Untamable Matriarch: The Witheridge Witches

Chapter 13

Margareth

He knows now. And one day he will ask about the other curse.

The truth is, I can't be sure that I'm right about what it is. That's part of the fuckery of it. My daughter has come up with a theory of her own that I can't exactly dissuade her from, because every person I've ever loved has died a violent death because of me. When I'd gotten our last coven leader, Isis, killed, Charlotte swore to never to fall in love. She's told me she can feel the curse running through her veins. Whatever it is. So since she was old enough to make assumptions about things, she's been adamant that Imogen is all she needs.

Vincent died a few days after the Battle of Baton Rouge. He hadn't been conscripted due to the fact he was the only surviving male of his household, as well as being one of the wealthiest businessmen. Even though he'd been classically trained in France like the majority of the sons of wealthy Creoles, he remained modest and down to earth. He, himself, had spent the last few months fixing up the house the demon half burned down.

Of course, I knew he was going to die. He had a clock ticking down above his head. I'd seen enough men die from their wounds in battle to confirm the theory of the curse. I was delirious from laboring with Charlotte for twelve hours. I was so weak.

Vulnerable.

My guard was down. I could barely feel my magic inside of me.

That's when we heard male voices coming from outside.

Deserters.

I'd let my protection wards I'd put around the house waiver in the last hour or so in my delirium. And when I looked above his head, I knew it was his time. He grabbed the gun he'd kept handy for moments like this. It hadn't been the first. But they'd never gotten inside.

"I love you." is all he said before kissing my sweat beaded brow before leaving to defend his household.

I screamed at him to stop.

"No. Don't go. You'll die." I shouted frantically to him through the little magic I could conjure.

"There are much worse ways to die than protecting the ones you love." I heard him think back in response.

I fought to get up despite his sisters, Tallulah and Virginie, holding me down. That's when I burned them. Only slightly on their palms where they had tried to hold me down. A first-degree burn at most. That's all the fire I could muster. And they leapt away from me, screeching. After I waddled out of the room, they slammed the door behind me.

I hobbled to the stairway when I heard gunfire. Round after round. Until there was nothing but unnerving stillness.

And then there was hooting and hollering in celebration from voices I didn't recognize. And then a familiar sickening death rattle rang from down below. When I got to the top of the stairway, I saw Vincent's mangled body at the bottom sitting in a pool of blood. The men who had been celebrating seconds earlier went eerily silent as soon as they saw me start to make my descent to my husband. I paused when his death rattle stopped and his entire body went still.

Vincent was dead.

I held fast to the stairs railing as contraction after contraction barreled through me. That's when I felt myself crowning. All the while, these men stared at me guns in hand pointing to the floor.

By the time I made it to Vincent's body, my baby's head had popped out. I reached with my hand to catch her as I groaned and pushed. Her shoulders followed, and I practically fell down the stairs as I pulled her from beneath my nightgown to my chest. I sat a few steps above Vincent as I cradled the infant to my chest, waiting for her to breathe.