Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

chunks. Damian waited until the dust had started to settle before he made his way to the broken room, and the shattered remains of Mitchell. As he'd hoped, he was still alive, but just barely.
    Damian removed a large chunk of ceiling so he could find Mitchell, although the dust had caked on the blood and made it look like his face was covered with ashes. His eyes were two black pits in his ruined face. "Where is he?" Damian demanded. He didn't name him; he didn't need to.
    Mitchell coughed up blood before rasping, "Somewhere where you'll never find him, monster."
    Damian grabbed the wizard by the head and tried to force his mind into his, but even as he made the intrusion, he could feel Mitchell's life essence fading away, escaping him long before he could reach it. "Damn it!" he cursed, dropping the dead man's head.
    Not that it would help them. He would find the boy, and he would possess him, no matter who – or what – he was.
    When Damian first saw him, using his second sight to spy on a supposedly "secret" gathering of the Ravenhurst coven, he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not. He thought perhaps that it was a spell, meant to deliberately confuse him, but the more he investigated, the more he discovered his initial impression was correct: he was real.
    The boy looked about twenty-three, which was the age Kieran had been when he died. He was also a dead ringer for Kieran: same long, lean build, same sky blue eyes, same chocolate colored hair, and long fingered hands. Upon seeing him, Damian was at once enraged and yet almost crippled by the fierce aching of his heart. Kieran had been his only true love, the reason he had wanted to better himself and embrace his destiny of becoming the most powerful sorcerer the world had ever known.
    And, of course, he had killed him.
    Kieran, as beautiful and beloved as he was, was weak. Damian tried to be strong for both of them, but in the end, Kieran was just too frail. He became scared, somehow thought the power was "warping" him when really it was giving him new vigor. He never felt so alive when infused with so much magic. But Kieran betrayed him, and tried to help the Blackwell coven depower him. They all died, and Damian happily absorbed their power.
    Of course he regretted killing Kieran. How could he not? But by choosing to side with his enemies, Kieran cast his lot, and had to know the price of failure was death. On the other hand, Damian was now free to do as he wished with whoever he wished, and love was a weakness a man in his position could ill afford. In fact, Kieran's death had strengthened him, his life force like an adrenaline shot to his soul.
    Still, in very quiet moments, he realized he missed him. Kieran had been beautiful, and he'd loved Damian with a passion that was almost frightening, although leavened by its charming naiveté. He believed in things like true love and storybook endings, which was amusing at first, but tiring near the end. Damian could still remember how Kieran looked at him right before he killed him. There was remorse, yes, and fear, but something else, something he was never quite sure he could define. Was it guilt? Resignation? The knowledge he had made a mistake turning his back on his love? There was no way to know.
    He'd seen none of that mystery in Mitchell's eyes. He accepted his death with no feeling at all, like he knew this was how it always was going to end. Damian ripped the useless protective amulet from around his neck, and used Mitchell's blood to draw quick symbols on his arm, casting a tricky glamour on himself. Now he would look like Mitchell to the few surviving members of his coven, and they would be unable to see through it no matter what counter-spells they were using. He had made sure to include a few Hollywood injuries, superficial ones that looked like he'd been in a battle, but in a way that left him still looking good. If he went overboard, he'd be overselling it, and he didn't need someone fussing over him when he needed to make this quick. Not that time was of the essence anymore, but wasting minutes with the few remnants of the Ravenhurst coven was beneath him. He was the most powerful sorcerer the world had ever known, and no one said no to him anymore.
    With the amulet, he was able to cast a location spell that let him know where the rest of the Ravenhurst coven was hiding. For some reason, they were protecting the boy, possibly just to annoy him. Maybe he was a novice, unable to withstand