by Callie Rose
Sable’s hands shake as she pulls her hair into a ponytail and replies. “Yes. Cleo isn’t the type of leader to join the fight. Definitely not the type to lead it. She didn’t when they attacked the village, and she won’t now.”
Archer nods in agreement. “She’ll stay safe in the stronghold and let her subordinates fight for her.”
“But she’ll reach for me. She’ll use the mind link.” Sable drops her hands to her sides and squares her shoulders. “And we’ll be ready when she does.”
Archer steps up close to her and takes both of her hands in his. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m scared,” she admits.
Fuck, I love her honesty. She’s the most authentic person I’ve ever known. She’s not afraid to be vulnerable, and that makes her so much fucking stronger than people who boast about their bravery.
Archer pulls their entwined hands up to his chest, tugging her closer. “It’s okay to be scared. All the bravest people are.”
He leans in and kisses her, and I hold back to give them their private moment. When Archer steps away, Ridge takes over. He pulls her close, murmuring something about how she’s changed his life. Then Trystan swoops in and makes a dumb joke that makes her laugh. It strikes me how different we all are, and how our differences complement each other. How they all fit with a part of who Sable is.
We’re all part of one whole, and it’s pretty fucking amazing.
When it’s my turn to have a moment alone with my mate, I freeze up. I have no idea what to say. Hell, that speech I gave back at camp two days ago was as eloquent as I get, and I used up all my pretty words for the week doing that.
So I just kiss her. I kiss her soundly, with everything I have, so that she knows I’m here. I’ll always be here.
The shadow to her moonlight.
She kisses me back, the warmth and sweetness of her surrounding me for a moment as she wraps her arms around my neck, her body molding to mine.
Then, suddenly, a howl rises up from below.
I pull away from her, my heart racing.
The attack has begun.
27
Sable
I watch breathlessly as wolves stream across the sloping plain below our position. They move like phantoms in the slanted sunlight, legs pumping, fur billowing, the smaller groups moving in such fluid synchronicity that it almost looks like a dance. Their howls sound more like mournful cries, and it strikes terror through my heart. How many wolves will we mourn when this is over?
I’m tired of death. I’m tired of fighting. I just want to be with my mates.
This has to end today.
Once the wolves have made their presence known, it doesn’t take much more than a minute for the witches to catch on. Forms burst from the stronghold and spill out onto the plain, magic already billowing around them.
The two sides crash together like opposing waves until there’s nothing but chaos below.
I swallow hard and turn my back on the scene, hoping and praying that the shifters will be able to hold their own against the witches. Every day for the last three days, I’ve done a protection sigil over the entirety of our army to help them defend better against witch magic. I just hope it was enough.
As much as I want to watch and make sure they’re safe, I can’t focus on what’s happening below. Not if I want to play my part in this attack. Any minute now, Cleo’s going to come searching for me, and when she does, we’ll have our own battle to fight.
My mates walk forward to stand with me, the five of us standing in a tight circle. A soft breeze blows around us and rustles the underbrush. If not for the sounds of battle below, this place would be peaceful.
“Ready?” Dare asks quietly.
I nod, unable to form words around the lump in my throat. Then I brace myself and let down all of the barriers I’ve worked so hard to put up between me and Cleo. I open my mind fully to give her access.
She’s waiting for me.
I’m violently yanked from my body, and I give myself over to Cleo’s control without a fight. I hurtle through the bond into the astral realm, feeling as if I’m drowning in the coven leader’s fury.
My landing is rough. Instead of getting my feet under me at all, I hit the ground on my side in a blinding burst of agony.
My astral form rolls twice before I come to an abrupt and painful halt against a large chunk of rock that rises from the cave floor. Stars burst in my vision in a mimic of what would happen to my real body in the same situation. My gaze focuses on the ceiling of the cave, which seems farther away than I remember it being. In fact, the entire cave seems massive this time, much bigger than it’s been at any other meeting we’ve had.
She changed it, I realize. Just like I made adjustments to the mating cabin that my mates and I used as our landing place, she’s made adjustments to this incorporeal space, modifying it to suit her whims.
I manage to sit up, using the slimy stalagmite to steady myself. But before I can get to my feet, Cleo attacks.
Magic slams into me and sizzles along all of my nerve endings. I grunt from the impact and fall back onto the ground, my arms and legs seizing. The fact that it’s not my real body doesn’t matter one bit. It hurts just as much as it would in the real world.
“You bitch!” Cleo shrieks, appearing in my line of sight with black, smoky magic flooding from her fingertips. Her eyes are crazed, and her red lips are twisted into an inhuman snarl. “You think you can come onto my land? That you can defeat me?”
As she raises her hands to shoot another blast at me, I throw my own hands up between us and quickly etch out a protection sigil. It’s basic, so simple child witches can probably do it, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. No matter what I do, I’m still an untrained witch up against a woman who’s been honing her powers since birth.
The sigil flares to life and deflects Cleo’s blast so that the magic hits the wall of the cave. Dust and debris break off and rain down from above, and I roll quickly out of the way, scrambling to get my feet beneath me even as she attacks again.
I duck behind the stalagmite and crouch low. Her magic slams into the top of the formation, ripping the peak off in an explosion of shattered rock.
Cleo speaks again, her voice low and dangerous. “You should never have come here, you fool. We will kill you all.”
I close my eyes and reach for Archer. Cleo hasn’t given me a chance to bring any of my men over yet, and as another blast ricochets off the wall right next to my head, I realize she isn’t going to. I’ll have to defend myself while bringing them into the astral realm. Fight and do complex magic at the same time.
Fuck. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to do that.
“Coward!” Cleo screams. “Come out!”
Then the stalagmite erupts, exploding outward.
I toss up my arms and cast a shield charm, though I’m a few milliseconds too late. Sharp chips of rock slam into me, cutting into the skin on my arms, my face, and my neck. It’s the strangest sensation—an astral attack made physical. Astral dangers that can hurt my astral form. Blood wells up on my arms where I took the brunt of the blow.
I use Cleo’s own destruction against her and cast a levitation spell, lifting all the broken debris off the floor and sending a cloud of it shooting for her face. She’s not expecting it—hell, I don’t think she honestly believes I could ever overpower her. She splutters and coughs, disappearing in the tornado of debris, and I take off running toward darker corners of the cave.
As I sprint, I reach out with my mind, searching desperately for my men through the connection that binds us.
Archer grasps on to me tightly this time, and I reach through the bond past him to find Ridge’s essence humming with tension as they wait for me to come for them. They have to know something’s wrong. The minutes are ticking away.
But Cleo doesn’t let up. Magic rushes after me in the darkness, and I dart out of the way just as I latch onto Trystan. I’m not fast enough to completel
y evade the attack though, and the dark energy slams into my side. Electricity sizzles through me, dropping me to the ground again. The stone floor here slopes, and while I’m motionless and paralyzed by her spell, I roll back toward her.
Cleo stops me with her foot before I can roll right into her legs. She extends her hands down toward me, murder in her eyes.
But then I have Dare in my grasp. I pull with everything in me, wrapping all four of my mates in my astral essence. Cleo’s magic may have paralyzed my form, but she didn’t paralyze my power.
A howl cuts through the cavern, and my mates burst from the darkness at the edge of the cave.
They’re here. They made it.
Cleo whirls around, her mouth dropping open. For a moment, shock renders her motionless. She stares at the four approaching wolves as if she’s never seen one before.
And that slight hesitation is all the opening they need.
All four wolves leap over my prone form and converge on the witch.
The element of surprise was exactly what we were hoping for. Cleo slams into the stone floor a few feet away, Ridge’s rust-colored wolf on top of her. Dare’s large black wolf slides his jaws around her neck, his teeth latching onto her skin. Archer and Trystan take her arms, not even flinching at the black smoke still seeping from her fingers.
“Get off me, you monsters!” Cleo shrieks, struggling against their hold on her. She casts a spell—a blast meant to blow them off her—but I hurl my magic outward, intercepting hers. All five of them shudder from the force of the two spells colliding, but her attempted attack fails.
I clamber to my knees, a little dizzy from the magical assault. My mates have her cornered. They have her pinned. All that’s left is to finish her. The idea of them tearing her apart in cold blood makes my stomach twist a little, but at least it will all be over quickly.
But before Dare can clamp his jaws down and end her life, tendrils of energy shoot out from Cleo’s hands and wrap around me before I can cast a counter-spell. Dark magic slithers around my middle, squeezing, and I know instinctively she’s going to threaten me to force them to let her go. I can’t let her do that.
“Finish her!” I shout, hoping my mates will obey no matter what happens. At least she and I will go down together.
“Don’t. Or I’ll kill the baby,” Cleo says coldly.
My heart stops.
Everyone falls still. Somewhere in the cave, water drips incessantly, and in the sudden silence it’s as loud as dynamite.
“That’s right, you little bitch.” Cleo practically purrs the words, a vicious smile spreading over her face. Triumph flares in her hard gaze. “You’ve got a new little hybrid growing in there. Didn’t you know? You’re carrying a child. A fragile little life. And if your dogs don’t let me go, I’ll fucking kill the baby.”
28
Sable
My blood runs cold as Cleo’s words wash over me.
I want to deny it, to call her a liar. I want her to be making this up just to get the upper hand.
But she’s not.
I know it.
Where her magic is wrapped around my torso, I can feel it delving deep inside me through the connection we share. And I can feel the truth. My hands automatically go to my belly where the little life seems to glow like a tiny star beneath Cleo’s pulsing, evil magic.
Whether I’m in my astral form or not, that little life is still with me. And if Cleo kills me, even in this realm, the baby will die too.
My mates hesitate, their wolfish gazes boring into me as if they can see the truth for themselves if they just look hard enough. They can’t, of course. All they see is me in danger, and I know they don’t want to give in. But they must read the answer in my eyes, because as one, they all release Cleo and step away from her.
Angry growls echo off the cave walls. I can feel their collective helplessness through our bond, as palpable as my own.
Shock and terror and elation roar through me. A baby. A child formed from the love I’ve been blessed with. My heart’s pounding so hard I can barely hear over the rush of blood in my ears.
Cleo laughs, and her magic squeezes me tighter, like a rope formed of black smoke. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. But it works out well for me that you didn’t. If you’d known you were pregnant, maybe you would’ve tried to sit this fight out. And that would’ve deprived me of the chance to kill you both. You and that hybrid abomination of a child.”
Fury flares inside me as she laughs again, and my fingers tighten on my abdomen as an entirely alien emotion rushes through me. A feeling that’s overwhelming and protective to the point of destruction.
Cleo is a psychopath. She’s evil in its purest form to lie there and threaten the most innocent thing there is.
And I’ll rip her head from her body before she can hurt my baby.
A mother’s instincts. Something I didn’t even realize I had.
I slide my hands up to where Cleo’s magic grips me like a snake holding its prey. I call up my magic, causing all the sigils scarred into my skin to turn black. I keep pulling on my energy until it’s all right there under the surface, until it’s strained to a breaking point, until I don’t know where I begin and the magic ends.
Then I take hold of Cleo’s magic, grasping at her power with all of my strength.
My own energy takes control of the connection between us, and I force us both away from the cave. The blast of raw magic from our powers clashing nearly knocks me out, but I hold on tightly to her and direct us into the void.
We hurtle through the darkness, wind whipping at our hair, sending her black locks and my blonde locks flying across our faces. As we grapple for control, I search for any weakness in her, desperate to find a way to take her out.
I don’t find one, but I manage to hurl us into a memory of hers, not one of mine.
We land hard back on the lawn of that old Victorian house where Cleo grew up. Only this time, we keep moving until we’re inside, the force of our momentum pushing us through the walls of the house like ghosts.
As I try to orient myself, my senses tune in to a lot of screaming—the sound of two teenage girls in a heated argument.
One of the twins stalks past us, her voice hard as she says, “It’s not my fault you’re a dunce at magic. Daddy did his best with you.”
The other twin appears from the archway leading to a shadowy living room. This one is Cleo—I’m sure of it, because she’s starting to look more like the adult version of herself. Her face has filled out a little, looking more like the woman I know.
Her eyes glint with fury as she grabs her sister’s arm and violently yanks her to a halt. “No, he did his best with you and ignored me.”
The twin yanked her arm from Cleo’s grasp. “Only the strongest witches deserve love, Daddy says. I’m not sorry that was me.”
She whirls on her heel and marches away, disappearing through a swinging door. I catch a glimpse of a fridge and the corner of a kitchen table before the door swings shut behind her.
Teenage Cleo stands silent for a few seconds, her fists clenched at her sides, and then she heads back into the living room.
“No.” Adult Cleo’s voice startles me. “No. No.”
She grasps at me with clawed fingers, and magic begins to filter from her fingertips. But I’ve still got control here, and the fury I felt when she threatened my baby is still so fresh that all I have to do is draw on it to tighten my hold over our connection.
“No!” Cleo shrieks as I take a few steps to follow her teenage self.
I don’t get very far. Young Cleo returns.
Holding a shotgun.
Horror roots me to the hardwood floor, and I watch the resolute witch pass through the swinging door after her twin. A split second later, a gunshot ricochets through the house.
Adult Cleo screams, the sound equal parts raw grief and fury. She grabs at me again as her teenage self reappears, blood spatter visible on her clothes.
It’s so�
�� violent. So horrific. All that magical power at her fingertips, and she murdered her sister with a gun because she knew it was the only way she’d win.
Only the strongest witches deserve love.
God, her father did this to her. He warped her into this awful being. She committed murder to make sure she was the only one worthy of his love.
Cleo is still shrieking curse words and threats as she tears at my clothes. She tries to unleash a barrage of magic at me, but instead of blocking it, I latch onto it. Then I pull her away from this memory and into a new one.
We don’t jump very far in the timeline of her history. When we emerge in the new memory, I realize it’s the same day as the events we saw earlier.
Teenage Cleo is sitting on the couch watching television when her parents return. They pass the door to the living room, and a pinched-faced blonde woman, clearly Cleo’s mother, says, “You’re going to get fat wasting your time in front of the TV. Get up, Cleopatra.”
Cleo glares at her but turns the television off with the remote. Then she sits there in silence, a savage grin on her face, as her parents enter the kitchen.
Her mother screams. And screams. And screams.
The witch’s father bursts from the kitchen and into the living room, his face pale and his mouth gaping at the air as if he can’t breathe. He points back at the kitchen with one shaking hand. “What the hell happened, Cleopatra? What—”
“I beat her. I won.” A tiny smile curves Cleo’s lips, all the more terrifying for its small simplicity.
“What?” His eyes widen. “You did that? You killed her? How could… why would you do such a thing?”
Cleo, who’s been staring at the blank TV screen, turns to look at him without a hint of remorse on her face. “Now you can love me. I’m the strongest. Aren’t you pleased?”
He falls to his knees, looking at his daughter as if he doesn't even recognize her.
My stomach twists, making me feel queasy. Did he not consider the consequences of his actions? Did it never occur to him that the way he pitted the sisters together would have negative ramifications? It’s his fault he turned his kids into psychopaths.
