by Casey Lane
She’d been in the draugen’s presence only twice, but she’d lived in Neoma’s head for years, whispering to her as she laid in bed at night, telling her she belonged to her and no one else. Standing there in this clearing, hearing her voice, not in her head, but spoken out loud, shook something loose inside Neoma, pulling her from her memories. She didn’t want to die, but she couldn’t bear to watch this monster hurt her friends.
“Let them go home,” Neoma said. “You promised.”
The draugen smiled, revealing those rows of sharpened teeth. “All in good time, little fae.” She looked worse than the last time Neoma saw her the night before. Large clumps of the draugen’s dark hair had fallen out and even where her hair still clung, Neoma could see her rotting scalp below. It was like she was decomposing. Her chest was sunken, eyes hollow, the thin black shift she wore hanging from shoulder bones that jutted through the barely-there skin. Could she be dying? “I’m already dead,” she said, reminding Neoma that her thoughts were never just her own. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
Neoma knew that wasn’t true, but she kept the thought to herself. The draugen could hear it anyway. Rhys stood beside her, refusing to leave her side. He kept his hand on Neoma’s shoulder like he expected her to bolt, and he kept the twins and Quinn directly behind him. Neoma knew it was useless. Any premonition she’d had about being saved died the moment her memories returned. There was nothing anybody could do for her now. He couldn’t save them all. He needed to let her go. It was either going to be her death or all of their deaths.
The draugen held out her arm, beckoning Neoma forth with spindly fingers and broken, blackened nails. “Come, child. Let us not delay. We must do this while the moon still waxes.”
Neoma tried to do as she demanded, but Rhys held firm. “No. Don’t go,” he whispered. “We just have to try to stall her until Wren and Isa notice we’re gone.”
“The little warrior can’t save you, child. Wren’s not coming to save you. Nobody is coming to save you.”
That’s what Dylan had said to her, right before she’d…
Neoma moved, but Rhys forced her back once again, his whisper panicked. “Neoma, please…”
“I’m growing tired of the games, child. I’ll have your blood, or I’ll have theirs. The choice is up to you.”
“Take my blood then,” Rhys said suddenly. “Take mine.”
“No!” Neoma cried. Rhys needed to let her go. “I’ll do it.” He had to understand that this was how it was always supposed to be. She looked at him, his green eyes wet with unshed tears. “It’s okay. You have to let me go.”
The draugen hissed at Rhys. “You clearly need a reminder of my capabilities. Very well.” She looked to Kai, Tristin, and Quinn in turn. “Eenie, meanie, miney…,”—her finger landed on Rhys— “Moe.”
Rhys’s hand disappeared as he collapsed on all fours behind her, his hoarse shout echoing in the silence. Neoma watched, hand over her mouth as his facial features began to slowly shift, forehead furrowing, nose elongating, hair sprouting from his pores. She watched in horror, powerless to help, as each of Rhys’s bones began to splinter starting with his fingers. His screams knifed through her, echoing through the quiet of the woods again and again. It was like time had slowed, grinding and dragging out every second of Rhys’s torture. “Stop! Stop it!” Neoma cried.
The draugen ignored her, speaking only to Rhys. “Do you feel that? Did you ever wonder what happens in that split-second shift from boy to wolf? Very few shifters get to experience the exquisite pain of their shift, so I slowed it down for you. I thought you’d like to see for yourself.”
Kai dropped to the ground beside him, “Rhys, what can I do?”
Rhys stopped screaming as soon as Kai touched him, but the tiny, broken sounds he made were almost worse, like his agony was so great that his brain couldn’t even process how to scream anymore, so he just lay there, whimpering, as his body betrayed him.
“Get-get away from me. I can’t control this.” Rhys snarled at Kai. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The draugen laughed. “Maybe when we’re done, I’ll have you hunt and eat each of your friends? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Neoma could make this stop. She could make it all go away. She forced herself to take a step and then another. “See, I’ll come. I’ll come willingly if you stop hurting him.”
The draugen stared at Rhys for a moment longer, before she said, “Fine. But don’t think you can trick me. There’s still two more of you I haven’t played with.”
Rhys curled in on himself, his now human hands clutching at Kai’s leg, as he sucked in great heaving breaths, shivering despite the heat.
Neoma kept walking, concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other, heart beating so fast it made her dizzy. When she was close enough, the draugen offered her hand. Neoma stopped to look back at her friends—her family—steeling herself for what came next, knowing what she did was for them, then she faced the draugen and took her hand.
“Step within the white stones.”
Neoma swallowed. There was no mistaking the blood staining the stones. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she tried to blink them away. She had to do this. She had to do it for everybody else to be safe, but dread sat heavy on her shoulders, making her movements sluggish.
She stepped inside. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but there was nothing. She didn’t feel any magic, there was no shock of a spell, no energy pulsing beneath her feet. There was only dried blood over dirt and dead leaves. Somehow that made it worse, like maybe this was all for nothing. Maybe this god would never answer the draugen’s call, and Neoma would just become a part of the forest, the ground swallowing her blood just as it had the draugen’s other sacrifices.
The draugen spun Neoma, resting those gnarled hands on her shoulders. Neoma could see the others now. Rhys was back on his feet, but Kai and Quinn were holding him up. Tristin was crying. Neoma tried to smile, but her mouth just wouldn’t cooperate. Her stomach was in knots, her palms sweaty.
Neoma sucked in a startled breath as a blade pressed against her throat, the edge cutting just enough to sting. “Do you give yourself to me? Do you willingly offer up your blood in sacrifice? Will you give him your life for mine?”
“What?” Neoma’s heartbeat went wild in her chest, tongue feeling too big for her mouth.
“I cannot take your life, you must give it. You must offer me your throat, profess your willingness to bleed. A sacrifice to a god must be given freely. You must recognize it for the honor it is, or he will not come.”
Neoma’s chest felt tight, her limbs heavy. She didn’t know if she could do that. She’d die to save her friends but to have to tell this monster—this thing—that she would bleed willingly…she just didn’t know if she could do it.
“I-”
“Jaelle, stop.”
Neoma sagged at the sound of Wren’s voice, a choked sob falling from her lips against her will.
When Wren entered the clearing, he held his hands high as if to show he carried no weapon but his claws. The draugen’s—Jaelle’s—nails dug into Neoma’s skin, the blade cutting deeper.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Wren
“Wren Davies.” Neoma felt his name like any icy wind against her cheek. “Where is your mate? Your beloved?”
Isa was in the woods with Gen and Oggie waiting for his signal, but she didn’t know that. “Waiting at home for the children.”
Wren had a hard time reconciling this creature standing bore him with a girl he’d once loved. He didn’t know how much of that girl was left, but he had to try to reason with her or at least keep her talking, whatever it took to keep her attention off Neoma. He wanted so badly to look at his little girl, to reassure her that he was going to save her. He was going to make this right. He would keep her safe at any cost. But he couldn’t risk drawing Jaelle’s attention beck to her.
Jaelle’s gaze flicked to the kids standing just
at the edge of the clearing. “Oh, you can have the others, but this one…this one’s all mine.” She wrenched Neoma closer, and Wren’s jaw tightened at the whimper that left her lips. He was going to tear this bitch apart.
Wren looked at the kids. They looked pale and exhausted, but otherwise intact, at least physically. He caught Rhys’s eye. “Take the others back to the house and stay there. No matter what. Everybody’s waiting for you. Do you understand?”
Rhys looked to Neoma, and Wren could feel the boy’s fear and sadness, could feel him fighting his instinct to not abandon his pack. Finally, he dragged his gaze back to Wren, giving a sharp nod, before putting a hand on Tristin and Quinn, steering them towards the trees. “Let’s go.”
Wren didn’t stop holding his breath until the four of them were out of sight. Gen was out there, he reminded himself, waiting in the woods to take the kids back to the house where she and Hadley would keep them safe.
He turned his attention back to Jaelle who still held her blade against Neoma’s neck. She was terrified, trembling, but she held still, trusting that Wren could save her. She looked so small, so delicate, even compared to Jaelle. His wolf was fighting him, trying to force him to shift, to fight. But he needed to stay in his human form. Somebody had to take her head. They may only get one chance.
“Jaelle, you need to let her go. You don’t have to do this.”
Her laugh was raw, like two sheets of paper rubbing together. “Jaelle died a long time ago. This is all that’s left.”
“That can’t be true. Some part of you has to be in there somewhere.”
She bared her teeth, and Neoma cried out as the blade dug deeper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He took a step forward, making sure to keep his hands in the air. When she didn’t stop him, he moved closer, slowly, hoping to distract her with his words. He could smell Isa and Oggie, they were close, but not close enough. “I remember everything you went through. I saw what Dylan did to you. I know he broke your heart, and I understand why you would think he tricked you into drinking Neoma’s blood, but it’s not true. Summoning this god isn’t going to heal you. There’s no cure for death. Your mother must have told you that?”
Jaelle paused, tilting her head. “Magna? What does she have to do with anything?” Her gaze snapped to Wren’s feet, still moving. She tightened her grip on Neoma. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll slit her throat, consent or not.”
Wren stopped moving, trying to piece together her confusion. “I know Magna forced you to kill for my father. To make them sick. All those witches. I know that was her doing.”
She wheezed, each word sounding painful. “Forced? I’m not that girl you remember. That sickly, sad girl. Death was a kindness for that girl. She was weak. Do I seem like somebody who can be forced to do something? I made those people sick because I knew it would throw suspicion on Magna, put her on the Grove’s radar. I thought for sure they’d see her burn for turning on her own kind.”
Wren processed that bit of information. “Why would you want to see her burn?”
Jaelle’s face contorted. “This is all her doing. She did this to me. All of it.”
Wren hesitated. He didn’t want to make her angrier, but he didn’t understand her rage at Magna. “What did your mother do to you?”
“Don’t call her that. Don’t ever call her that. She wasn’t my mother. Freyja was. Did she not mention that to little Ezri when she spun her tale of two tragic sisters? Did she leave out the part where my mother died with me in her belly? Did she forget to include the part where my father chopped off my mother’s head while my aunt carved me straight from her body? Where she literally forced her breath into my dead lungs until she heard me cry? I was never meant to live, so I was granted only half a life. She did that to me.”
Wren paused. He could hear Isa moving in from the South and Oggie coming in from the North. Somewhere out there. He prayed the children had made it to Gen. “But Magna, she loved you. Wasn’t she only trying to save you?”
The hand that grasped Neoma closed, squeezing until Neoma cried out, trying to wriggle from her grasp. “Magna loved my mother. Couldn’t bear to lose any part of her. She never expected that I’d be sick. She never loved me. She hated that I was weak. She hated that I was this half dead, half living thing, nothing like my powerful mother. Why do you think she was so angry when she found out I was pregnant? She said I would only go on to infect another with our curse…so she drugged me, slit my wrists and left me to bleed out in a bathtub. I could do nothing but lay there waiting to die…I couldn’t save myself, but I managed to save my child.”
Wren stopped listening to the sound of Isa and Oggie prowling closer, giving Jaelle his undivided attention. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I was a much better witch than my mother ever was. I spelled my child into her womb knowing that while she’d sacrifice my child, she’d never give up her own. She thought Ezri was hers…hers and Cain’s…but Ezri was mine. I watched and waited, baiting the Grove, hoping to get rid of Magna once and for all. When that never happened, I went with a different approach. I placed Ruby in Dylan’s path. I knew he’d never resist a witch. Just like I used her grandmother to get you here to this town pulsing with magic.”
Wren blinked, Jaelle had brought him here? “So it was all you. From the beginning? Even Ezri? Did you kill Ezri?”
“The Grove killed Ezri, but I nudged them in the right direction. The Grove inquisitor was easy enough to manipulate. They’d been dying to punish your father for years…bring him down a notch or two. Send him a message that he wasn’t their equal. Burning a child at the stake drove the point home for him and any other shifter stupid enough to contemplate lying with a witch, don’t you think?”
Tears stung the back of his eyes, voice raw as he asked, “Why? Why her? Your own child?”
There wasn’t an ounce of remorse as she shrugged. “She was working against me. Hiding Neoma, protecting her, even after what she did.”
Wren was fighting to keep up, but none of this made any sense. “Neoma? What did Neoma do?”
Jaelle paused. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. Tell him, little fae. Tell him what you did.”
Wren couldn’t help but look to Neoma. “What does that mean?”
“Tell him, little one. You don’t want to die with a guilty conscience.”
When Neoma spoke, she dropped her eyes to the ground, voice shaking. “I killed Dylan.”
Wren felt like his breath had been punched from his lungs. “What?”
Jaelle grinned. “She put her hands to his head and shot about thirty thousand volts through his brain. A little trick she picked up from her real daddy.”
Wren closed his eyes, his fury almost instantaneous. Dylan was lucky he was dead. How could he have put Neoma in that position? Wren knew what it was like to have to take somebody’s life to save your own. But Neoma…she was a baby. She should never have had to make that choice. Dylan robbed her of everything. Her innocence. Her childhood. He’d stolen her ability to feel safe. He wanted to revive him so he could kill him again, slowly.
When he opened his eyes, Neoma looked stricken, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Neoma, honey, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at him. I’m mad at Dylan. He did this.”
“This is touching, but we’re out of time.” She snagged her bony fingers in Neoma’s hair yanking her head back. “Tell me you give me your blood freely.”
Wren felt like his heart stopped beating, his words sticking in his throat. “Neoma, don’t do it.”
Neoma looked at Wren. “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes. “I give my blood freely.”
“Yes,” Jaelle hissed.
“No!” Wren shouted, but it was swallowed by the snarl that ripped from Isa as she launched herself at Jaelle, fully shifted, eyes glowing red. She hit Jaelle hard, jaws closing on her wrist, knocking Neoma to the ground. Neoma crawled away, trying to protect herself.
Wren ran t
owards Isa and Jaelle, looking to Neoma. “Run. Go! Find Gen, she’s waiting. Find the others.”
She gave him one long look and then bolted for the trees.
Wren picked up the knife Jaelle had dropped, testing its weight. “Isa!” was the only warning he gave but it was enough. She relented, releasing Jaelle and bounding away. Wren swung the blade. Nothing happened. He’d made contact. Struck home. He’d felt the resistance. But still, she stood.
“You’re not pure enough to kill me. None of you are. You all have blood on your hands.”
Isa attacked once more, going for Jaelle’s throat just as Oggie broke through the trees, swatting at the draugen with one massive paw. Wren weighed his options. Isa and Oggie were holding their own, but they couldn’t last. Should he shift and try to help or take his chances with the knife once more?
There was the faint snapping of a tree branch to his left. Wren saw him then, crouching just beyond the tree line. Rhys. In his hand, was the blade he’d taken from Isa’s closet. Could Rhys do it? Should he let him try? He might be their only shot. Wren didn’t doubt Rhys’s pure heart, but he didn’t know if Rhys’s aim would be true. It took a lot to swing a blade that size; it took strength and force to sever a person’s head from their body.
Isa yelped and Wren snapped his head towards the fray, his wolf breaking free as he saw Isa crumpled at Jaelle’s feet, blood oozing from a wound on her hind leg. Isa tried to stand, but stumbled, whimpering. Jaelle was free. She raised a hand, closing her fist. Oggie yowled, his limbs moving strangely like he couldn’t stand.
