by Lola Taylor
“You ready for this?” he asked, concern mixed with the eagerness to hunt shining in his eyes.
“Yeah.” The shadows in the room darkened. “I think I am.”
All things aside, tracking was one of Elijah’s favorite activities. The ability to follow a trail to its end was something he’d never grown tired of and one of the few aspects of being a werewolf he truly enjoyed.
It didn’t take long for them to find Gerard. The viper must have pierced his hide; the smell of blood underscored Gerard’s wolfy scent. It fueled the growing rage inside Elijah at another werewolf attacking his mate. Wolves were territorial by nature, and Gerard had just thrown down the gauntlet.
Elijah couldn’t wait to reciprocate.
Verika wasn’t joking—the town really did die when the sun went down. They followed the scent to an old slaughterhouse on the outskirts of town. The rank smell of death permeated his nostrils as Verika hopped off his back and he shifted back into a human. She handed him the pair of clothes and shoes she’d brought along in her duffel bag, along with a magical arsenal. Gerard was about to get jacked up.
Elijah dressed quickly.
“I don’t like this place,” Verika said as they slowly entered the building. Blood drops stained the ground near the side entrance, which looked like it had been pried open by claws. The rusting door hadn’t stood a chance against a werewolf. The metal was bent and scratched along the rim.
“Kind of reminds you of the set for a horror movie, doesn’t it?” he whispered. She smacked him on the arm along with giving him a stern look.
He shrugged. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
“While I appreciate your efforts at lightening the mood, this is not the time,” she said tightly. She’d brought her gun, and raised it, along with a flashlight. Elijah knew from how his nostrils burned that the bullets were made of silver.
Good. Maybe one of them would find its way to Gerard’s heart.
They stayed together as they explored the factory. Hooks hung from the ceiling, and large dark splatters stained the floor. It turned his stomach to imagine what went on in here. Sure, he ate meat. He loved the hell out of some chicken. But seeing where the animals were slaughtered made him feel a bit guilty. And sad.
Don’t go soft now, he said to himself. You’re a werewolf. You can’t forget that.
After all the horrors he’d seen and the crimes he’d committed, you’d think he’d have a stone heart by now. Yet, no matter how much pain and suffering he’d endured, he never quite lost his ability to empathize with other animals. He wondered if all werewolves were like that, or if it was just him. Even as a farm boy, he’d seemed to share a bond with the animals his brothers never quite managed.
The winds were restless outside. Judging from the slate-gray hue of the horizon, it looked like a storm was moving in. Thunder echoed in the distance. The old slaughterhouse groaned as the wind beat against it. The first drops of rain fell, heralded by a clap of thunder that rattled Elijah’s bones. The storm hit at full strength. It sounded like thousands of pebbles were slamming against the outside of the metal building. The sound was deafening.
Elijah gritted his teeth and tuned it out as they explored the second level. It looked much the same as the first—empty.
Elijah picked up a whiff of something and sniffed harder. Gerard’s werewolf scent was stronger up here.
“We’re getting closer,” he said quietly.
Verika gave a curt nod that she’d heard him. They kept walking. Elijah was ready to throw his body in front of hers if he had to.
They rounded a corner and Verika swiftly turned her flashlight and gun on the open door.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. She rushed forward and fell to her knees beside the two slumped figures of her parents.
“Mom! Dad!” Her eyes were fearful as she took them in. They didn’t respond, though their bellies and chests moved as they breathed.
Elijah’s shoulders relaxed some. “They’re alive…” He sniffed. “I don’t smell any blood.”
Verika studied them, growing frustrated. Closing her eyes briefly, she reached into her bag of supplies. “He’s bewitched them with some kind of a sleeping spell. I have to break it.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
They both whirled toward the doorway. Gerard stood there, donned in nothing but a dark cloak. He looked significantly more ruffled than he had earlier at the house.
Elijah instantly leapt in front of Verika, growling.
Gerard grinned, his own eyes flashing gold. “What a charming guard dog. I can see why my mistress coveted you so.”
A sliver of fear wriggled its way through Elijah’s bloodstream, leaving ice in its wake.
“However, I have no use for you,” Gerard said, waving his hand dismissively at Elijah. He gazed at Verika hungrily. “What I’m really interested in is how you came to possess the power of darkness and death.”
Verika stood, and positioned herself in front of her parents. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, but it seems your mentor did.”
Verika blinked. “What are you talking about?” she asked in a small voice.
Gerard held up a small leather-bound journal. “After our little encounter, I returned here to burrow through some of the journals I’d apprehended from Satine. She was quite the collector of odd spells. But none of her spells were quite so odd as the one used to bind your powers when you were a baby.”
“How do you know this?” Verika whispered.
“It’s all right here,” Gerard insisted, tapping the volume. “As written by your mother. She documented everything about you and your past.”
Verika’s heart skipped a beat as she stared at it.
“Yes,” Gerard purred. “You want it, don’t you?” When Verika didn’t answer, Gerard added, “Don’t you want to know where you came from? Who your true parents were? Don’t you want to know the truth?”
Verika’s hands trembled as she curled her fingers into fists. “Yes,” she said quietly, hiding her gaze. “I want to know all those things and more.” She raised her defiant eyes to his. “But that’s still not enough of a lure to get me to submit to your Order.”
He went stone-still. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
“Positive,” Verika said, without hesitation.
Elijah braced himself as Gerard’s eyes flashed gold. “Very well. My mistress will not suffer a fool.”
“Neither will I,” Verika said. Elijah—and evidently Gerard—hadn’t noticed she’d slipped her hand inside her bag while they’d been talking. She flung a vial of ink at him, muttering something in Latin.
The vial shot forward with blue and purple sparks, slamming into an astonished Gerard’s face. He hissed and cursed as the ink coated his eyes. He stumbled backward, swiping at his face with the hem of his cloak.
Elijah seized the moment. He charged forward, shifting as his feet thundered against the ground. His paws connected with Gerard’s shoulders, causing Gerard to stagger backwards toward the railed walkway. The two of them tumbled over the ledge, plummeting to the cement floor below.
Verika screamed his name, and he saw her rush forward to grip the railing. He barked at her once, hoping she’d catch the hint to get her parents and scram. He leapt off Gerard as the man shifted violently and righted himself so he landed on his paws at the last second.
A bloody battle ensued. The gray and black wolves lunged and snarled at each other as the storm raged on outside. Nails and teeth shone in the lightning flashes, and freshly spilled blood glistened along the floor.
Gerard had learned to fight dirty. Elijah could tell that much. Every ounce of his concentration was centered on keeping the gray wolf from taking a bite out of his neck. He had to keep his mate safe, whatever the cost.
That’s probably why he didn’t notice that the shadows seemed to be growing darker. They spread from the corners of the slaughterhouse and along the floor like ink. The edge of the pool
of darkness writhed with claws, as if it were searching for something.
Or someone.
The second it touched Gerard, an oily hand shot out of the darkness. It latched onto Gerard’s back leg mid-lunge, jerking him backward. The wolf gave a yelp as he hit the floor, digging his claws in as the shadows pulled him backwards, toward the ever-expanding pool.
Elijah backed away. The shadows seemed uninterested in him, and thank God for that. What he saw… it was unnatural, as if the darkness had taken on a life of its own. He swore he heard moaning and the gnashing of teeth as the gray wolf whined and barked in his struggle to break free. He didn’t cry out in pain until his back legs began to sink slowly into the goop.
Elijah trembled as the darkness literally devoured him. Bit by bit, the majestic gray wolf was eaten alive by the ink, until there was nothing but the head left. By then, Gerard had shifted back to a human.
His terrified eyes landed on something behind Elijah.
Gulping, he turned.
There stood his mate, wreathed in shadows and a murky green glow. Her eyes shone green, and her hair whipped and coiled about her head like angry serpents. A single arm was outstretched, her fist slowly closing. The shadows responded, pulling Gerard further in as she formed a fist.
“Please,” Gerard whispered, his voice filled with pain. “Have mercy.”
When Verika spoke, her voice wasn’t her own. It was powerful and devoid of any emotion. It scared the hell out of Elijah. It’s the Black Magic talking.
“You didn’t show Satine mercy,” she said.
Gerard rasped a laugh. “So, you’re doing this for revenge. There may be hope for you after all.”
“I’ll never be like you.”
“Not now, maybe, but in time.” He grinned. It was the smile of a lunatic. “You could have a great deal to learn from my mistress.”
Elijah shifted back and glared at Gerard. “Forget it. Neither my mate nor I are ever getting tangled up with that woman again.”
Gerard’s cackle echoed off the barren, metallic walls. “Do you think you’re free from her? You’re never free from her.”
“I will be once she’s dead.”
Gerard wheezed a laugh. “Then it won’t matter at that time, because you, too, will be dead.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you know? Those markings on you… they weren’t just to swear allegiance to the Order. They were created through Blood Magic, using her blood, and thus, can only be undone by her blood. The two of you are soul-bound. If she dies, you die.”
Verika gasped. Her magic faltered, and Gerard started to climb out of the tar pit.
Elijah whirled. “Don’t listen to him! He’s just trying to distract you!”
“You wish!” Gerard yelled, trying to pull himself out. “It’s the truth! I dare you to see otherwise.”
Elijah stilled. If that was indeed true, then how on earth were he and Verika ever going to be together? They’d never truly be free of Mistress Black.
“Enough of your lies!” Verika spat.
She closed her fist.
With a startled cry, the ink began sucking Gerard in. Elijah realized she’d been holding back.
To savor the moment.
Sure, he’d sought revenge on people before and had drawn it out. But those dark emotions didn’t belong in his mate. She was inherently good—he could feel it deep in his soul.
He’d contemplate her dark change of heart later.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Gerard yelled, right before he was sucked into the abyss. Verika released the spell with a cry and fell to her knees. The ink quickly retreated to the natural corners where shadows clung.
Elijah went to her, cuddling her against his chest. “Your parents—”
“Are fine,” she said, breathing hard. “I found the spell loophole. It will wear off in an hour or so. We’ll have them home by then.”
He nodded. “Where did you send Gerard?” he asked, casting the shadows an anxious glance.
She gulped, trembling. “Someplace I’d rather not think about.”
Fair enough. He helped her to her feet. The two of them held on to each other a moment, lost in their thoughts.
“Was what he said true?” she asked. “Are you really bound to Mistress Black?”
Elijah had to search for an answer. “I want to say no… but I have a feeling in my gut the answer is yes. Mostly because things never turn out well for me. I never get the happily-ever-after ending. I get the let’s-make-your-life-hell ending.”
Verika’s eyes flashed with that menacing green light he’d seen earlier. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Oh, he hoped she would find it, because if she couldn’t figure out how to break the brand, no one could.
Which meant he was in some really deep shit.
Mistress Black felt Gerard’s soul leave his body and come barreling into her slumbering body. She bolted upright, gasping. It felt like someone had dumped gasoline on her insides and tossed a lit match onto her.
In other words, it hurt like hell, but she wouldn’t scream. There was no room for weakness in the Order, especially from her. She almost welcomed the agony because it made her feel something.
Oh, what it must feel like to be truly alive.
Since getting struck with the curse that had rendered her real body no more than an empty shell, she had been absorbing souls with any magical prowess with the hopes of restoring her own magical abilities so that she may return to her true form. There had been just enough magic left in her dying breath to reach out to a young, impressionable witch and convince her to give up her body so her soul could inhabit it. If she could keep her soul alive, she could restore her body. It had taken time; the witch who’d sealed her powers had been one tough bitch.
Mistress Black looked at her borrowed body in the mirror across from her bed and smirked. As if death would be the end of her. Over the millennia, she had swallowed so many souls, using this body as a conduit to her real one. The old curse was starting to crack. She could feel it; as her powers expanded, it pressed against the confines of the ancient spell.
Soon, she would be herself again. Soon, her darkness would shadow the world and they would regret ever persecuting her kind.
There was much to fear in a Black Witch. Power over death terrified people, and rightly so. But burning her husband and eldest daughter at the stake in front of her house…
People’s fears often devolved into cruelty. Watching her family burn had broken something inside of her.
The villagers of her medieval village had awoken a nightmare, and her wrath knew no bounds. She swore over their cold corpses that no other witch or warlock would ever be persecuted that way again. Sacrifices had been made along the way. The quickest way to restore her powers was to absorb the most magical beings of all, namely other witches. It had pained her to use her kind in so crude a way, but she had no other choice.
She had no other choice…
She shook her head. Now was not the time for doubt, not when she was so close to her goal.
Leaning back against the blood-red silk pillows, she turned over and stared at the painting on her nightstand of a little girl with red curls.
Tears shone in her eyes. Though the villagers had claimed her eldest daughter, she had managed to escape with her youngest. She had been a baby at the time. They’d moved from town to town, trying to keep a low profile, but her brilliant red hair had given their identities away. Sacrificing herself to save her daughter’s life had been the best thing she’d ever done.
She’d always wondered what kind of a woman she’d grown up into, if she’d found happiness.
Had she found someone to love her? Did they love her as much as her mother did?
She reached out and gently touched the painting. It could never do the real thing justice, but it kept her close.
After one last lingering glance, she’d turned over and closed her eyes when
a familiar tingling went through her. She bolted upright, every sense wired.
It couldn’t be. That signature hadn’t called out to her in centuries, and yet…
Her gaze drifted to the portrait of her daughter.
Idrina.
Those green eyes, the same emerald shade as her own, shone, as if containing a valuable secret.
Throwing back the covers, Mistress Black donned her slippers and silk robe and went to her scrying room, feeling hope for the first time in ages.
There was much explaining to be done after the fight.
Elijah and Verika had ultimately decided to alter her parents’ memories of the fight. Instead of being kidnapped and held hostage by a supernatural psychopath, they thought they’d spent a quiet evening at home. Verika felt guilty for doing it, but she didn’t want them to be mentally scarred for life. They might not ever trust paranormals again, and thus might not allow her back into their home.
And she needed her family. They were the one thing she couldn’t live without.
Well, except the werewolf standing in front of her.
After bespelling her parents so they wouldn’t remember ever seeing them, Verika bid them farewell, with a knot in her throat the size of Texas. She hated manipulating people’s minds, but it was for their own good. No way was she going to risk getting the people she loved hurt again. She was too dangerous to be around.
It’s better this way. Really, it is, she told herself, as she and Elijah left. Still, it didn’t make what she’d done any easier a pill to swallow.
Elijah said nothing, only grabbing her hand and squeezing it. Understanding shone in his eyes.
He knew better than anyone what she was giving up. It had been ages since he’d seen his brothers. No matter how much he wanted to reconnect, he knew, ultimately, he couldn’t. For the sake of their well-being, he had to stay away.
She smiled at him. At least they had each other, two outcasts who never quite fit in anywhere else, except in each other’s arms.
They stopped by a gas station to get cheap food and a pay-by-minute phone. Then Elijah shifted, and together they ran into the woods.
