Prologue Continued (William Blackwyll)

Franchesca…

Who stood frozen as he crowded her space. Knowing the implications of what he had to do would change things, didn’t make it easier.

Liam took an oath not to intervene in Clare's life, to only help from afar if he needed to. But now she was a key in something bigger which meant danger, and if Clare’s life was in danger he wanted facts. Oaths were to be bent, his, more often than not.

With his right hand he grabbed Franchesca’s head. She screamed and tried to push back as he applied pressure, but to no avail. She wasn't strong enough to take him on. Linking his mind to hers he watched it all unfold- the visions, the memories, the accident, rushing through him as he relived the years in the minutes passed. What he found was unspeakable, even to his own mind.

Little Clare was about to become the most hunted being on this planet.

The wind blew in his eyes, but he didn’t blink, not even when Franchesca stumbled away from him to flee from the roof.

Liam’s fury seeped through his body at the thought of any harm coming to her, his beautiful Clare, his princess, who had yet to still blossom and grow into the woman she would become, his.

Wisps of ice involuntarily flickered like frozen torches on his fingers as he commanded, “Franchesca, stop!” His words rumbling through the wind as her dress crept up her thighs.

Facing him she took out her heels as the evident tears cascaded down her cheeks, as darkness invaded their space.

Liam didn’t need light to see, his vision never dimmed, only enhanced. Franchesca’s lips narrowed and he knew the stubbornness in her gaze. After what he’d seen, he should rip her limbs apart, shred her to pieces. Clare however would never forgive him for taking the life of her mother. Jullie and Nathan wouldn't understand, not like it bothered him

Much. However Franchesca had been loyal all these years. And then there was Caleb, though a boy, Liam considered him a good friend and maybe something more in the future.

The fear in her breathing was foreign to his ears. Franchesca, always the warrior and protector he had never seen scared. But fear of the unknown was a weakness bound to happen to any mortal who found out their daughter was about to be hunted down like a rabid dog.

Watching her closely, she dropped her shoes on the ground and swung her body around. Her knees lowered, and she begged, “I have to save her, please William, let me go, you’ve seen enough, please, if you wish to kill me do it once she’s safe.”

Her crest fallen face was a torment to his will but not enough to succumb him to its desire. Liam would protect Clare himself while he put a stop to all those who wanted her dead. For now he was going to need help and information from a closer source. Starting with what happened eight years ago. Which meant he’d have to leave, without knowing when he’d see Clare again.

The mere thought of not seeing her caused foreign emotions to gather inside him. If he'd possessed a beating heart the organ would’ve ached as his stomach did now. He heard about it from his sister, maybe he’d ask her what it felt like. But the solution to this was simple, he had to see Clare before he left. And that knowledge relieved him of the ache, which he chose not to decipher just yet.

With the authority instilled in him from before his birth, he finally spoke “I’ll help you.”

Franchesca gasped as the words left his mouth in the ancient tongue. It was difficult to digest and he didn't blame her. Help was not something he offered to others without a price, no matter how bad he was at it, and he wasn’t starting now. After all, he was his father’s son.

His reasons for helping Clare were among the most selfish. But he kept his features neutral as he waited for Franchesca to get her grips, “You’re one Caster,” she said, “I doubt your siblings would jump to protect a Lightwatcher’s young. What could you do?”

Her lack of confidence in his abilities tempted him to unleash his anger, what an insult, “The terms Warlock now!” he said dryly, schooling his features, a task he'd mastered thousands of years ago, “And to answer your question, more than you.”

He paused and waited for her to calm down, “neither of us are strangers to false identities and lying about who we are, Franchesca. I being superior at it of course, but you heed my point Lightwatcher.”

He listened to the rise in her heartbeat, the gulps she swallowed and watched as the sheen of sweat on her forehead glistened. Denial was pointless, she was as guilty as Lucifer. He should rip her throat out, but he was no lousy Warlock to everyone’s disappointment, so no throat ripping for him today.

Lucky for her, she didn’t know who fathered him, well at least not yet.

The words tumbled out of her mouth, a wasted attempt to negotiate, considering he was warning her and not killing her, “I’ll take her to the realms, you’ve seen what follows, they all coming for her.” When he just stared at her she huffed in frustration, “Whether you agree or not she’s my blood, it’s my right.”

Ignoring her disrespect he sighed , “You wound me Franchesca to trust the word of a stranger, and brand me as your enemy.” She narrowed her eyes, and he shook his head in disappointment, “You think you've got me figured out Lightwatcher. You’ll be enlightened soon enough to discover you’re sorely mistaken.”

The look she gave him did little to alter his mood. Because for the first time in years, finally a glimmer of hope shrouded Franchesca,

redemption,

even if she was yet to realize it, she would. Self sacrifice wasn’t something to take lightly, it showed courage, if done to protect the one you love.

“I’ll get your son to safety is he still at the HOL?”

Her eyes widened in surprise before recovering quickly with a shake of her head, “No, he said he was going to the Irish country, but your brother…”

Understanding what she’d meant when she referred to his drunken mess of a brother, he nodded. Trust Kole to put a tracker on the kid’s cellphone. He just hoped it was only the cellphone.

He turned to walk away when he heard it, the soft discernible sounds they made as they crept up the stairs. Weight shifting to the balls of his feet, white knuckle fists clenched at his sides, he took a fighting pose,

“Franchesca.”

The woman who moments ago walked up to him with every appearance of a vulnerable deceptor, shifted into something far more dangerous right before his eyes. The fear in her gaze swirled, gathering into a storm of towering rage and fearless determination. She now stood as a killer and a protector.

The door to the stairwell crashed open. Liam turned to her with a sadistic quip of his eyebrow, “ladies first,” he said as he held out his hand to her in a gentlemanly gesture.

The moment she placed her hand in his, he tightened his grip, pivoted and let go, sending her hurtling toward the doorway where her own kind waited to end her.