Mated By Fate by Christa Wick

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sweat popping along her forehead,Esme strained to remember the words, undo the damage her mother had just done. Hazy, but determined, her tongue ran the chanted words backward as fast as her brain could remember.

Before it was too late.

Which a part of her worried was already the case.

As if breaking through a dam, the last of Camille's spell repeated in reverse allowed Esme’s last formed memories to rush back like a tidal wave filling her thoughts.

Their onslaught brought fresh pain.

Denver tortured.

The disgusting, gelatinous effigy of Quentin.

Esme pouring all the life and magic she possessed into her mate's body.

Denver in the van dying.

"Baby, shhh…" Camille cupped her cheeks for the briefest of moments before her hands slid toward Esme's lips. "You need to rest, love."

Unable to lift her torso for any leverage, Esme struggled to keep Camille's hands from covering her mouth. Grabbing hold of the thin wrists, she resorted to the same type of physical restraint spell Camille must have placed on her.

Glaring at her mother, she jerked the woman's arms. "Undo the rest of your spells, mother. Now!"

"You're too weak to move, baby. I don’t want you hurting yourself further. That's all it is.”

Baby. Love.

Those words were foreign to the vocabulary shared between mother and daughter. Esme had tried to use them with Camille, tried to crawl onto her lap as a child or give her a hug. Witch light had zapped her in response, gently at first, during her most tender years, then more sternly until, at seven, Esme learned to hug herself.

She shook her head at Camille.

"Don't use words you don't understand."

With anger fueling Esme's magic, she could feel the layer of spells Camille had cast over her.

Sleep, forget, immobilize, dull.

The forgetting spell bothered her the most.

"Why did you put a forgetting spell on me? Where is Denver?"

Hearing Denver's name, Camille turned ugly, her feigned concern instantly burned away.

"Don't waste your energy on him. You arrived closer to death than that filthy beast!"

Stunned by the hate in her mother's voice, Esme sank into the furs, dragging Camille with her.

"Is he alive?"

"Yes," Camille bit out. "Witches from the Council have come to have a go at healing him. They can't let another precious shifter die, can they?"

More likely, they wanted to make sure Denver could tell them everything he saw and heard while captive, but Esme didn't press the point as Camille’s face pinched into a hateful mask.

"I wanted to take you home, but they wouldn't let me. He started howling and thrashing like a banshee in his bed the first time I tried. No one even told him we were moving you."

Looking at the door, Camille's gaze narrowed.

"Seth said you had to stay. And that so-called friend of yours agreed. Like I don't know what's best for my own daughter!"

Esme slowly absorbed the import of Camille's words, her panic easing now that she knew Denver was alive.

"How many days have I been out?"

"Three," Camille answered, her gaze skipping to the side.

"Don't lie, mother. How many?"

The older woman closed her eyes for a second then looked at Esme. "Five."

Ready to explode, Esme inhaled deeply, the effort causing fresh pain.

Five days! She could have been healing Denver those five days.

She grabbed Camille, forced the woman to meet her gaze.

"I don't understand anything you do! You're free of your blood oath, but you stay. You hate them, but you stay."

Camille's mouth popped open. Tears swam in her eyes. Her arms strained to move but the restraining spell had her tethered in place.

"Baby, I just want to take care of you. I stay because you stay. How about we talk this out while I brush your hair. You want to look pretty when you see him, don't you?"

Esme knew it was a show, a game. Camille could feign a sweet voice, but the cold distance never left her gaze. And Esme had been required to brush her own hair from age two. Her mother was not a hands-on parent.

"Let me go," Camille persisted, voice growing harder.

Esme shook her head. "The restraining spell will remain until you release me from the same, Mother."

Shoulders dipping, Camille relented, a familiar chant building in the room around them. Esme followed a word or two behind her mother, ensuring her body was free before she released Camille. Retaining her grip on the woman, Esme kept her mother at arm's length.

When Camille spoke again, Esme analyzed each word as it left her for the possibility of a fresh trap.

"Baby, we can leave now, don't you see? They think you are permanently damaged…your magic irreparably weakened by trying to heal that dirty beast. We can get away, take as many of the crystals as we can carry…take whatever you've been hiding in the wards surrounding your bedroom. I know it's powerful. It would keep us safe. We could finally put all this violence behind us."

Camille squirmed, tried to free her arms from Esme's strong grip.

"Can't you see they will never let you leave, not now when the Hunters are pressing closer," she continued coaxing. "The filthy animals will go extinct if they lose you. We'll slip out when everyone's attention is focused on him. He's been holding you back ever since I let his mangy hide into my home as a cub."

Esme stopped Camille.

"I love Denver," she whispered, afraid to say the words too loudly in case Fate was eavesdropping. "I won't leave him, not when he's injured, not when I know there could be so much more between us."

"I love him, mother,” Esme repeated.

Camille tilted her head to the side.

Her tears splashed hot on Esme's arms.

"Well, who else was there to love, baby? One of the other shifters who wanted nothing to do with you unless they needed a charm?"

"There was you," Esme answered, her hands falling away from her mother. "But you never loved me back. And I'm done blaming myself for that."

She pulled away, wanting to say more. But there was no point in telling Camille she was sick…twisted. Doing so would only increase the chance she would become more dangerous.

Instead, Esme stood and walked to the door. Stepping into the hall, she spelled the lock then went in search of Seth and Lana. She found them in the hallway outside the kitchen. Lana almost tackled her, joyful tears springing to her eyes at the sight of her friend up and walking around. Esme allowed herself a few seconds inside Lana's embrace before she repeated an abbreviated transcript of the conversation she'd just had with Camille.

Lana's gaze grew wider with each detail given while Seth seemed to coil tighter around himself.

Esme raised a hand, tried to calm him.

"Whatever you're thinking of doing, this is for the Witches' Council. She is free of her blood oath and the actions she took were against me, not against the clan."

"The hell they weren't against the clan," Seth growled. "She kept you from Denver. You saved his life in the van, but none of the healers or witches have been able to move him beyond that. He may still be dying from whatever the Hunters injected him with. You are probably the only one who can save him."

Esme felt the hammer connect with her head again, the psychic blow almost knocking her off her feet. She licked her lips. She couldn't abandon Camille. No matter how misguided the woman had been, Camille was her mother.

She took a deep breath in and hoped Seth wouldn't see her next statement for what it was—an empty threat.

"Promise me you'll transport my mother safely to the Witches' Council so that I can start healing Denver with a clear mind."

"He's your m—"

"Mate," she finished for him. "I know, I accept it as fact. But that doesn't mean I can currently control my emotions well enough to control my magic!"

"Fine," he relented. "But you reek of magic not your own."

She nodded, looked to Lana.

"Camille spelled me four ways to Sunday. The immobilization spell is removed, but I need your help with the others." She blinked, fat tears wetting her cheeks. "I'm already forgetting the truth of why I'm standing here."

Lana wrapped her arms around Esme and led her into the kitchen.

"We'll get a cleansing spell started while Seth finds Silantra."

As she guided Esme into a kitchen chair, Lana wiped a tear from the witch's cheek.

"We are going to fix what your mother did to you. I promise."

Esme nodded, her throat flexing as more tears streamed from her eyes.

"We have to," she said. "At least until I can heal him. I don't care about after that."

Lana wrapped Esme in a hug, kissed the top of her head.

"Then you're the only one who doesn't, silly witch."