The Half Blood Book 2

Daphne found herself back on her own doorstep, the lights inside glowing warmly. She was certain James was out for the evening, so there was only one other person it could be. She pushed open the door, ready to confront the unexpected guest.

“You’re finally here.”

Rothvaln rose from the couch, setting aside a copy of The Sign of the Four that her brother had left behind. He paused, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of the woman before him.

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Daphne had become the focus of his deepest desires over the past century.

Feeling a bit unsettled under his gaze, she cleared her throat. “I delivered your message.”

“And what was her response?”

“She didn’t say anything. The moment I introduced myself, King Lycan was livid. I relayed your message, and they practically threw me out.” Daphne moved towards the kitchen.

Her throat felt parched, so she filled a glass with warm water. But that wasn’t the only reason she needed to distance herself from him. His presence was simply too intense.

Rothvaln didn’t follow her. He just stayed put, waiting for her to come back. When she did, he found himself captivated by her all over again.

“You look stunning in that dress, Daphne.”

“Thank you. Your impeccable taste never fails to impress me,” she replied sincerely, glancing down at her gown.

She felt truly beautiful in it, almost like a princess, despite being further from that reality than ever.

Rothvaln moved closer, his hand gently resting on her waist. With his other hand, he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Daphne couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

She could feel his longing, but why couldn’t she respond with the same intensity?

It wasn’t that he was lacking in any way. Rothvaln was handsome, with a deep voice that could make even the most mundane words sound sensual.

Their faces drew closer, each feeling the other’s warm breath. He was excited, anticipating what was to come. And her?

She just stood there, waiting, yearning for the kiss she had been wanting, yet also fearing. Why couldn’t she be like other demonesses and surrender herself to the King of Demons?

But his lips never met hers. Rothvaln pulled back, studying her, searching for some emotion in her eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he said, “You need to go back to the Realm of Witches.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Lars Barlow.” With the name of her next assignment hanging in the air, Rothvaln vanished. Once again, she was being sent to that dreadful place.

Daphne slipped out of her dress and shoes and crawled into bed, waiting for sleep to claim her. James would be home in about three hours.

Her brother was all too familiar with the storm of emotions raging within her. At first, James had pleaded with her to break the deal.

The thought of his sister sacrificing herself for him was unbearable. As the years went by, James was forced to watch helplessly. There was nothing he could do.

He often spent his nights with Bianca, a half-Fae, half-human, and Gordon, a half-werewolf, half-human. The three of them were like the Musketeers from Dumas’ novel.

They were his only friends, and they often traveled together. Tonight, they had planned to meet at a pub outside their territory.

***

Daphne’s eyes fluttered open as the weak morning sun began to warm the earth. Her first instinct was to check if her brother had come home.

She knocked on his bedroom door three times, but there was no response. She called his name, but was met with silence.

On a hunch, Daphne carefully opened the door, thinking he might just be in a deep sleep. But all she found was an untouched bed.

Pushing aside her worries, she convinced herself that he must have stayed at a friend’s house. She started her day, preparing for her departure.

She had the ability to travel between realms and possessed an inhuman strength. These were some of the gifts Rothvaln had given her when she accepted her new life.

Not all beings from the realms had the ability to travel between worlds. Only the most powerful, the highest-ranking, and the most gifted could do so.

And she was none of these. Her abilities were given to her for one purpose: to kill.

It was just past five in the afternoon, and James still hadn’t come home. Daphne finished dressing, pulling on her green cloak.

She vanished from the one place she felt safe.

Once again, in the land of witches and warlocks, the iron medallion began to glow. A red light radiated from the object, leading her to Lars Barlow.

The sky was clear tonight, no hint of rain. As she navigated the familiar streets of “No One’s Place,” hunting her target, she felt the watchful eyes of the men, their faces hidden in shadows, their expressions wary.

Windows slammed shut abruptly, catching her attention. The small crowd that had gathered began to scatter, vanishing from the main dirt road.

The air was still, heavy with the smell of decay and filth.

She took a right turn, and the medallion, her guiding compass, came to a halt, its mission fulfilled. A stone house loomed in front of her.

It wasn’t as grand as those of the higher ranks, but it was spacious enough and seemed comfortable for whoever resided here.

Something’s off, Daphne mused. The house was completely closed up. Lars Barlow was supposed to be here.

Could he be the one she was meant to meet? Daphne felt a flicker of unease, unsure whether to proceed or retreat.

Despite her training and ferocity, she still had that human part of her, where fear and the instinct to survive were deeply ingrained.

She let out a sigh and finally approached the closed door, kicking it open with a powerful thrust of her right leg. She was met with darkness.

Standing at the threshold, she felt a sense of wrongness. Something was definitely off.

A groan pricked her senses. It sounded like someone was attempting to speak but couldn’t. Daphne’s brow furrowed.

Someone was inside, possibly in need of help. Or was it a trap to lure in the compassionate?

Suddenly, a warm light illuminated the interior of the house, and Daphne’s eyes widened in shock. Tied to a chair, with his lips sealed, was James, unable to speak and only able to groan.

His fearful eyes met hers, pleading with her not to enter. But she couldn’t resist.

She stepped inside cautiously. The door slammed shut behind her, but she didn’t even blink. Her expression was colder and more ruthless than ever.

Lars Barlow will pay for this.

“So you’re Rothvaln’s whore,” a raspy voice echoed from a corner. Lars Barlow sauntered towards her, seemingly unbothered.

His gray eyes and dirty blond hair made him appear to be in his twenties. He wasn’t particularly tall, and he was quite lean.

“You’ve made a grave mistake, Lars Barlow.” Daphne’s eyes bore into him, filled with murderous intent.

“Me? No, no, no. I just did what I was told,” he stammered, instinctively stepping back.

“Who?”

Lars’s gaze shifted from her to something behind her. Daphne knew then that they weren’t alone. As she turned around, her eyes met those of Maret and four other demons.

The five demon lords stood before her, their disdainful gazes fixed on her. This time, Daphne knew that no one was coming to save her and her brother.