Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4) by Emma Hamm (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

body and her relaxed body was evident as she molded against his skin. He didn’t think she would be particularly keen on sleeping in his room. Apparently he had been wrong.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m never very sharp when I’m coming out of a vision. Everything always feels so disjointed.”

“I thought I told you to dream without seeing the future.”

“You did, but I don’t control it all the time.”

He knew that she would go through a learning period. Nearly the entirety of his childhood had been mistake after mistake until he eventually put the puzzle pieces of his mind together. She didn’t have the luxury of a couple hundred years to hone her craft. Lydia had to be pushed harder than most deities.

There were worlds depending upon it.

“You need to learn how, and quickly.” He tried to be gruff, but Pitch was finding it harder and harder to be so around her. She wanted to make him happy.

“There was another boy.”

It took all his self-control not to flinch. He was still finding it difficult to put the last one out of his head. Changing someone’s gender wasn’t exactly the end of the world, but it was a dastardly thing to do before the person could make that decision on their own. A child was a child, but he hoped he had been there early enough that the soul inside it hadn’t decided what it would like.

“Another?”

“Older,” she whispered. “Much older. He’s not like us. He’s human, a Red Blood, and so powerful that he almost threw me from his thread of future like a ragdoll.”

That made Pitch sit up and pay attention. “A Warlock?”

“A Magician.”

“We wiped them from this planet when the dimensions first collided. And you mean to tell me we missed one?”

“No,” she chuckled. “He was created naturally. There aren’t even any Magicians in his family line. He simply became one in the womb. Infinitely powerful and very important to our cause.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet. I couldn’t see that far but I couldn’t pull myself off of his time thread either. He’s going to kill his family.”

Pitch blinked a few times to clear his mind. “What was that last part?”

“He’s going to kill his family. Everything was muddled and very emotional, but he can’t stay there. All I could see was a mist of red and I can’t change that part. That future is very much set no matter what things I tweak. It’s too late to save them. But he can’t be caught and he can’t stay in that house with all those dead bodies.”

“How old did you say he was?”

“Eleven maybe? Twelve? He’s just a boy.”

“That would be a terrible thing,” Pitch grumbled.

He didn’t want to get out of his bed. She was soft and warm. He hadn’t enjoyed himself like this in decades. Maybe even centuries if he was being honest with himself.

Women weren’t hard for him to find. There were always be a few that wanted to play with danger. The thrill always caused the blood in their veins to pulse a little faster, a little harder. They were the ultimate addicts and he was the purest form of drug they could find.

He was all too happy to provide them entertainment in the beginning. Yet, time had a way of wearing thin his morals. Pitch found them all to blur together. Female bodies here were too similar. Even with the hint of magic peeking through, they were all the same.

Soft in the same places. Angular in the same spots. They made the same sounds thinking that was what he wanted. Original became a word he didn’t know the meaning of.

Lately, he had enjoyed his own company. Being alone was easier. There was no one in the morning to explain how he had to leave, or worse, how they had to leave. He didn’t have to think of a way to tell them not to return to his club because he had found the track lines on their arms and thighs.

Lydia shifted. Her hand curled underneath her chin and she sighed.

This was what he had missed, he realized. Not the sex. Not the adventurous spirits. He had missed lying next to someone who was utterly trusting of him.

“You don’t have a lot of time,” she murmured. “And as much as I want to help, I know you are going to say no. So I’m going to go back to sleep.”

“Rub it in why don’t you.”

“I plan on it.”

He grinned, smiling with abandon because she could not see him. Her eyes were already closed, her body lax in the weight of sleep.

Shadows pulled at his physical form. The power that rolled within him longed to stretch into the waiting darkness. It knew where he was going. It knew what he wanted to do.

Pitch never understood his power. Thousands of years had not weakened him, the death of his siblings had made him stronger, and the more he used the dreaded black ink within his soul, the more he was capable of.

He drifted into the shadows, sliding back into them like he would a pool. He dissolved.

They pulled him where they wanted to go. Lydia’s words had been more than enough for his magic to find the boy.

Darkness called out to its ilk.

The Magicians were destroyed when these dimensions combined for a good reason. They had too much power and not enough control. Like Pitch, they would always desire evil.

Although, they were also capable of much good. He had personally known a few white magic Magicians who could heal with the slightest of touches. They had lost much in their attempts to remain “good”. Others were not as honest.

Those who toyed in black magic were tainted by it. They smelled of locusts, felt like barbed wire, and tasted of ashen bones.

Pitch materialized before a burning building. A blast of heat seared his shadows, the fire consuming magic as well as earthen objects.

“I’ve arrived just in time,” he murmured as his body solidified. He tugged hard on the edges