astaroth. I should have realized how he would feel about having an heir⁠—”

  I stood so fast I almost fell back. I ran my hands through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut as pain radiated through my temples. “Don’t. Don’t say anything else. please.”

  “You know the truth, though. I can see it,” she whispered.

  Tears formed in my eyes as I stared into hers with anger radiating through my chest. “The truth? Yes, it’s very clear what you’re claiming. That Astaroth kidnapped my mother because of some deal with my grandfather, that he raped and impregnated her with me. And then he killed her and my grandmother, before ‘rescuing’ me from the orphanage and raising me himself. Calling me by no name until he fucking gifted me one himself, according to him—until he said he chose Ayla. Yes, I understand what you’re saying, Ravette. I understand it. I just…I just refuse to fucking accept that.”

  “I didn’t realize that was what he called you. I can see that you already hate him; how would this be⁠—”

  “Because there is a vast difference!” I bent down in front of her, my voice a rough whisper. “There is a difference between hating a man that raised you to be his minion and realizing you are the product of a fucking monster.”

  “Starlight.” Oz appeared behind me, and I let his hand graze me before straightening up. I was very possibly about to lose my shit, and I didn’t trust my magic to stay contained. My emotions were raw, my vision going red as I turned and left the room, storming past Oz and Alek.

  Lazaro shot out a hand to stop me, catching me by the arm. I froze, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath before looking him right in the eye.

  “Lazaro, let go.”

  “No,” he hissed quietly, his panic apparent. “You don’t run⁠—”

  “Let go, now,” I warned, then nearly fucking begged as I added, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Grim can pull us into a shadow space⁠—”

  Feeling my magic growing progressively more unstable, I shadow portalled, not letting Lazaro finish what he was going to say. I portalled outside of the training center room and ran.

  As I ran, my brain replayed every fucking interaction with him. From the way Astaroth manipulated my emotions, making me believe he was the only one who could care about me and that’s why I’d been left like trash. A story he had invented! To the things he had me do, the mutation he’d crafted me into.

  Angry tears streamed down my face as I turned down several corridors in the basement, not willing to go upstairs, wanting instead to get lost down here. It felt like it went on forever, and eventually all I could hear was my own ragged breathing.

  My knees broke suddenly and I let out a raw scream, giving in as my magic lashed out and shook the walls around me. The cold stone floor did nothing to soothe my fury, my anger, my heartbreak as I sobbed. There was a lot I could handle, but Astaroth being my father wasn’t one of them. I had thought I was something pure that had been tarnished by his hatred, that there was hope for me to return to a state where I wasn’t quite so blemished. Now I knew better, though. Now I knew I was a monster.

  My blood was tainted by his magic. There was no escaping it. No escaping him.

  I wasn’t just Astaroth’s Dead Doll—I was his flesh and blood daughter.

  13

  DEVA

  Hot tears of frustration streamed from my eyes as I stayed on my knees, my chest aching with the reality that I now had to face—a reality I couldn’t avoid, no matter how much I wanted to. I prayed to the fates that the story would ring false, that upon replaying her words I would scoff…but that wasn’t the case, was it? It was real.

  I could feel the truth in my bones, and in some ways it made so much damn sense. I’d always been treated differently. Not better. No, I wouldn’t say favored or better, even as his Dead Doll…but differently. I’d assumed it was because I showed potential, but now I saw things from a completely different perspective.

  I think…I think the thing that possibly trumped all of that, though, was my name. For so long I had hated the name Ayla, but now I felt like it was stolen from me. My mother had gifted me that name, and Astaroth had ripped it away only to bestow it upon me like a prize after a twisted game of proving myself to him.

  “So fucked up. This is so fucked up,” I chanted, the walls trembling as I repeatedly slammed my fist down on the stone.

  My shadow magic brushed my skin, and as I looked around I realized that I’d created my own darkened room of shadows. I could still feel the stone floor underneath me, but everything else was shut out. I’d never done anything like this outside of dreamscapes, and the amount of power I used would probably draw the attention of my men.

  But there was a small part of me that hoped no one would find me. Not yet. I wasn’t ready to talk to my men about the darker truth of my past. I had assumed that my biggest demon was what I’d done and the role I’d played in my past, but it was so much worse than that, and I needed time to process it on my own.

  Unfortunately that wasn’t my reality, and I should have expected it.

  I should have expected Lazaro to hunt me down, especially after I ran from him.

  “Little thief.” Lazaro’s rough voice echoed as his magical signature, like electric bolts, began to hit the outside of my shadowed walls. How could I hear him but nothing else? It was like he was inside my head. Hell, he probably was—our connection was far deeper than simple magic could forge. No, we were connected down to my heartbeat, a pulse that shouldn’t have existed.

  Because of that connection, I knew immediately that this wasn’t the Lazaro I normally interacted with. It was almost like an undercurrent, a secondary personality that had been pulled forth. There was an element to his voice, an element to his magic, that was far more deadly than I had heard from him before.

  “Deva.”

  “Go,” I whispered harshly. “Please Lazaro, just go.”

  “Let me in.” His words were soft but held a demand that I couldn’t deny.

  That didn’t stop me from trying, though. I closed my eyes and shook my head, knowing damn well he couldn’t see me. “I don’t…I don’t want to be around anyone right now.”

  “Deva, to be fucking honest, I don’t care,” Lazaro admitted, his voice strained. “You told me you would never run—you told me you would let us in. So put down the fucking walls. I know you don’t want to be alone.”

  I did, though. Or at least I didn’t want to have to face or talk about what I’d just learned.

  My eyes grew hot with tears again as I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”

  Suddenly my shadow walls, which I didn’t have nearly enough control over, split in the center to allow Lazaro’s magic through. A cold electric field entered the warded space, lighting it up as my shadows closed behind him once again. Our magics clashed against each other, creating a phantom wind that ripped through the space, ruffling my clothes and hair, before I finally moved my gaze to Lazaro.

  Well, a version of Lazaro…I mean seriously, he had completely transformed. Anger was hidden behind his calm facade of an expression, and his body was lit up in silver as he stood in front of me and crouched down, tilting up my chin with a finger so that I had to look up at him. But just like I suspected, my anger was still far too close to the surface, and the first words out of his mouth made me irrationally mad.

  “What she said may not even be true.”

  “But it is,” I growled, my magic tightening around me as I ripped my chin from his grip and sat back. “It fucking is, Lazaro. I can feel it; it makes sense.”

  “Then it is,” he said softly, “but there is nothing we can do about it, Deva. It doesn’t change anything about what we’re going to do⁠—”

  “It changes everything!” I stood up and turned away from him, tears leaking down my face. “Fates, it fucking changes everything. I thought I was abandoned. I thought that Astaroth was just some bastard overlord, but he’s my father. My fucking father⁠—”

  Lazaro suddenly wrapped his arms around me, and I let out a frustrated cry at feeling restrained, my magic sparking out from me and making him grunt. “You need to let me go. I don’t trust my⁠—”

  In a fast flip, I was turned into him, and the space around us shuddered as his lips slammed against mine in a hard, deep kiss. For just a moment my anger was reduced to a simmer, but then it roared back up as I realized that was exactly what he wanted, to pull me from my anger and my darkened headspace. I pushed him away, breaking the kiss and letting out a growl of frustration.

  “Stop trying to distract me. I want to feel this. I need—” I needed to feel the pure fury that was coursing under my skin. I’d felt betrayed before in my life, but this hit entirely different.

  “You don’t need anything except to calm down,” Lazaro argued, trying to approach me again. I knew for a fact that he was trying to not lose his own temper, and I would have appreciated that if I wasn’t so fucking infuriated.

  “Stop trying to tell me what to do,” I bit out, unable to help myself.

  “Fuck this. I’m not doing this,” he hissed, grabbing me again. This time he swept my legs from under me so that I was pinned underneath him on the stone floor. He captured my head before it hit the ground, cradling it, and then he slammed his lips to mine almost immediately. I whimpered against his demanding touch, and I felt his power wrap around me restrictively as I let out a shuddered gasp at just how intense his magic was in reaction to mine. It had a possessive, dangerous edge to it that felt claiming on its own, let alone when used to roll over my body in such a commanding way.

  “Lazaro.” I let out a small sound of complaint. “I need to⁠—”

  “No. Not another word. You need to listen to me,” he said, his voice containing such an intense sweep of demanding power that it had my toes curling. “Let me help you, little thief—let me calm you down. Let me⁠—”

  “Want to help me?” I asked in a breathy tone, unable to hide how affected I was by his touch and almost fucking eager to break his rules. “Help me find Astaroth and kill him. Now.”

  His entire expression shuttered, silver flashing through his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

 

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