by Lola Taylor
And conquered.
Some ran in fear now as she approached, as they had every right to. Still, more met her with eager, reckless anticipation.
An umber-colored wolf bumped into her as she struggled more than she would’ve liked with a pair of demon-human half breeds.
Verika! The umber-colored wolf—Alara—snapped at the arm of a warlock and made him drop the sword he’d been clutching.
Boy, do I have a million questions for you. Snap, jump.
So I expected. Growl, lunge, twist.
How? How did you escape? How did you find us? How did you break the protective wards protecting this space?
I’ll explain how we escaped later. Long story short, we threatened to relieve our guard of his testicles should he not help us communicate with our mates.
Sounds like you put up a very persuasive argument.
Quite. Gage and Nik called in every favor ever owed them and then some. People we’ve never met answered the call. The leaders of the other races sent their bravest and finest. Everyone in the Underworld wants Mistress Black gone. With that many witches and warlocks joining powers, they managed to weaken the wards enough to damage them and break through.
So united we’ll stand.
Damn right. United, we’ll destroy—
Alara yelped, her body tossed aside like a doll. The flesh guardian who’d dealt the blow floated over the ground, racing toward the umber-colored wolf as she struggled to get up.
Alara! Verika yelled and bolted forward without a second thought.
The flesh guardian met her head on, shrieking like a banshee as it rushed toward her in a blur of dark robes and snow-white bone. Verika dodged, felt its bony fingers scrape her skin, pry up fur. Painful but not unbearable. The wolf was tough, an efficient killing machine built by centuries of hard-won evolution.
She ducked, swiped, and danced about the flesh guardian. He bent his hooded head back and shrieked into the open night sky. More guardians answered his call.
Nearby, Alara was on her feet and growling, hackles raised, as two more guardians approached. Blood marred her fine coat.
Verika had to end this. Leaping back as the flesh guardian’s rancid teeth snapped where her muzzle had been, she summoned every drop of power in her blood, stretched the spell as far and wide as she could, across the whole of the bloody battlefield. She didn’t have to say anything, just do it, will her magic to obey. Every muscle quaked with the strain of holding the magic steady.
Within moments, every flesh guardian on the field froze. The hoods had fallen back on some, revealing dulled, broken skulls stripped of flesh, of anything that made them recognizable.
Shells. That’s all these poor creatures were now. Empty shells awoken from the grave to perform a selfish woman’s bidding.
And so, she would lay them to rest.
Gathering her power, she pulled.
The Black Magic giving the flesh guardians life was sucked right out of them, through their eyes, mouth, ears. They shrieked and writhed as green tendrils of magic coalesced in the air, forming a writhing, pulsing ball.
Verika pushed. The ball exploded.
The magic swiped through the field, a tidal wave of power, and the flesh guardians at last stilled, their eyes dark, no longer dimly burning with the dark magic that had given them life. One by one, they fell, motionless, truly dead.
Verika at last released the spell with an audible gasp. Her body hurt, ached all over. Necromancy was an abomination, a crime against what was intended. And though Black Witch she may be, with the power to command death if she so chose, her body rejected the notion of controlling the dead. It wasn’t…right.
Her stomach heaved as Alara approached, limping. Are you all right?
I will be, just need to catch my breath.
The enemies around them had seemed to pause, as well, to ponder that awesome display of power. And to wonder whether they should retreat. Their numbers had been significantly thinned out, she noted. As had their own, she realized with a wince.
You saved me, Alara said.
Yes.
Thank you.
No thanks needed. Come. Let us find our mates.
Elijah lost track of time as he and Gage fought through the heat of battle. The art of destruction came to him as easily as breathing. Werewolf, vampire, warlock: it didn’t matter. None of them were a match for him. He let go of his fears of magic and surrendered to his wolf’s innate sense of self-preservation. Gave in to the wildness gnawing at him.
Gage broke off shortly after helping him dispatch a rather ambitious witchling who, clearly, had been one of the coven’s newest members. Probably hadn’t been in control of her powers for long.
I have to find Danica, Gage had said, and get her foolhardy ass out of here before she gets herself and our child killed.
Go, Elijah had said, and Gage had taken off.
He later saw Danica racing toward the woods, not a spot on her golden fur, as Gage fought off those who would have chased her.
The distraction was too long, because the next thing he knew there was a flash of silver, and then he barely dodged having that damnable broken blade buried in his neck.
He knew who would face him before he’d even turned around.
Mistress Black stood there, covered in blood, her hair a mess. Her fine robe had been torn, as had the flesh beneath. Looked as though someone, at least, had gotten a good chunk of her. He hoped whichever creature responsible was still alive so he might buy them a brew after this was all done.
Mistress Black tossed her blood-and-dirt-matted hair out of her face as wolf and witch circled each other. “I should have killed you the moment the brand was lifted. Would’ve saved myself a world of heartache.”
He Changed back into a man, not caring in the least that he didn’t wear a scrap of clothing. She’d already seen every inch of him, had defiled him. He had words to say—needed to say—as a man. The man she’d scarred so deeply he doubted he’d ever be rid of the wounds.
“They would’ve come for you eventually,” he said easily.
“But perhaps they wouldn’t have.”
“Oh, I think they would’ve, sweetheart. Everybody in the Underworld wants you dead.”
“Not everyone. I have an army of followers.”
“Yeah? How’s that army doing now? Because it looks to me like we’re kicking their asses.”
She hissed, lunged. Elijah sidestepped and shoved her, using her own momentum to cause her to stumble and nearly fall onto the carcass of a witch of Mistress Black’s coven. Or what was left of her.
Mistress Black blinked at the corpse of her fallen subordinate and turned back to Elijah.
He raised a brow. “No vengeful cry? No tears of remorse for your friend?”
“She was not my friend. I have no friends. They make you weak, vulnerable.”
“That’s not what our army of friends tells me. You’re just too scared to let someone in because you’re afraid they’ll see how ugly you are inside and hate you as much as you hate yourself.”
“That’s not true,” she snarled.
“Isn’t it? I know you said a friend of your family’s sold out you all as witches, was responsible for their deaths. And for that, I’m sorry. Nobody deserves that. But just as cruel or worse has happened to plenty of other people, and you don’t see them becoming murderous psychopaths.”
“I’m justified! I have my reasons!”
“As do we for stopping you! Look around! The battle’s over. You’ve lost.”
“No.”
He clenched his jaw. “If you surrender now, I bet the High Council will even spare your life.”
She laughed. “And lock me up for the next fifty years, or however long I last, in this wretched body? I think not. I’d rather be dead.”
She charged, and he Changed.
One of the jagged points of metal caught him in the side, scoring his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. Plenty of knives had pierced his flesh in his
lifetime. You got used to it after a while, lost your fear.
He went straight for her throat, throwing both paws onto her shoulders and knocking her over backward. They hit the ground hard; the breath whooshed out of her mouth as her eyes flew wide with shock. Upon impact, she lost her grip on the knife, and it skittered off to the side.
His maw was about her glistening, blood-covered neck, the taste of those she’d killed on his tongue as he prepared to snap his jaws shut.
There was a gentle shift in the wind right before his lungs began to burn. He wheezed in agony as his body lifted into the air, as if by invisible strings. God, it felt as if his throat was being squeezed closed.
He stared wildly at the ground, where the Toad Girl who had retrieved him from the dungeon stood. The gale he’d felt in the dungeon made sense now.
“Thank you, Mira.” Mistress Black was on her feet now. Her voice rasped, and she clutched at her chest as she staggered over to the Grey Witch. “Hold him tight.” She kept walking, slowly, deliberately toward Elijah.
She stopped in front of him, watching him choke, watching death approach with cold satisfaction. “I want to say I loved you once. But we both know I’m incapable of loving. Good-bye, Elijah.”
She flicked her wrist and walked away.
Mira smiled, closed her fingers into fists. Elijah thought his lungs would burst as every drop of air was squeezed out of them.
It was ironic, actually. So many times in his life, he’d felt like a man drowning. Drowning in debt, worries, fears. Only this went beyond a mere sensation. This was real, clawing death, come to claim him at last.
Only, he no longer welcomed it. Hadn’t ever since he’d first laid eyes upon Verika. He didn’t want to die, he realized, not one bit. He had so much to live for, someone to live for. He had a sense of purpose now, the flickering of fragile embers of hope that would soon be snuffed out.
He struggled against the invisible hands that gripped his throat, against the fingers squeezing tighter and tighter.
Shadows ringed his vision, wispy splotches that grew larger and larger as his eyes began to close, his head lag.
Get away from my mate!
The air suddenly returned to his lungs in one violent whoosh as he was released and dropped to the ground. His body screamed for oxygen. The cool night air chapped his throat as it went down. He couldn’t drink it fast enough, having just enough presence of mind left to maintain his wolf shape.
A red muzzle nudged him gently, whined. Are you all right? Verika asked through their bond.
Yeah, he thought back tiredly. I am now.
He glanced up. The Grey Witch had been thrown clear across the field and now lay in an unmoving slump.
Did you…? he asked.
Yes, Verika said. I couldn’t very well let her choke the life out of you.
Thank God for that.
A scream of fury interrupted their conversation. Mistress Black looked as if she were about to come unglued. With her face bright red, she pointed an accusing finger at Verika. “You are a disgrace to our kind! Helping a lowlife like him—”
Verika growled and stepped in front of her recovering mate. I’d be very careful with my next words, if I were you, she said to Mistress Black, who seemed unfazed a werewolf was talking inside of her head. That is my mate you’re dissing.
Mistress Black cast the knife aside, jerked up her sleeves. “I should’ve ditched metal for magic a long time ago. Time to finish this.”
Finally, something we can agree on.
Mistress Black didn’t wait for her to finish talking before lashing out with an awesome display of power.
But Verika was ready. She met the onslaught head on, sending out a force of magic the likes of which the Underworld had never seen. Her power collided with Mistress Black’s, making the older witch grit her teeth and causing her heels to slide back a bit in the dirt.
The battle around them stilled, the survivors looking on in awe. Flashes of deep green and bright violet lit up the clearing as the magic sizzled and sparked.
The two witches were evenly matched. When one would start to gain ground, the other would push them back.
Verika realized her mistake when her foe began to gain too much ground. The entire battle, she’d been using her magic to thwart enemy attacks—to deflect, to defend. She hadn’t realized how quickly she’d depleted her magical stores until she tried summoning more and there was none.
Panic sent her heart to racing even faster.
What’s wrong? Elijah noticed the subtle change in her adrenaline.
My magic…I’m running out of it. She’d heard of witches and warlocks reaching the bottom of their magical wells, as it were, though most experienced ones knew when to draw back and how to conserve so they never did. But although experienced in general magic she may be, she hadn’t been a Black Witch long enough for the thought to even cross her mind. Which made her feel stupid and angry at her misjudgment. That one silly mistake might just cost them their victory. And if it did, then she truly would be the world’s most despised witch.
So much rode on her shoulders now, so many precious lives counting on her to save them. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let them down.
Lend me your strength, Elijah, she said, her voice strained.
How, love? Tell me how.
Just send your love, your strength, to me through our bond. Channel it and focus.
He did as she asked, his body drawing still. At first it felt like a trickle, a little tickling of power so strong she hadn’t felt the likes of it before. When that trickle soon gave way to a mighty flood, she nearly wept with joy.
She could feel him, feel the combined force of their love. So strong, so pure, so endless. Using it, she threaded that power into her own, weaving an attack surer and stronger than anything she could have conjured on her own.
Mistress Black’s power began to wane, driven back by the pure, raw magic flowing from Verika.
“No!” Mistress Black screamed, her features drawn from fatigue. “I cannot—will not—lose!” She glanced about. “Brothers and sisters of the Order, lend me your power!”
They looked at one another, shifting nervously, murmuring and shaking their heads.
All but one.
Toad Girl stepped forward, her face serious. “What do you require of me, Mistress?”
“Cut my arm. Hurry, you stupid girl!”
The woman grabbed the blade Mistress Black had dropped and drew a thin slice across Mistress Black’s upper arm. She looked at her leader, waiting.
“Now drive that dagger into your neck.”
Verika’s heart leapt to her throat. Blood Magic. Mistress Black was calling upon Blood Magic. She knew what would happen next, what Mistress Black would require of the girl. And prayed to God she wasn’t so foolish as to follow through.
The woman never even flinched. “As you wish, Mistress.” She raised the blade and drove it straight into her neck. Blood burst around the wound, and her mouth flew open in shock as she shuddered and then collapsed. Her body continued to quiver as the life drained out of her, her eyes at last glazing over as she drew still.
A gale picked up, as if the wind itself were angry it had lost a Grey Witch. A storm crackled and growled overhead.
Mistress Black threw her head back and shouted into the tempest. “God of the dead and all the horrors in between life and death, I call upon your power! Heed my sacrifice to you, oh great lord of shadows, and grant me the power which I so desperately need!”
There was a whip of lightning, a roar of thunder. Then Mistress Black began to glow faint red. Shimmering bloodred lines oozed out of her fingers, crawling toward Verika.
What is she doing? What’s happening? Elijah demanded.
She’s going to drain my magic, Verika whispered. She watched in horror as the red worm-like threads inched closer.
Let go of me, Elijah! Run away.
No.
You don’t understand, love. When she takes my magic, i
t’ll affect you too while you’re lending me your strength. It’s the gift and curse of our mating bond. The pain will be unimaginable. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, to know I was the cause of it.
And I’ll never live with myself if I walk away.
Please, Elijah!
I’m not abandoning you!
The threads were almost to her, a mere few inches away from latching onto her like the parasites they were and draining her dry of what made her a witch.
With ferocity, she realized she couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let this selfish woman take away anything else that belonged to her. She’d stolen the tender, happy moments of a first love, had turned them into a waking nightmare. That was unforgiveable.
She had to fight, had to hold on and drive her back if she could.
If she could.
She would sure as hell try.
Throwing herself into her power, she pushed farther and deeper. A shield of sparkling purple magic formed in front of her, and the Blood Magic hissed and coiled, striking the shield with whip-like tentacles, trying to break through. Verika growled, straining to keep the shield from breaking.
Farther. Deeper. Must go deeper. Need more power.
A white speck of light grew in her vision, inside her mind’s eye.
Verika! Verika, wait! Elijah cried, until his voice was no more than a dull echo inside her head.
Still she pushed herself, refusing to give Mistress Black another inch.
The white spot in her mind grew until there was nothing but blinding white light.
At first Verika didn’t realize where she was. She stood in her human form, donning the amulet, which glittered and sparkled in the bright light, and clothed in a simple, sleeveless white dress that ended just above her knees. Not one of her favorite colors. White tended to wash her out, make her appear paler.
But now she didn’t mind the color so much. It felt clean and pure, like the light she walked through. White all around. It started to dim—that, or her eyes had started to adjust to its brightness. Something spongy and soft tickled her bare feet. Grass, lots of it. Green as an emerald.
She looked up, and the endless sea of white had given way to a hill topped by a single tree with fiery red leaves. Its curling branches shimmied in the breeze blowing off the crystalline sea just beyond the hill, its waters so blue that it melted into the sky. Little puffs of clouds lazily rolled along overhead, past a big, bold sun.
