Alpha Queen

by Callie Rose

  I am absolutely glowing with power. Black smoke lingers around me as I levitate the last bottle, shatter it with a second spell, and then turn the pieces into puffs of smoke. Three sigils, three spells, back to back, and the bottle vanishes entirely. I stare at the empty air, my fingers tingling.

  The street is a battleground of cans, bottles, and broken bits. Adrenaline pumps through me, and my heart is beating hard from excitement. This is what I’ve needed. What I’ve been waiting for.

  To be fully witch and fully wolf.

  I’m so lost in my own disbelief that I don’t see my mates until they’ve engulfed me. They’re all talking at once, kissing my face, wrapping their arms around me. I get pulled into their tidal wave of celebration, laughing giddily when Dare picks me up and twirls me around with an unintelligible shout about my powers.

  When he sets me lightly back on my feet, Archer throws an arm around my shoulder and indicates the street with a sweeping gesture. “That was incredible. I mean, phenomenal. You were in the zone.”

  Trystan points at the air over our heads, his blue-green eyes wide and gleaming. “That last bit of magic was intense. That bottle is just gone.”

  “You did what I told you, right?” Dare catches my gaze. “You let the witch take over.”

  I nod. “She really knows what she’s doing.”

  He laughs and picks me up again for another twirl.

  We have another round of fast talking as the guys shoot questions at me. But now that I’m not tracing sigils, exhaustion settles in. It’s been a long couple days, and by the look of the sky, I was out here today a lot longer than I thought. Once I let myself fall into the magic, I lost all track of time.

  When I can finally get a word in edgewise, I say, “I think I should probably take a little break.”

  Ridge nods. “How about we call it for the day? You made a huge breakthrough. You deserve the night off.”

  Relieved, I lean up to kiss him on the cheek. “That would be wonderful.”

  Archer slides his arm around my waist to lead me back to Ridge’s cabin. “You can rest and recuperate, then we’ll get back at it tomorrow.”

  “Do we have to?” I whine, but it’s just a joke and my mates laugh. Magic doesn’t seem so daunting right now. A few more days like today, and I might actually start to believe I know what I’m doing. Maybe a few more days like today, and it won’t drain me so thoroughly either.

  I lean into Archer’s side, my other hand clasped in Dare’s grasp. Ridge and Trystan give a play by play of my magic, laughing, and I just soak it all in. Archer’s hard muscles beneath my fingers. Dare’s warm palm pressed to mine. Ridge’s gruff voice filled with happiness. Trystan’s laugh, more carefree than I’ve ever heard it before.

  I did it. I reached a new level with my magic and unlocked something inside me. My mates are proud of me. Nothing could bring me down from the high I feel.

  “I feel like grilling,” Ridge remarks as he holds the cabin door open for the rest of us to pass through. “Brats? Burgers?”

  “Both,” Trystan says with a grin. “And maybe some of Sable’s homemade potato wedges?”

  I laugh and step over the threshold. “Sure. You wedge the potatoes, I’ll season them.”

  The words are no sooner past my lips than a wave of dizziness slams into me. I gasp and stumble into the doorframe, grabbing it with both hands so that I stay upright.

  My head swims, and I recognize Cleo’s magical signature immediately. She’s breaking down the barrier and coming for me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I cling to the doorframe, all of my senses dulled by my desperate need to fight her off.

  But the magical assault so close on the heels of my practice training is too much.

  I don’t know if I can fight her off this time.

  14

  Sable

  I push back against Cleo’s attack with my own power. Still gripping the doorframe, I envision a protection sigil in my mind, hoping it will give me just enough room to build my wall back up. For a second, I think it works. Cleo’s essence backs off minutely, and I can breathe. I snatch desperately at the last threads of my energy and attempt to weave my barrier back into place in my mind.

  But my efforts at fighting the witch off are in vain. I know it before she wins, but I try anyway, throwing every last bit of strength I have into keeping her out of my head.

  Then I’m snatched right off Ridge’s doorstep, and my spiritual essence flies through the bond into the astral plane.

  My soul is flung through a long, dark tunnel that’s shot through with smoke and sparkling silver lights like fireflies against a night sky. I flail my arms around me, hoping to catch hold of something and keep Cleo from dragging me all the way to her, but nothing is solid. Including me. The wind whips past my face, and all I can do is hurtle toward the person I fear the most.

  I don’t stumble when I land this time. My feet touch down hard on slick stone, but I’m ready for it and I balance out the force of my momentum by widening my stance and leaning back. Look at me—a regular old pro at astral travel, I think bitterly as I face off against Cleo.

  My senses return incrementally, until I can hear the steady drip of water in the cave and can feel the cold air on my skin. Despite the darkness, I can see Cleo as clearly as if she’s lit from within, and she’s just as viciously beautiful as always. Her lips are lined in blood red, her dark hair shiny and straight. She’s almost inhumanly perfect.

  But Cleo’s like a Picasso, I realize. The closer I look, the more I can see the cracks in her foundation, the way she isn’t quite as beautiful up close. Almost as if the evil on the inside has warped her outsides.

  The witch narrows her eyes at me, raking her gaze over me with disdain. “Something is different.”

  I lift my chin and attempt a haughty expression, but the way my hands are shaking probably gives away the fact that no matter what, I’m truly terrified of this woman. She’s older, better trained, stronger than me in nearly every way. I’m no match for her.

  “Nothing’s different,” I say, proud when my voice doesn’t waver. “And if it is, it’s not your business.”

  “I beg to differ,” Cleo snaps, losing a little of her usual cool. “It’s your magic. You’ve mastered more of it. You’ve accepted your witch.” One side of her upper lip curls in a snarl, and fury tightens the skin at her eyes. “That is my business.”

  Before I can reply, she drags me back through the void. I don’t even have a chance to scream.

  At least this time, I know what she’s doing.

  We emerge from the dark corridor in a flash of light, slipping right into Clint’s living room.

  Terror feels like a stone in my stomach. I never wanted to be back here in this house. Even though my false uncle is dead, and I never have to step foot in his house again in the real world, here I am. I’m sitting on the couch while a movie plays on the television.

  Thoughts creep in, giving me context to the memory—Clint’s out. He didn’t lock me in my bedroom like he usually does, so I took advantage of the freedom. I made popcorn. I’m watching an older romance movie about two sisters with magical powers and their cursed family and doomed love affairs. In the past, I was riveted to the screen and never even heard his truck pull in.

  Of course, this time, I do. Cold washes over me at the sound of his truck’s engine. The light thump of his boots on the back porch. The creak of the door hinges and the jingle of his keys. Past me is too caught up in the story and misses every single clue that he’s returned. I could have run. Could have turned off the television and raced to my room.

  Instead, I’m still sitting right there on the overstuffed couch when he walks into the room.

  “What are you doing?” Clint barks.

  I jump and whirl around in my seat, losing popcorn in the cushions. Fear spreads through me like a ghost, chilling my skin. I reach for the remote to turn the television off, but it’s too late—they’re doing witchcraft on-screen, and Clint sees it.

&
nbsp; His expression grows stormy. “What have I told you about the television?”

  Even though it’s modern day me living in a past version of events, I still say the words I spoke back then. “I’m not allowed to watch without you.”

  Clint reaches for the buckle on his belt. “If you know the rules, why did you break them?”

  I cringe as the belt slides from the loops on his blue jeans. In the past, I begged and pleaded with him not to whip me. Promised him I’d never do it again, promised him I’d do extra chores, just please, please don’t hit me.

  But Cleo’s dark presence in the corner makes me hesitate.

  I don’t care if she sees me get beat with Clint’s belt, but I don’t want her to see me grovel.

  So I break character and glance over at her. Before I can catch her eye and do something crazy like give her the middle finger, she attacks.

  Red hot magic latches onto my essence, and my soul goes up in flames.

  I can’t let my terror get the best of me this time. My witch reacts swiftly, my own magic rising like a tidal wave. I etch a sigil on the air, and Cleo shrieks in anger as my power shoves her back against the wall. She doubles down on her attack, and agony ripples through me. I bend forward, grasping my head in my hands and trying not to scream. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.

  I shove aside the pain and dive into the bond that connects me to Cleo. My magic barrels into hers, shoving it away from the bond and away from me. It works, but only for a few seconds before Cleo screeches in anger and pushes back.

  I’m ready for her. My witch grabs on to the assault, magically speaking, and yanks. I go tumbling from Clint’s worn-down couch and into the black void, still holding tightly to Cleo’s power.

  We come out of the astral plane into an unfamiliar place.

  A large Victorian mansion rises from the lush green grass at my side, front steps leading to an impressive wrap-around porch that’s lined by a garden that looks professionally tended. The house has three visible turrets and a high widow’s walk at the top-most eave. Rolling hills and dark forest surround the manor on all sides, like something out of a movie.

  A man stands on the porch. He has black hair that peaks at the center of his forehead and coal-black eyes that are a little too big for his features. Tall and lanky, he reminds me of a praying mantis as he stalks down the short set of stairs and barks, “Sloppy. Go again.”

  I realize then there are two little girls in the yard. If they aren’t twins, they sure look a lot alike, and they can’t be more than seven years old. They both have waist-length black hair and bangs, dark eyes, and porcelain skin beneath their cotton jumpers, like little dolls.

  Except dolls don’t typically leak black smoke.

  “You should just give up, Cleo,” the girl on the right hisses menacingly. “You know you aren’t as strong as me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Cleo replies with a childish lilt.

  Adult Cleo’s assault on my spiritual essence intensifies. I can feel her rage through the magic, because I’ve somehow pulled us into one of her memories. But I strengthen my walls against her, and my witch holds her off while I watch the two little girls begin to battle.

  They take turns trading blows—tracing sigils, flinging spells, grunting as they both take hits. From the porch, the man shouts out instructions in between hurling insults on their form. Every time he speaks, the battle intensifies as if his voice makes them both fight harder. Fight dirtier.

  He’s their father, I realize with horror. And he’s encouraging these two little girls to fight each other.

  I gasp as Cleo takes a blast of magic to the chest and gasps at the air as if she can’t breathe.

  “You’re weak, Cleopatra,” her father snaps. “Get it together.”

  Young Cleo glares at her father for a moment before she turns that expression on her twin sister. She redoubles her efforts, magic slinging across the yard in bursts of static and light, black smoke lingering over the scene like a storm cloud. Cleo manages to get a few blows in on her sister, but not enough to beat her. Her sister ends up getting the upper hand and throws Cleo to the ground.

  Her father claps from his position on the wooden steps. His shoes tap lightly in the sudden silence as he walks down to the yard, where he steps right over Cleo’s prone form. He spares her one glance, gazing down at her with a look that’s something like disgust.

  Then he stops before the girl who must be her twin and squats down, beaming as he says, “Well done, darling.”

  An ungodly screech meets my ears, and for a second I think it’s coming from the young Cleo on the grass. But she’s staring blankly up at the sky with tears in her eyes.

  The scream is coming from adult Cleo.

  I’m wrenched from the memory and hurtled back through the bond, into the real world.

  I slam into my body with incredible violence, all of my senses returning too loud and too bright. I lose my grip on the doorframe from the blow and tumble backward, physically thrown back by the force of Cleo’s magic. For a brief, weightless moment, I hang in mid-air before I fall right down the front steps.

  Luckily, there’s only three of them, and instead of landing on the front walk, I manage to fall onto my butt in the soft grass. There’s a commotion in the doorway as my mates chorus my name and chase after me, heavy footsteps pounding on the stairs as they come to join me on the ground.

  Archer appears in my field of vision first, looking down at me from a halo of darkening blue sky. He presses a hand against my forehead. “Holy fuck, Sable. What happened?”

  “I told you it was too much, too soon,” Ridge grunts, peering down into my eyes like he’s checking for a concussion. “We shouldn’t have pushed her so hard.”

  “I’m fine,” I rasp, adjusting to get my elbows beneath me so I can sit up. Several pairs of hands grab at my arms and help me find my balance. “Cleo got in.”

  Trystan snarls, and Ridge presses his lips together, his honey eyes staring at me intently. “You remained on your feet the whole time. You didn’t pass out like before.”

  I look at him, surprised. “Really?”

  Archer gestures to the door. “You just went still and gripped the doorframe. Your eyes were a little unfocused, but I never thought it was a Cleo attack.”

  Trystan adds, “I thought it was just from using so much power all at once.”

  I pull my knees up, groaning at the sudden soreness in my body. I feel beat up all the way to my bones, and I don’t know whether to blame my day of training or Cleo’s magical assault. Both, probably.

  But I’ll take the aches and pains, because this means I'm getting stronger. Even Cleo could sense it the moment she laid eyes on me in the cave. I wasn’t totally knocked out when she pulled me into the astral plane, and once there, I was able to manipulate things the way she does. I’m leveling up, and I think maybe the little girl still inside her is afraid of that.

  But the fact of the matter is Cleo is much stronger than me. For good reason, clearly, since she’s been honing her powers since childhood under that despotic father of hers.

  Dare speaks up. “What happened this time?”

  I give them a quick overview of what was said in the cave, and then the trip to Clint’s house and how, in my bid to get away from Cleo’s second attack, I yanked us into Cleo’s memory. Going back over what I saw in the front yard of that house makes me sick to my stomach. Cleo, it seems, didn’t have an ideal childhood, with a tyrant of a man twisting her for his purposes.

  Just like me.

  When I’m finished with my story, Trystan grimaces. “Fucking hell. If that’s how the witch was raised, it’s no wonder she’s a goddamn psycho.”

  The other men laugh humorlessly. I can’t disagree, and it leaves a sick feeling in my stomach.

  Cleo is a witch with nothing to lose, and that doesn’t bode well for us.

  15

  Sable

  We pack up the next morning to head back to East Pack la
nds. We hadn’t planned on leaving so soon, but Cleo’s appearance—and the new information we have about her upbringing—has changed our plans. After discussing current events over breakfast, we decide we can’t wait any longer. It’s time to figure out a way to take the coven leader down, and for that, we need the rest of the packs.

  We gather the guards we brought with us from their bachelor pad, then shift and make the journey back to Archer’s territory.

  After my breakthrough yesterday, I feel like my power is strengthened and I have better control of my magic. Plus, I’ve embraced the witch so thoroughly that it’s almost like she’s always been there. I no longer fear her. So I’m confident I can continue practicing and training without putting anyone in danger. But that doesn’t keep the prickle of unease from following me all the way home.

  Watching Cleo fight her sister in that memory taught me something I didn’t know before, and it’s a truth that makes me fear taking the battle to her. Cleo was bullied into being powerful by her shitty father. She didn’t just train and hone and practice until she could destroy anyone and anything for shits and giggles. She did it because he hurt her. Because her sister kept beating her.

  Somehow, I think that becoming a stronger witch out of a need for vengeance is a much, much more dangerous thing.

  Amora meets us at the outskirts of the East Pack village as if she sensed us coming. Knowing how long she and Ridge have been friends, it’s highly likely she did. She waves at us the minute we come into sight, looking like a dark-haired warrior in her army green cargo pants and black tank top.

  Ridge shifts to human form, and the rest of us follow suit before stopping in front of Amora’s smiling face.

  She greets the men with a nod and then wraps her arms around me, ignoring my nakedness. “Welcome back. You’re earlier than I expected.”

  “Change of plans,” Ridge offers.

  I squeeze her one more time then release her, still floored by how easily she offers me friendship. I’ve never had a girl friend, and Amora’s happiness to see me makes me feel all warm inside.