Page 1 of Light

Chapter One

Reece

“Someone’s been keeping a secret.”

Faline Garand flings the singsong words at me with an insolent toss of her head. My human reaction of rage mixes with the inhuman energy of my blood, nearly driving me to stretch out my fingers until lightning ropes unfurl from their tips. I envision the lassos whipping around her bony neck. Searing into her ghost-white skin. Wrapping so tight, her coy nod becomes a prelude for the fast snap that will end her life.

That will end her command over my life.

One cinch. One yank. One twist. And then she’s done.

Not going to happen.

Because I won’t do it.

I can’t do it.

Not when the bitch has my baby boy cradled in one arm and my woman’s neck in a vise grip with the other.

Not when a simple snap ignited by her superpowers could end their lives before I have the chance to blink.

No. Jesus God. No!

Terror burns my gut and my veins, transforming them into impotent fury. “If you hurt one fucking hair on either of them…” I dissolve the rest of the sentiment into a growl, because truthfully, the growl is all I have. The bitch with the slicked black hair and the cutting feline eyes knows it too. The slow curve at the corner of her mouth tells me so. As her insolence intensifies, Emma’s breathing quickens—and my heart screams louder.

Emmalina.

My flare. My light. My love.

My goddess has been shoved to her knees and is held by her hair, stark blue terror in her eyes and trembling rage across her lips. Her composure crumples as Faline twists her hair tighter. The bitch tsks smoothly into the murky, foggy air.

What the fuck is going on? Is all of this even real? I consider the questions harder while peering around, fighting to pierce the murk with fingers I’ve fired into light sticks. But the brighter I amp them, the thicker the fog gets. Where the hell are we? And do I really care? My only focus—the only reason I continue to breathe—is getting my little boy and my heart’s beloved away from this witch and her sick addiction to my agony. Especially if she’s the one causing it.

“Oh, all of their precious hairs are just fine, cariño,” the woman soothes. “Most especially, this sweet little one’s…” She brushes her bloodred lips across my baby’s forehead—gashing deeper into my soul with every inch she covers. The edges of my vision turn a matching shade of red but are quickly taken over by blinding flashes of hot silver.

A harsh growl pours from me. I lurch forward but check my momentum when the bitch wrenches Emma’s hair. Though my wife grits back the scream that clearly rises in her throat, tears seep from the corners of her huge eyes.

“Such a beautiful boy. Such a magnificent miracle.”

Despite Faline’s abject reverence, Emma bares her teeth and hisses through them before spewing, “If you hurt him, I swear to God, I’ll—”

“Hurt him?” The witch eclipses her adoration with an insulted huff. “Hurt him?” She turns the huff into a snarl and sends a burst of electricity to her hand. At once, small puffs of smoke erupt from Emma’s hair—and then undoubtedly from her scalp—as Faline embosses her fingerprints along the top of my wife’s head. “For a puta smart enough to ensnare Reece Richards, you are truly a stupid peasant.” She releases Emma with a violent shove, only to secure her prisoner again by planting a boot against Emma’s throat. “Oh, I do not plan on hurting him, little idiota. You have my promise about that.” As she looks down again at my boy, her tone takes on the same fierce adoration that takes over her face. “He will know he is a miracle, enhanced and exquisite, every day of his life. He will know that because I will make sure of it.”

I’m not sure what chills me deeper: the possessiveness in the bitch’s voice or the matching twines of it through her posture as she curls her upper body around the innocent form of my son.

Who reaches a tiny hand up to her face.

Who grabs at her cheek, as if recognizing her…and trusting her.

Who smiles as another hand moves in and cups Faline’s face with the same open adoration.

A hand that’s sneaked in from below. Belonging to my wife.

Who now rises, slowly sliding herself up Faline’s form, her sweet smile lifting with every inch she climbs.

A smile no longer meant for me.

She’s beaming it into the bitch’s welcoming face. Trusting Faline exactly as my baby boy does. And finally, parting her lips to speak again.