His Sapphire Witch Page 4

  “I know I haven’t been an older brother to you, and I’ m sorry. Maybe if I actually came back, you wouldn’t need to hide things from me.” Jesse rubs soothing circles on my back.

  “I’m never here, and it’s my fault that you can’t trust me.”

  I stop blaming him for not being home a long time ago. I accepted that being a witch would take away everything I love. It’s me that’s been driving him away. He should never apologize for being uncomfortable with me.

  I would have left this home if he asked me to, but Jesse is too kind to say something like that, so he took it upon himself to put the distance between us. It hurt at first, knowing that I can’t change what I am. I’m never going to get him back, and in a sense, I never really had him.

  “It’s not your fault,” I murmur.

  His rubbing pauses before resuming, “I’m not going to force you to tell me what’s wrong. I want you to tell me on your own. But, I do want to know how long this thing, whatever it is, has been going on.”

  I’m physically tired, and my mental capacity is a wreck. The selfish part of me wants him to know and take responsibility for making me this way. That’s the bad voice talking. I don’t want him to know and feel guilty over something that is my fault.

  I decide to tell him the truth. It’s hard to keep up with little details in a massive deception.

  “Ten years ago,” I said.

  It was the same year he left for the military.

  His body stills. The hand on my back stops its soothing ministration, and the head rubs also stop.

  I didn’t have the time to let regret hit me in the face because his chest hits it first. He crushes me to him, and I’m taken back by the force pushing my face into his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” Jesse said, breathing wetly in my hair.

  “It’s okay,” I said, and it’s a phrase that works on everything.

  “I want you to do something for me, Letty,” I remember the nickname that he called me when I was still little. It’s good to hear it as a mountain of memories floods my mind; it’s too much and not enough.

  I miss being Letty.

  “I don’t want you to be okay with not being okay. I want you to tell me when you are not fine. I want you to tell me if you don’t like anything. Please talk to me. I’m your brother, and I don’t want you to ever feel that you can’t count on me.”

  I throw my arm around his waist and nods, “Okay.”

  Chapter Four

  Alexander

  Jesse asked me to stay and help him look after his sister because he knew that something was wrong with her. Both of us can tell that whatever is happening to her has been going on for years; this kind of blackouts isn’t a sudden thing.

  On the first night I witnessed the flare of black magic, I knew Charlotte had done something she would never tell Jesse. The moment I felt the spark of black magic, my killing instinct had honed in on the source of the power, and when I came out, the whole house had been covered with ice.

  It wasn’t typical ice magic. When I tried to get her attention by grabbing her face, the back of my hand had spider fractures. It was neither cuts nor did my bones break; it’s a wound that resembled cracked glass that wouldn’t heal.

  A week passed, and it still hadn’t healed. Charlotte asked what was on my hand, and I never told her. She wasn’t aware what her magic could do. I want to keep it that way until I can find out what is wrong with her.

  Trying to get her to open up so I can dig into her past was hard; I need to find out the source of these blackouts that she would have.

  Over a two-month period that I stayed, she had multiple blackouts, and they went from nighttime to daytimes too. They became more frequent, and for a prolonged period of time, neither Jesse nor I touched her to prevent any magic from cracking our skin.

  She would come out of it with confusion because she stopped remembering what had happened hours before.

  I pulled my military contacts and spoke with the only doctor that practices magic. She said she couldn’t do a proper diagnosis without meeting her patient. She did give me some ideas to prevent the blackouts from being too frequent, but there wasn’t much I could do other than to keep her company.

  The doctor had experience with black magic, and she firmly suggested that Jesse and I were to never leave Charlotte alone. Black magic feeds on loneliness and the fear of abandonment, and this girl has been alone for far too long.

  “Does it still hurt?”

  I look over to the couch where Charlotte is sitting on, her legs tucked under as she fiddles her dress. The frilly edges ride up her creamy thighs, and I force myself to look away from the patch of tantalizing skin.

  “No,” I tell her, but it does have this constant, sharp pain running through the cracks.

  I don’t see red welts from broken skin or pink muscles under the wounds; it’s just thin, black lines running in unparalleled directions.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  Charlotte asks me if my hands hurt every time I study the cracks. The guilt has been eating at her, and she doesn’t believe that I’m alright even when I told her so.

  “Come here,” I wave my hand, and she bolts up from her seat.

  Her ass plops down on my lap, and my arm goes around her waist to secure her. Her knees part besides my legs as she looks me in my eyes.

  Charlotte has been starving for touches; it didn’t take long for her to let me touch her. At first, it was simple caresses to get her used to my hands since it was one of Jesse’s rules of making her step out of her comfort zone. Then, time went on, and it was her time to do the touching. She looked like she was about to pass out when she first initiated contact, but she powered her way through the struggles.

  The process of getting her to trust me is slow, but this is much better than two months ago.

  “We talked about this,” I remind her.

  Her head bobs as she drops her eyes down to her fingers and picks on her nails, “Yeah.”

  “Then, tell me what we talked about.” I interlace my fingers at the dip of her spine as she arches her back and quietly whines.

  “Charlotte,” my tone lowers.

  She repeats what we had said weeks earlier, “You’re not hurt. It’s not my fault, and I am to never apologize for being me.”

  “Good girl,” I praise her, and her pretty lips spread in a smile.

  I can still remember the first time she smiled so brightly was when I called her that for the first time. I thought I saw an angel and somewhere along spending time together, she did become my angel.

  She isn’t a Wicked for having black magic, and I don’t care what the reason is for her to turn to forbidden magic. We haven’t breached on that topic yet, and I don’t want to ask questions that she isn’t ready to answer.

  I have to go slow, or I will lose the weeks of hard work on gaining her trust.

  “Let’s talk,” I said, and she knows what I mean.

  We have this unspoken routine where I would ask her things, and she would answer if she wants to, but she always does since she doesn’t want to upset me. In a way, she has to tell me what I asked as I cannot forgive lies.

  She knows I don’t like it when she lies to me; it was evident the first time she blatantly covered up the truth.

  Charlotte never lied to me again.

  “What do you want to know,” she murmurs, but she can’t meet my eyes.

  Those sapphire hues gleam in the morning lights. I see them, and my heart goes wild, hammering in my chest, and I would feel like the most powerful man that walks on this planet. Charlotte is home for me, and I can’t imagine myself not seeing her for one day, and it terrifies me that she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

  I am scared that she will see me as a man who is twice her age and think that I am an old pervert taking advantage of her trust.

  “Tell me about your parents.” I keep my eyes on her, and when I feel her body stiffen, I drag her down on my chest.

/>   If I don’t hold her, she will run, and that is one thing she is good at. She needs to learn that running away won’t solve anything, and if she wants to make Jesse proud, then she needs to take the first step to better herself.

  It’s a low blow to use Jesse in this, but I have done other more despicable things. I will stoop to the lowest if it means helping Charlotte; she has wormed her way too deep into my heart for me to give up on her.

  “I don’t really remember them,” she reluctantly said.

  “Whatever you can remember.” I run a hand up her back and tuck her into my body. I could crush her with just a little squeeze because she was malnourished. She lacked the knowledge for taking care of herself.

  “I was six when they died, and I’m not good with memories, so I don’t remember anything we did as a family. All I know is that Jesse took care of me until he…” she stops, turning her head to the other side.

  “Until he joined the military.”

  Charlotte sighs.

  “How old were you?” I question.

  She doesn’t answer right away, probably trying to think of ways to make her words less difficult. She tries to make light of the situation when she is put on the spot, and she will blame herself for things that should have never been her fault, but her warped understanding of her surroundings can’t be her guide any more.

  She needs me.

  “What?” Charlotte lifts her head, her blue eyes blinking in confusion.

  “When Jesse left,” I clarify.

  She purses her lips, “Ten, but he takes care of me! He comes back to check on me—”

  I hush her with a smile, “I know he comes home to you.”

  “Jesse is good to me. He sends money back, and we’re a family—”

  She’s rambling, and it’s spiraling down faster than I expected, “Who’s been taking care of you when he’s not home?”

  Charlotte smooths down my cotton shirt; she settles down after her nervous bouncing on my lap. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cause my cock to stir at the most inappropriate time; she doesn’t feel me pressing again her panties, but I feel everything.

  “I can take care of myself,” she mutters and manages a half-smile.

  Her brave expression doesn’t fool me. I can see through the façade and find the scared and alone little girl underneath. Being stuck in a house since a child, unable to understand the concept of the link between her parents’ death and Jesse’s deployment to fight the very things that remind him of his sister.

  A witch, a girl, a child.

  “Do you want me to take care of you?” It’s a question that startles her. Her back straightens as her hands jerk back until she isn’t touching me unless she had to, and her ass will be firmly planted on my lap until she gives me an answer.

  “I can’t,” she whimpers wetly.

  I sit up from the couch to bring our bodies closer and grip her waist tighter, “Do you want to?”

  She nods wordlessly.

  “Then, you can,” I say with confidence, and she shakes her head.

  Whatever is rolling around in her head, the doubt and fear radiate off her in quick sessions and her blue eyes are clouded with turmoil. The thing that she is struggling to deal with and refusing to tell Jesse and me, it goes further than I expect.

  She wants me to take care of her, so she can learn to be with me without any residual wisps of the voice that I hear her talking to when she thinks no one is around. It bothers her, and it’s hurting her, and I don’t know how to help her.

  I do notice that she hasn’t talked to herself in a while. The more she welcomes our company, the fewer blackouts and voices she hears.

  We are helping her, but it’s not cutting the source of the black magic swimming deep in her soul.

  “Charlotte,” I whisper, kissing her cheek while her body trembles. “Let me take care of you.”

  She chants with a disoriented look, “You can’t. You can’t. I-I’m a bad girl, Jesse’s going to leave— you’ll leave. You can’t leave; please don’t leave me. I’ll be good, I—”

  “You are,” I grip her jaw to snap her out of her trance, “You are a good girl, Charlotte. My good girl.”

  Her heavy breathing and frantic eyes hit a chord. I know that her train of thoughts can get derailed by that voice in her head, and I have had enough of standing to the side while she’s battling her own demons.

  “I know you hear voices,” she stiffens at my words, but I push on. “Do you see things too?”

  She grudgingly confirms with a jerky nod, “But, I’m getting better!”

  “When did it start?”

  Her shoulders drop, “I don’t know.”

  “That long?”

  I brush the drop of tears falling from her blue eyes, and I cup her cheek to bring my lips to her skin for a comforting peck.

  “Don’t tell Jesse,” she begs so brokenly that this dilemma puts me in a difficult spot.

  “I have to,” I said, and she whimpers, “I’ll talk to him about it, but you need to tell me everything.”

  If I push a little harder, she might spill everything out. I overestimated my influence on her because she’s out of my lap the moment after and scramming to her room. I’m faster. I take her elbow and yank her back before her hand can wrap around the door handle.

  “Charlotte, you can’t keep running away!” I hiss, and her shoulders jump.

  She bows her head, her black hair falling beautifully over her face as she refuses to look at me. I don’t force her to turn around, but I want a straight answer from her. She’s been letting out answers that don’t solve anything, and it’s making me run in circles.

  “I can do this by myself,” she said, and her voice cracks.

  “Do what?” I step closer to her trembling body.

  She’s crying.

  Her strong blue eyes have a roar of determined thunder rippling through those intense gazes. She isn’t crying; she’s too set on something that will ultimately leave Jesse and me in the dark. I can’t let that happen. She’s going to hurt herself.

  “I don’t know,” she says, “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  I spin her around, setting my eyes in a glare while my lips turn into a frown. There goes the feeling of dread again, just like that night she froze the kitchen and living room. It’s an evil presence that shakes me to the core, and I can’t get rid of the feeling whenever she talks to herself.

  “Who are you?”

  Her big eyes blink slowly, “What do you mean? I’m Charlotte.”

  “You’re not,” I throw her against the wall with my hand around her throat, “Who are you?”

  Her eyes drop with a giggle, the curve of her lips is sinister, and it gives me the chills. “I’m Charlotte, and Charlotte is me. We’re your good girl.”

  “You are not mine,” I tighten my fingers around her jugular.

  I can’t pinpoint when exactly did my Charlotte gets taken over by this thing that’s using her body to taunt me while knowing that I would never hurt it. If I hurt it, then Charlotte will suffer too, and I can’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to; I would rather hurt myself than raise a hand to her.

  “You’re hurting my feelings,” she pouts, “What would your precious witch think when she sees you trying to kill her?”

  Her ice-cold hands stroke the back of mine where the cracks are; it pulses with prickling pain and a dry burn when she laughs.

  “She would understand that I’m going to kill you,” I snarl in her face, and her eyes brighten manically.

  “This is what I have been warning her about; the silly girl won’t listen to me,” she sighs, and my hand’s strength gets sucked away. It drops to my side while I try to figure out the sudden weakness in my muscles; they are numb, and I can’t move one centimeter.

  “If you kill me,” she blows me a kiss, and my other hand twitches to snap her neck. This black magic sensation flowing from her is triggering my need to kill, and I have trained my body to not hesitat
e, and it’s doing a good job at starting to itch for the gun that I usually keep by my hip.

  “You’ll kill Charlotte too.”

  My blood runs cold as she crackles hysterically, twirling in a solo dance as she sings a tune of an eerily happy song. The soldier and the man in me fight for the split decision to act when a dagger of sharp ice cuts through the air.

  I dodge the attack, and it grazes the side of my arm. It shatters on the wall behind me. Ducking to avoid another round of icepicks flying through the air, I watch her dance in the hall with her black hair fluttering down her back while the ice around her forms a foggy haze.

  Then she’s gone. She’s not where she’s standing anymore. The air in my lungs is knocked out when her weight slams into mine, and my back hits the ground with a painful thump. Cold hands wrap around my throat as my body isn’t physically able to fight back; everything in me is numb, and a dry burning is churning inside me.

  “I keep telling her that our Jesse looks prettier if his intestines are on the ground while we play with his blood. We can paint his portrait too. And, you. You’re a nobody in our life, just a stranger passing by. You were going to leave anyway, so why not just kill you too?”

  With what little strength I have, I try to elevate the pressure on my throat. Her grip isn’t strong, but the below-zero temperature on her hands is choking me.

  “Charlotte would be sad, but it’s only just for a bit. She’s going to cry and be alone again, but that’s okay. She has me; we have been together since her foolish brother left.”

  My vision darkens significantly and extremely fast too. This type of black magic is insane, and I have never felt anything this dark since that one witch who sold her soul for immortality.

  “You know, she loves you,” she scoffs, rolling her blue eyes. “I think it’s stupid of her, but it can’t be helped. She gets attached to anything that gives her a minute of its attention, and you gave her too much.”

  She leans down, her black hair blocking the lights as the brightest blue glows from her eyes. It’s lighter than the deep sapphire that I love, and if this thing says she’s a part of Charlotte, then her being in love with me is a plausible truth.