Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (best motivational books to read TXT) 📗

I nodded.

Wrapping the small piece of wood inside the suede lace, he smiled up at me. “It might not always be possible for you to keep this doll on you. May I?”

With a trembling lip, I extended my little arm, allowing him to fasten the bracelet around my wrist.

He’d wrapped the suede around the wood so many times I couldn’t see it at all.

“Men have died trying to obtain this wood to build indestructible weapons,” he said. “It is important we keep it hidden. As for your doll—you may keep her, but only inside our home. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Whenever you are angry or frightened,” he said, “I want you to place your hand over your bracelet and count to three.”

Closing my eyes, I wrapped my cold fingers around my new bracelet and counted to three. Although I couldn’t see my wings disappear, I felt it.

Smiling lovingly at me, Papa rubbed my cheek and kissed my forehead. As he got up, my mother turned away. Although I couldn’t make out what they were saying, I knew it had something to do with my mother being afraid for our lives. She kept arguing, while my father did his best to reassure her that no matter what I was, we’d make it work.

I picked up my injured Alice and held her close to my heart. “You are well,” I said, brushing her straw hair back.

The second I looked up, my heart nearly stopped.

Right behind our meat-roasting pit was a woman standing in the shadows, the hood of her long green cloak making it almost impossible to see her face. Around her neck was a clear quartz pendant held together by hemp rope. On this rope were little black bits. At first, I thought these to be pieces of dirt or oil stains, but every few seconds, one of them sparkled.

The woman smiled at me—a smile that made me want to run up and hug her.

Then, I noticed her left hand. While there may not have been any blood, there were no fingers, either.

I glanced down at my doll, whose hand matched this woman’s.

How was this even possible?

When I looked up again, however, she was gone.

Chapter 13

──────────

“You’re my fucking doll,” I blurt.

I don’t mean to be so rude about it, but I can’t contain my surprise. This whole time, my protection has been some woman following me. What is she? Some illusion? Is she even real? I’m tempted to reach for her wrinkled face, but that would elevate my level of rudeness.

She offers a plain smile—one that says, There’s a lot more to this than you know, but I don’t have the time to explain it.

“You had better hurry, Alexis,” she says. “Your time within the Hall of Hallows is limited.”

Again with the lack of clear instructions. Why didn’t Peter tell me this? If this is what the guy does for a living, he needs to find a new job.

Instead of arguing with her, I shove Alice—the doll, not the real-life version—into my pocket and the old woman disappears instantly.

Clenching my teeth, I close my eyes and throw myself into the flames.

At first, the heat reminds me of my village all those years ago. It’s hot—sizzling hot—but it doesn’t seem to hurt. At least not physically. What pains me the most is the memory of watching everything burn to the ground.

Suddenly, I remember seeing Alice all those years ago. As I ran from the fire, she stood at the edge of the forest, the hood of her green cloak masking her face entirely. I remember trying to run toward her, but no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t reach her.

Had she been the one to guide me to safety?

I’m dying to know more about this woman, but first, I have to deal with finding Devania.

The heat surrounding me disappears as fast as it came and I find myself standing in the same forest I walked through earlier.

For real?

Did the fire send me back a step?

While everything might look the same, something’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it doesn’t feel like I’m standing in the same forest.

“You must be Alexis,” comes a woman’s voice.

I flinch at the sound of my name and turn around. What’s up with people always appearing behind me? Is it so goddamn difficult to appear in front of me?

The woman smiles the moment I make eye contact with her.

I don’t bother asking her how she knows my name. It feels like everyone knows my name these days, and not for reasons I’d like them to.

She appears to be my age, maybe a little older. And by my age, I mean the age I appear to be—around the thirty-year-old mark.

I’m afraid to imagine what anyone would look like at a thousand years old. A walking skeleton, maybe. I smile at the thought, but when I realize she’s staring me cold in the face, I tighten my lips.

From the top of her head extending down around her shoulders is a long red cloak with a golden strip decorating its edges. The cloak floats over her shoulders as if sitting on two thick pads underneath, giving off a royalty vibe.

What is she, exactly? She isn’t pale—at least not vampire pale. She’s stunning in every sense of the word with golden eyes so fierce they almost look orange, long auburn hair that disappears into her cloak, and full red lips to match. She reminds me of Little Red Riding Hood—someone I hope to never meet. Anyone who isn’t a feeble knows she’s the wolf, and a conniving, dangerous one at that.

I breathe in, trying to catch a hint of her scent.

Pumpkin spice mixed with candle wax.