Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4) Emma Hamm (popular novels txt) 📖

“What am I?” she whispered to herself. “What am I capable of?”

Lydia did not know. The Goddess inside of her was more powerful than she ever could have imagined.

She looked out over the crowd, hoping to find something to ground herself. Instead, all she found was Pitch staring back at her.

The sea of people parted around him. He was a stone in the center of a river, the lone tree of a field of waving grass. Magic raged inside of her. The smoke of her vision cleared until all she could see was him.

Clear as daylight where everyone else remained hazy and dark. He stared at her with hope in his eyes. The song of his soul called out to her, the piper’s luring call begging her to drift into its embrace.

“Come to me,” she called out to him. “I cannot come to you.”

His hands grasped her waist. Each finger searing her in a perfect outline of aristocratic grace.

“My Goddess,” his murmured against the hollow of her neck.

“You weren't here.”

“My Goddess with teeth and claws. I keep thinking you are a delicate thing made of glass, but I forget you were born in the forest and the song of wild things does not fade so easily.”

Lydia felt all at once exactly as he said. She was hungry for the hidden glow of power which she now sensed to be a deep well. It was always there, waiting for her to call upon it. Waiting for her to trust in herself.

She traced the outline of his arms with her hands, watching Wren dance with the mysterious man who was made of bubbling dream magic. This was the start of her plan coming to fruition. The start of the beginning, or perhaps of the end.

“Yes I am,” she whispered. “I am more than just shaking hands and whispered prayers.”

Chapter 14

Lydia walked through the gardens behind Pitch’s manor. She had only recently discovered them, already filled with black flowers blooming as soon as the moon’s glow touched the ground. The sweet scent of honeysuckle and lilac thickened the air.

She loved this place. She loved the natural beauty and the myriad of magical colors that dusted each petal. This was no mere garden to her. Every life reflected in drops of water that clung to leaves, every breath rode the winds that ghosted through the willow branches, every heartbeat fed the soil.

No longer was she a mortal woman hovering between life and death. Lydia’s powers continued to grow with alarming speed. She saw every instance of the future and magic danced on her fingertips.

She commanded the winds like an Elemental, called upon the unseen like a Sorcerer, spoke with the earth like an Ent. The fundamental pieces of magic that came with this realm danced in her veins.

“Lydia?” Pitch called out.

“Coming!”

Thorns scratched at her legs as she tromped through the underbrush. Shadows fluttered over each wound, healing them instantly. His magic had followed her without Pitch knowing. At least, she thought he didn’t know. The shadows followed her like loyal dogs, always watching and keeping her safe.

She brushed a few hanging vines out of the way and paused. A banquet laid out on the ground, on top of a white and black checkered picnic blanket.

“Is there a special occasion?” she asked.

“No, I just wanted to spend an evening with the prettiest woman to ever exist.”

Lydia shook her head, carefully picking her way over the ground littered with roots. She could see the magic strands of light outlining their forms, but it was always uncomfortable to walk when she couldn’t quite see them.

A root lifted from the hard packed earth and wrapped around her ankle. She let out a shrieking cry as she tumbled.

His arms wrapped around her waist, his shadows cushioned her fall, guiding her into his arms.

Breathless, she laughed at his antics. “Were you planning this the whole time? Terrifying me into your arms?”

“Has that not been what I have been doing this entire time?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been doing at all. I thought at some point you might try to impress me with your manly strength. At the very least, I thought you’d try to showcase your wit or at least chivalry.”

“Are we in the medieval ages now?”

Lydia shrugged.

She lay tangled on top of him. His arms held her caged to his chest while his legs weaved between hers. Shadows twisted, curling into the sky all around them, their hazy smoke shielding them from any prying eyes.

Lifting herself onto an elbow, she forced him to give her enough space to loop her fingers around the inky locks of his hair. He was so pretty, and she had never found a man pretty before.

It was strange what time could do to the way she saw him. The hawk-like nose which had appeared sharp as a blade now appeared distinguished. His lips had always been a thin line in her memories, but now they were curved with a secret smile meant for her alone. His thin body was no longer whip cord strong, instead, it was lean planes and angles that were pleasing to her eye.

“What did you have planned for us tonight?” she asked.

“A picnic.”

“I can see that. But are we just eating?”

They had practiced traveling the strands of Time together. Though he was not as adept as she, and he could not follow her down into the Past, Pitch had proven to be a worthy companion. He understood the changes, showing her how to affect the real world rather than just see what might happen.

She coaxed a black cat into the life of a little girl under his watchful dark guidance. She kept a woman from walking down a dangerous street alone. Lydia saved countless people in tiny moments that didn’t affect the world as a whole, but meant so much to those individual lives.

He taught her that power was dangerous, but it was also to be used when she felt like she wanted to. To be afraid of