would bet anything. No wonder he’d never told her what that woman had said. He hadn’t wanted Charity to blast him through the wall. He hadn’t told her about Dillon, he hadn’t told her what he planned on doing, and he certainly hadn’t asked her what she wanted. He’d taken her life into his hands and treated her like a puppet.
Just like everyone else was trying to do.
Anger flash-boiled her blood.
Kairi was right—Charity wasn’t the type to curl up and die. She knew who her home was. She knew what she wanted. And she no longer gave two shits about the Seer and her stupid ball.
It was time to take her life into her own hands. It was time to write her own destiny.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Charity stalked out of the shanty, rage stretching her skin.
“‘Don’t tell Grandmama,’ is that what you said?” She stared at Kairi. “Well, I have to be honest, it’ll be pretty hard to hide this…”
She turned around and pulled forth a surge of power. Sparks lit up along the sides of the shanty right before the air concussed. Walls blew inward. The roof crashed down on top, exposing another catacomb of the horrible structures behind it.
Charity destroyed another one, but this time, she shot forth a ball of electricity and power. It slammed into a wall and then exploded in all directions, a blast of heated air rocking Charity back on her heels.
Wood burst into flame. Sparks flew in all directions.
One more surge of magic and the whole thing was down, flames licking old wood and catching like wildfire. The rest would be nothing but ash soon.
This time, she didn’t have Reagan to calm the flames down. Hopefully they had buckets.
“Third, what— Why…” Hallen couldn’t get the words out. His eyes were saucers. “They were animals. They—”
She stalked toward him before pulling back her fist and delivering a punch. His head snapped back and his heels saw the sky.
“They are gentleman and ladies, and they are my friends. They deserved better than you gave them.” Charity walked on. “Where is my father?”
“He’ll be in his favorite shed, probably, or his house, Third,” Kairi said, walking by her side.
People called out to them as they walked by, but she ignored them, intent on her mission. Her father was in his temporary shed, a nicer place than the shifters had called home.
No, not home. A resting place until she was settled.
He looked up, startled. “Charity, darling, what—”
“Devon is gone, did you know?”
His sag was slight, but the fact that she noticed it at all meant he was gravely disappointed. “No, but I wondered. I spoke to him yesterday, hoping to impress upon him the remorse he would feel…” He sighed and stood, coming around his table to clutch her upper arms. He leaned forward to look into her eyes. “He wanted the best for you. He decided that it would be best if you were here, with your people.”
She felt her lower lip tremble under his supportive gaze. She shrugged his hands away, needing to hang on to her anger with everything she had. “Well, that’s the thing about modern women. We don’t like our men deciding what’s best for us without our consent.”
“I understand, honey, but these are the guardian lands, and—”
“Dad, I am glad I met you. I would like a relationship with you. But Devon is my home. He brightens up all my dark places. His pack, to me, makes sense. I belong with them. But there’s more to it than that. We, as a people, belong with them. I know you can feel that. You’ve said you can feel that. They fight like we’re meant to fight. I mean…we’re guardians, right? Why are you called a guardian when you spend your days messing around with plants? Aren’t there gardener fae? Or table-designing fae? We should be playing with swords to get our kicks, not thorny flowers. We’ve lost our way.”
He stared down at her for a silent beat. Footsteps, barely heard, sounded right before Halvor gently knocked at the open door.
Her father’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “What have you done?”
The knock sounded again. She shrugged.
“Yes, Halvor?” her father said.
“Second—” Halvor cut off whatever he’d been about to say when he caught sight of her. He composed himself, if a rock could be said to compose itself.
“Go ahead, Halvor. I doubt she feels bad for whatever she’s done.”
“The guest houses, Second. They are…destroyed.”
Her father’s eyebrow ticked up. “Destroyed? However did you do that?”