Page 7 of Black Willow Witch
What hewasn’t, and never had been, was a friend of Millicent. So why she would make him a beneficiary of her will, Emberlyn had no idea.
She studied the reactions of her relatives. They were tense, seeming equally surprised and confused.
‘He’son the list of beneficiaries?’ Dez asked Reena.
‘He is, yes.’ Reena fluidly rose to her feet as she tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear. ‘Good afternoon, Ripper. It’s a pleasure to have you here.’
He only inclined his head, his face its usual stony mask.
‘Please sit,’ she said, indicating a spare armchair.
As he stalked further into the room, Emberlyn couldn’t help butlook. Tall and broad, he was built like a tank. Everything about his body language – his strong eye-contact, upright posture, slow and purposeful walk – spoke of a person who knew he was a danger to all those around him. He engendered the kind of respect and fear that cleared him a path.
Vicious scars sliced through either side of his scalp, leaving stripes in his short black hair. A dark scruff peppered his well-defined jaw and the strip of skin above his full mouth.
Tribal tattoos peeked out of sleeves and collars, crisscrossing over yet more savage scars that spoke of the hard life he’d led and the multiple fights he’d partaken in.
Not that those scars meant he’dlostsaid fights. Far from it. When Ripper attacked, it wasn’t pretty. Wasn’t merciful. Wasn’t quick.
Given how brutal and gory the results would be, Emberlyn could see why some had nicknamed him Jax the Ripper . . . which had eventually been shortened to Ripper.
He sank into the empty chair, which placed him more or less directly opposite her.
She forced her eyes away from him, not interested in being caught staring. Her body had always gotten a little giddy around him. Okay,verygiddy. A tingling sexual awareness always peppered the air between them when they were up close. And it sucked to be so unshakably drawn to someone when nothing would ever come of it.
Witches were totally off his menu – it was pretty understandable, given his past. Also, he was caught up in some kind of weird love triangle.
‘Now that everyone’s here, we can get started.’ Reena turned her attention to Emberlyn. ‘As you know, I need your blood to open the envelope. Ward, get me a thin needle.’
‘Not necessary,’ Emberlyn told her, lifting her hand up. She released a thread of magick, let it ‘prick’ her finger, and then sent the little droplet floating through the air to land on the envelope.
Reena’s face tightened in that way it always did when Emberlyn did something that the High Priestess either hadn’t learned to do or simply couldn’t.
Reena tore open the envelope. ‘I’ve said it before, yes, but Ward and I are very sorry for your loss,’ she said to Emberlyn and her relatives. ‘Millicent . . . she might not have been beloved by many, but she will be missed. In a way.’
The High Priestess pulled out the papers, and her brow creased. ‘Ah, there is a letter attached. She would like me to read it aloud before moving onto the will.
To my nearest, dearest and miscellaneous. I will write no words to ease your grief because I know you will feel none. I was not a good wife, mother, sibling or grandmother. I devoted every ounce of myself to my craft.
It would be a lie to claim I have any regrets – I have seen, achieved and experienced so much through my quest for power; I would wish none of it away. In other words, feel no guilt at not experiencing any pain at my passing. There is no need to be sad for me in any case. I have never feared death. It is but another adventure for the soul, and I have ever been the adventurer.
Clearing her throat, Reena moved on to the will itself.
My darling Gill, knowing how much you love Black Willow Manor, I have bequeathed to you the antique dollhouse replica. May it bring you much joy.
Gill spluttered, leaning forward. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
Reena paused, her brow pinched. ‘Um . . .’
‘A dollhouse? She left mea dollhouse?’
Emberlyn barely managed to hold back a chuckle. She heard a sound come from Kage that sounded like a strangled snort.
‘Keep going,’ urged Dez, visibly excited . . . as if having concluded that the manor was definitely his. ‘Some of us have somewhere to be.’
Even as Gill spluttered again, Reena looked back down at the will and read,
To my handsome son, Desmond, I leave my truck. It doesn’t run anymore, but I’m sure someone somewhere could fix it.
