Page 81 of Rafe

Rafe’s skin seared with the heat of the afternoon sun as he stood in the pool, the water brushing over the waistband of his suit. He’d selected the darkest pair of sunglasses Henri had offered him. Though he never burned, his ashen skin had turned a shade of pink, reminding him yet again how the vampire had changed him.

“You do realize you have vampires out here bare ass in this sun?” Greyson grumbled.

“Don’t be soft. You’ll be fine. Your magick is far too powerful,” Ilsbeth argued. “Come here. Form a circle.”

“Is there a reason why we are doing this in the pool in the middle of the afternoon?” Greyson sighed.

“Do I do anything without reason?” Ilsbeth continued without giving him an opportunity to respond. “This pool is a safe place. No one can hear us or touch us. It holds our energy. Together we are strong. The water is blessed and warded, cleansing you of the negativity you’ve allowed her to attach to you all. I could smell her on you.”

“Who?” Rafe asked.

“Her.” Ilsbeth glared at Greyson as she confronted him. “You should have called me the second you heard her name.”

Rafe glanced to Greyson who reached for a rainbow-colored pool noodle, responding with silence.

“What the hell is going on?” Rafe asked.

“Zyaire.” Ilsbeth spoke in a whisper and looked to the sky as if Hell was about to rain down from the heavens. “Really, Greyson. Why didn’t you tell him about her? I told you and Viktor this would bring about the prophecy.”

“You guys are serious about that shit?” Rafe recalled waking up in Ilsbeth’s mansion, their words like a whisper of a dream.

“Of course I’m serious about the prophecy. And Zyaire is a huge problem.”

“Explain it to me like I’m five.” Rafe struggled not to look at Skylar. Her angry energy radiated over him, and he didn’t blame her for hating him. Submerged to her neck, she hid behind an oversized pair of sunglasses, her attention trained on the witch.

“Since I can see Greyson and Viktor have managed to tell you everything about being a vampire, I’ll clue you into the disaster that befalls us. Zyaire is a very powerful witch. But once upon a time, she fell for a vampire who broke her heart in a thousand pieces.” She kept her focus on Rafe as she spoke. “Then the fae spoke of the prophecy.”

“Kellan?”

“Yes. That’s the one. He’d predicted at a party once that a vampire shifter would bring about her power, would usher her into our world like a virus. I’d nearly forgotten about her, but it was Thorn. He reminded me of what was to come. You.” She pointed at Skylar. “You were the entry. You’d met Rafe in New Orleans.”

“The vampires in the desert. They said Zyaire,” Skylar recounted. “How do you know her?”

“I’ve known her for a very long time.” Ilsbeth glanced up to the sky which had turned dark. A lightning bolt streaked across the sky. A clap of thunder rumbled through the atmosphere, its vibration rippling the surface of the water. “She searches for you. Rafe. Skylar.”

“Why me?” Rafe asked, glancing to the black clouds coming in from the south. “I didn’t even know you before my accident.”

“You are the prophecy. One born in death. Kellan knew.”

“What did he tell you?”

“The hybrid would bring forth vermin to the world. Zyaire would once again wield a great magick. The hybrid, an Alpha, will slay the great witch. And in the meantime, she’d attempt to infect the world. Which it appears she attempted to do that night in the club.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s got nothing to do with him,” Greyson retorted as he floated with his head back in the pool. “It’s been years since I spent this much time in the water. I feel like a child.”

“Why does she want me?” Skylar asked.

“Because, dear child, he cares about you. You are his desire. You are his.”

“But I’m not,” Skylar protested.

Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as Ilsbeth continued.

“It was foretold that a human would become both his death and his birth. You are that human.” Ilsbeth closed her eyes and sniffed. “You drank from her? She’s changing. We must commence the spell before it’s too late.”

Lightning splintered across the sky, this time striking an old oak tree. A branch cracked, landing with a thud onto the patio.