by Amy Pennza
“We need to pull the glass out,” she told Ben. “So he can heal.”
“Okay.”
They looked at each other. Then they spoke at the same time.
“Should I . . .?”
“Should you . . .?”
He nodded. “I’ll do it. I’m stronger.”
No kidding. He knocked out his own mother with one punch.
She glanced at Bard’s ashen face, worry gripping her. “Hurry.”
Ben grasped the glass and took a deep breath. Then he jerked the glass from Bard’s flesh and flung it away.
Immediately, blood pumped from the wound. It flowed like a faucet, pouring down Bard’s back and quickly flooding the tile. Ben gasped and scrambled back, his knees sliding in blood-drenched glass.
Horror twisted through Haley as blood spread under Bard’s body and flowed away in dozens of little rivers. It snaked through the glass, branching out like gruesome tributaries that ran swiftly to the bath.
There was so much blood. Too much. And she didn’t have time to figure out why. She just needed to stop it.
She looked at Ben, who still crouched in the bloody glass, his eyes wide as he watched Bard’s blood flow into the bath.
“Ben!” She snapped her fingers and held out a hand. “Give me your shirt so I can staunch the blood! If we stop the bleeding, he’ll have a chance to heal.”
“He won’t,” said a low voice.
There was a strange pulse—like a drop of water hitting a still lake. It rippled out, throwing Haley and Ben off balance. Sabine walked toward them, and Haley realized with a start that she hadn’t given Sabine a single thought after Ben stopped Glenna’s attack.
But it was impossible to overlook Sabine now. Her boots were soundless on the glass as she came to the spot where Bard lay. And she was . . . different. Her features were the same, but there was something about her that made Haley’s throat go dry and the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.
Sabine looked down at Bard, her face impassive. “Your efforts are wasted. He won’t heal.”
“That’s what you think,” Haley said, scooting closer to Bard. It was a lame comeback, but it was all she could muster when every instinct she possessed screamed that something was very wrong. Her heart pounded, and sweat dampened her temples. She wanted to stand up and shove Sabine away from Bard’s body—anything to get her away from him. But that meant leaving his side.
Not happening.
She put a protective hand on his shoulder and shot Sabine a glare. “He’s a Healer. He’ll be fine once he regains consciousness.”
Still gazing at Bard’s prone form, Sabine gave a heavy sigh. As if she mused out loud, she murmured, “Physician heal thyself.” She looked up, and her eyes glowed gold, the normally brown irises like amber set aflame. “I’m afraid he lost that ability a long time ago.”
For a moment, Haley couldn’t breathe. She was trapped by Sabine’s stare. And without understanding how or why she came by the knowledge, she knew she couldn’t look away unless Sabine allowed it. Fire could consume her, charring her bones to ash, and still she would be in thrall to Sabine’s stare.
As soon as the realization settled over her, it lifted. With its weight gone, she gasped. “What are you?”
Because Sabine was no latent. Power curled around her like a snake prepared to strike. Invisible tendrils licked over Haley, brushing her skin. At the same time, pressure pushed against her skull from the outside, as though something tried to get in.
Sabine put her head to one side, her smile almost kind.
Almost.
“Magic,” she said simply.
“She’s a witch,” Ben said. His face had drained of color, his expression dumbfounded. Which made sense. He’d known Sabine since he was a child.
How had a witch lived among werewolves undetected for so long?
“Careful, Haley,” he said without taking his eyes off Sabine. “They can read minds.”
Sabine looked at him, and her tone grew warm, almost indulgent. “Ah, Benny. Gentle, stupid Benny. Your mother was right, you know. You could have ruled. You have the brawn. The brains would have come with time.”
“I don’t want it.” He spat the words like someone filled his mouth with dirt and he tried to rid himself of the taste.
“No,” Sabine said, a curious note in her voice. “You truly do not. How interesting.”
Something brushed Haley’s hand. She looked down. Bard’s good eye was open and focused on her.
“Bard!” She put a bloody palm against his cheek and leaned over him. “You’re okay!”
“Go,” he said, his voice ragged. “Leave this place as fast as you can.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
The look in his eye grew urgent. “You’re in danger. Take Ben and get the hell out of here.” His gaze shifted to something behind her, and the expression in his gaze turned to rage.
“I’ve come for what’s mine, wolf,” Sabine said over Haley’s shoulder. “Your life is forfeit.”
Haley stood and whirled, blocking Sabine’s path to Bard. “You won’t touch him!”
Sabine laughed, a string of notes that rang like bells. “Of course I will, foolish child. He serves me.”
It hurt to stand before her. Haley’s bones ached, the feeling like the agonizing moments during a Turn. But she gritted her teeth and said, “An Alpha serves no one.”
The amber eyes gleamed, and Sabine’s voice echoed with dark power. “Ah, but he is no Alpha.”
Bard made a noise, and Haley turned so she could look at him. It couldn’t be true. Sabine was lying. Witches were known for that sort of thing.
But Bard’s gaze locked with hers, and his good eye was full of sorrow. Blood still seeped from his body, spreading under him like a macabre blanket.
“Bard?” she heard herself ask, a world of questions in her voice.
“The wolf won’t deny it,” Sabine said behind her. “Because he can’t.”
The pressure on Haley’s skull pulsed, and she winced. The invisible fingers dug into her temples. Against her will, her head started to turn back to Sabine.
“Don’t fight her,” Bard said, his good eye pleading. “Please, sweetheart, don’t fight.”
Nausea burned Haley’s throat. The vise clamping her skull grew so tight pressure built behind her eyes. Unable to bear it, she let the force snap her head around.
Sabine was waiting, her expression bored. “You really are a stubborn creature,” she said.
Haley fought to stay on her feet. The crushing pain was gone, but the memory of it made the coffee slosh in her stomach.
Still, she’d die before she knelt before Sabine. She straightened her spine. “I don’t give a shit what you think.”
“We’ll see about that,” Sabine murmured. She walked to the edge of the bath, where the water had turned red from Bard’s blood. “Since you’re too pigheaded to believe a truth you don’t wish to hear, I’ll make you see.” She waved a hand over the surface and murmured something under her breath. Immediately, the water swirled, forming a whirlpool as if someone had pulled a plug at the bottom. Instead of draining, however, the water spun faster and faster, its roar filling the conservatory.
Haley was helpless to look away. The conservatory seemed to darken, and then shapes formed in the water. A familiar scene emerged.
It was the forest that surrounded Elder Lake. Overhead, a full moon shone down on the trees. Two males stood in a clearing. One was Joel, but he was much younger, his back straight and his frame packed with muscle.
The other was Bard.
Haley gasped, her gaze on the water.
It was Bard yet it wasn’t Bard. Because the Bard in the scene was young and whole, his face free of scars. He stared at Joel with two clear blue eyes, his handsome face full of anger and frustration.
“A selfish boy,” Sabine said, and the images in the water shivered. “Concerned only with power. Unwilling to accept the decision of the people.”
“Unwilling to listen to his father’s adviser,” Sabine said.
The Bard in the water shoved Joel away. Water swirled over both figures, and the scene reformed. This time, Bard stood before a small, tidy house in a dark wood, his fist raised as if he might knock.
Sabine spoke again. “Seeking to ascend a throne denied him, the boy seized it the only way he could.”
Lightning flashed across the water.
Haley jumped and shielded her eyes.
A second later, thunder boomed, making the conservatory’s glass walls tremble.
On the tail of the thunder, Sabine’s power-infused voice shook the room. “BY FORCE.”
In the water, the door to the house opened and Sabine emerged, her slender body hugged by a long, black gown and her hair in a riot of tiny braids. She touched the young version of Bard, who suddenly blazed as if he’d been lit from within. In the water, he turned from Sabine and strode from the house, his steps sure and determined, his big body haloed by light.
The water swirled. Yet another scene formed.
This time, a glowing Bard circled a faceless male. Both were shirtless, their bodies covered in sweat, shoulders hunched as they clearly prepared to fight. It was still night, but the moon dumped light over the dense forest, its beam making the males’ shoulders glisten.
Haley stared at the water, her heart thundering in her chest. Nausea burned her throat. If she could have spoken, she would have begged Sabine to stop her twisted fairy tale right there. Because she already knew how it ended.
“The people chose another,” Sabine said.
The faceless male launched himself at Bard and struck him across the face. Bard fell to the ground, his cheek split open from his eye to the corner of his mouth.
“The boy refused to accept it.”
His glow undimmed, Bard stood. He bent low, his shoulder aimed at the other male’s knees.
“He insisted on a challenge.”
The faceless male feinted, then delivered a blow that snapped Bard’s head around and sent him sprawling face first into the grass.
Haley tried to look away, but she couldn’t turn her head. Tears burned her throat and ran down her cheeks.
In the water, the faceless male dropped to all fours and Turned, his transformation rippling over him like a current.
A Finder. Haley’s heart beat faster. Their Gift was speed. They didn’t just Turn faster than other wolves—they fought faster, too, their punches connecting before their opponent even realized they moved.
In wolf form now, the male leapt just as Bard flipped to his back. Bard shoved both arms out, hitting the wolf in the chest.
But he was no match for a Finder. In a blur, the wolf seized Bard’s left leg.
Bard’s mouth opened on a soundless scream.
The wolf shook his head like a dog with a rat. Blood spurted.
Bard swung a wild arm, striking the wolf in the side of the head.
Jaws still locked on the leg, the wolf swiped a paw down Bard’s side, claws gouging bloody furrows from his hips to his knee.
“It should have ended there,” Sabine said.
In the water, blood spattered across Bard’s glowing face.
“But the boy was unstoppable. Magic made it so.”
The scene unfolded as if in slow motion. Mouth stretched on a scream, Bard drew back an arm.
“None could stand against him.”
The wolf released the leg and lifted his head, his fur matted with blood and bits of flesh.
Sabine’s voice lashed like a whip, each sentence a loud snap over the roar of the water. “His victory was guaranteed. No matter what happened, the people would follow him. And they would never question his authority. He could never be unseated. As long as the magic held, none would challenge him.”
The water’s roar grew.
“MAGIC MADE A KING.”
The scene sped up. Young Bard punched into the wolf’s chest. Face suffused with light, he wrenched his arm back, a beating heart in his fist. For a second, the wolf was motionless, his jaws open like he might swallow Bard whole. Then he lurched sideways and crashed to the ground. Clutching the heart, Bard threw his head back and roared at the moonlit sky.
“But,” Sabine said, and her next words repeated, overlapping each other and echoing around the conservatory. Making the roses shiver.
Magic has a price.
Magic has a price.
Magic has a price.
In the water, the triumphant Bard lay propped on one elbow on the grass, his left leg at an odd angle. Blood covered his face and seeped from his torn jeans, but he didn’t seem to notice. Glow pulsing around him, he lifted the heart into the air.
Lightning forked over the bath again, then a watery Sabine emerged from the forest, her braids like a thousand snakes writhing around her head. Her black gown shimmered in the night, the train dragging over the blood-soaked ground. She stopped at Bard’s feet and regarded him with amber eyes the same shade as the glow that surrounded him.
Her red lips moved.
His eyes widened in his handsome face. He said something, but the roar of the water snatched the words away.
The witch continued to speak, her eyes wide and terrible.
The heart in his hand started to glow.
Sabine’s voice sounded again, the echoing words matching the movement of her lips in the water. “Magic has a price.”
In Bard’s hand, the heart grew brighter and brighter, until the glow was so intense Haley had to narrow her eyes. The water glowed, too, and steam rose from the surface.
“Magic has a price.”
The heart exploded. In the water, Bard’s head jerked back. He collapsed on the ground, a hand clapped to his eye. Blood seeped from under his palm. The black-clad Sabine watched him for a long moment. Her lips moved again, although Bard didn’t seem to hear. Then she turned on her heel and walked away, her gown slithering through the grass behind her.
In an instant, the scene disappeared. The water went still and the roaring stopped. Sunlight flooded the conservatory.
The force holding Haley’s gaze captive released, and she stumbled back, her temples throbbing.
Sabine turned from the edge of the bath. She might have traded her black gown for ski gear but she was no less menacing. Power snapped around her, and her eyes glowed with the same eerie light that had surrounded Bard in the water.
“You see now,” she told Haley. “Bard Bennett is no Alpha. His power comes from a charm.”
On the ground, Bard drew a deep breath, his chest making an ominous sounding rattle. “Not a charm. A curse.”
Sabine looked at him. “Human words. You know there is no difference, wolf.”
The throbbing in Haley’s temples intensified, but she shoved the pain aside and raised her voice. “You’re a liar.”
The witch narrowed her gaze. “Careful, child. I can make you regret your insults.”
“Haley.” Bard rasped her name, and she looked at him. He gave his head a little shake.
She let her gaze linger on his face for a moment, trying without words to let him know she didn’t think any less of him. Then she took a deep breath and met Sabine’s stare. Forcing nonchalance into her voice, she shrugged. “It’s a cool story, but I’m unconvinced.”
Sabine’s eyes widened just a little. For a moment she stayed absolutely still. Then she curled one hand into a fist at her side. “His pack chose another. He refused to accept it, so he came to me begging for a charm. I warned him there would be consequences. Forcing a whole pack into blind allegiance requires immense power. Magic isn’t free, little wolf.”
Haley waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got the whole ‘magic has a price’ thing. You said it like ten times.”
Ben, who had risen to his feet and stood a few steps away, made a soft noise that sound suspiciously like choking.
Haley kept her focus
on Sabine. “Your claim about Bard not being an Alpha shows you don’t know much about werewolves.”
The witch’s eyes glittered. “I know how to kill them.”
Ice slipped down Haley’s spine. In her mind’s eye, she saw the heart explode in Bard’s hand. Casual. Act casual. Sabine wasn’t a wolf, but she was a predator. It would be a grave mistake to show fear. Haley lifted her chin. “A wolf won’t follow a weak leader. If Bard wasn’t a true Alpha, the pack would have ripped him apart by now.”
“Stupid child,” Sabine said, her tone making it clear what she thought of Haley’s intellect. “Magic can override anything. Your kind is so limited, obsessed as you are with physical strength.” She looked at Bard, who had grown so pale purple veins were visible under his skin. “He knew this, which is why he sought my help. Magic can make people forget what they see. Make them follow a weak and crippled leader. Once he was charmed, no wolf could challenge him. None could kill him. Magic made him invincible, but the price was dire.”
Bard lifted his head, his good eye wolf blue. “And I’ve paid it, witch. With every wound and scar. With every new latent born in my territory. Your curse is a blight on this land and the pack.”
“You have tried to trick me.” Although she stayed still, Sabine’s voice rolled with power. The conservatory seemed to rock. Haley widened her stance, crossing her fingers that she didn’t fall on her ass.
Sabine went on, her words laced with increasing power as her voice rose in volume. “You sent your people away, draining the energy. Choking off the source. Making it impossible for me to feast!”
Feast?
Haley eased closer to Bard, moving slowly to avoid attracting Sabine’s attention. The way the other woman said “feast” was entirely too creepy to ignore, especially with Bard’s blood all over the place. As far as she knew, witches didn’t eat people, not like vampires or some of the Fae. But there were stories of them using animal sacrifices to fuel their darker charms. Some stories even hinted at human sacrifice—something the witches’ public relations people tried hard to dismiss as prejudice or jealousy. Yet the stories persisted . . .
Bard’s voice dropped below human range. Even sprawled on the ground, with his life draining from him, he managed to project menace. “The charm was for me alone. It wasn’t supposed to hurt the pack.”
