“Of course.” Xander’s pace increases as he trails me back to camp. “What do I tell the others? The pack? You leaving so suddenly will be noticed.”
“Tell them the fucking truth. That Carina’s my mate, that one of our own is in danger, and that I’ll slaughter any witch who dares stand between me and her.”
An hour later,I’m standing by the edge of camp where most of the pack is gathered while recounting the past day to them. Questions rise, which Marissa happily takes on, since every second spent hanging around is another that keeps Carina in danger.
Conan, Holly, and Xander follow me from camp. A backpack of clothes and packs of water Holly was wise enough to gather is slung onto Conan’s back. Following the well-wishes of everyone else, who, despite their shock, seem to care only about the factthat their Alpha’s mate is endangered, we leave while Leah trails us out.
“Stay safe.” She blinks up at Xander for an extra beat. “Don’t do anything stupid. Ryder, bring her home.”
“By my death if required, she will come back.”
Colour streaks from the camp and rams into my legs. Claire’s small arms attempt to wrap around mine, only reaching my knees. “Bring her home so she can live here with you and me and Mommy and everyone. She’ll like being your mate.”
I sincerely doubt that but merely smile at the child.
Conan and Holly follow me after a quick goodbye to Leah, and Xander joins after another two.
He falls into step beside me. “Where first?”
“Highridge.”
Forty-Four
CARINA
When I finally awake—forgood this time—a light weight draped over my form tells me someone covered me with a blanket. Another shift reveals chafing; they dressed me too, which I suppose I should be grateful for, considering Sloane and her minions came when I was naked with Ryder.
Ryder.
Hopefully he’s safe and isn’t doing anything stupid.
When I finally blink my eyes open, it’s to deep green walls, a brown blanket draped over me, and a person standing in the corner of the room. No—actually, there are two people. I sit up, ignoring the temporary fog still clouding my head that thumps lightly to take them both in.
A warlock and a witch, both seemingly around my age. Their similarities to one another are striking—as are their fae-like, sharp features. Both have pitch-black hair: the woman’s falls to the middle of her back, while the warlock’s is styled and trimmed, the sides a bit shorter than the rest. Piercings decorate their faces—he has snakebites, septum, and one through his right brow; she has both her nose and bottom lip pierced. Their eyes are purple—the standard colour for any witch or warlock—but rather than the lavender or another light purple shade, theirs are darker, a colour between mauve and wine.
Black magick.It’s changed their hair and eye colour.
The witch moves first, a subtle shift, advancing on me, while the warlock remains against the wall with his arms crossed over his black hoodie. She’s staring with ice in her eyes while he seems bored and disinterested.
Presumably, these are the two who were talking earlier. It also stands to reason that they came with Sloane to get me.
The witch in her tight jeans and ripped top hanging from her shoulder stops beside the bed, leaning until her knees touch the mattress. Her Darkness is nothing like what Harlow felt when coming back from dying. It’s thick and repugnant—a cardigan of black magick she’s wrapped herself tightly in.
IfI get a chance to fight my way out of here after learning what I need to, I won’t win against her. Especially not against both of them. Which means me against all of Twilight Grove is a doomed hope.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Morning? My gaze darts around the room, seeking a window only to turn up empty.
“Mom’s spell really took it out of you. Sorry ’bout that.”
“Are you?” I manage to speak through the fog, causing her head to tilt.
“No, not really.”
“Your mom is Sloane, I take it?” Best to start figuring out who’s who, and recalling what she said earlier, I add, “Addie.”
Presumed to be correct, her glare darts towards the warlock. “See? I fucking knew she was conscious.”
