Running in wolf form means letting him roam free. Letting instincts take over, which demand running faster, harder, no matter how much my body pleads for rest.
Nearing the Ontario border, Xander cuts in front of me and tosses himself into my flank—the universal sign he wants to stop and talk. Talking is the last thing I want. It’s the last thing Carina needs. But he knows this and wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, so with an aggravated growl I follow him away from the forest’s edge—where we’ve been sticking to the main highway—and shift to talk.
“We don’t have time to stop.”
“We need rest.” Xander jerks his chin at the other two, who are using the trees to hold themselves upright. At my look, they straighten, doing their best not to make his point for him. “You do as well, even if you don’t want to believe it. We show up in Ontario how we are and we’ll be shit to help her.” He pauses, his silence imprinting the importance. “You know I’m right, Ryder, and you know you’re tired as well. We still have to get into Ontario and figure out where exactly they are, then get inside and find her. It’ll be nonstop from here on out, and she needs us to rest as much as we do. We don’t want to risk endangering her rescue.”
Resting is the last thing my mate needs…but he’s correct. Even pausing for this conversation has made my body grow heavy with the urge to nap.
“We show up weak, we’ll lose. You’ll lose your packandyour mate. Carina is strong; she can handle a few more hours. She knows what she’s doing.”
My wolf huffs, but he too knows our beta is correct.
“A few hours won’t put us far behind,” he adds, imploring.
No, but a few hours could change how much they do to her.
“Hunt and rest. We’ll leave at sunset.” Given the time of year and where the sun is, that’s only a couple hours away.
Conan shifts into wolf form to hunt, and after a grateful smile, Holly follows. Once they disappear, Xander hands me the backpack of clothes and pulls on a pair of shorts for himself.
When the others return, we all settle in a circle to eat and then take turns napping.
Silence is broken by Conan, who’s staring at the sky as the sun slowly disappears, moment after moment.
“Time to go get our other Alpha.”
Forty-Eight
CARINA
“Divination isanother kind of magick, though unpopular amongst modern covens,” Sloane explains like thereisn’ta man chained up two feet away. “It’s considered Dark now, simply for its history.”
If it weren’t for his back rising and falling with his breaths, I’d believe him to be dead. He’s seated on the floor, bent in half at the waist, his head so low it nearly touches the dirty stone while hiding his features. His skin is caked in as much dirt as the walls we walked past to get here, and the enchanted manacles around his wrists are tight enough to restrict movement.
No matter who he is, why he’s here, orifhe’s done anything to Sloane, the enslavement of this warlock sends my magick—both water and Dark—rising to the top.
Sloane spent the entire trip down to this monstrosity of a scene trying to convince me Darkness isn’t evil. She said different kinds of magick are no different than elemental magick—and that they don’t harm in the way we believe black magick does.
But this isn’t anything of what she’s described. She’s a liar, plain and simple.
“You’re a monster.”
Although I expect her barrier of invisible magick to ripple and push me back, my feet move on instinct to free him—to show him someone cares about his life—but the expected spell prevents it.
Making a show of proving she’s able to pass through, she steps past the barrier and stands beside the warlock who shows no sign of being aware of his guest. “As I was saying, divination exists by work of a select few and rare witches.”
“Seers.” That much I recall from the teachings.
Seers in the witch community were rare—arerare—because they’ve yet to be extinguished, despite the vampires’ attempts. Late in the twentieth century, they mass-hunted any known Seers, fearing that kind of magick would be harmful to their survival. It was simply one more point to the ongoing battles between vampires and witches that have been ever-existing. They nearly succeeded, leaving only a few throughout the world, and those who remain went into hiding either as loners or are hidden by their covens.
With the Seers practically gone and the twenty-first century’s rise of technology, witches stopped relying on divination. It’s become a practice dying out as each Seer passes to Summerland.
My stomach sinks deeper into the ground as I glance between them, putting her explanation of divination into reason. “Wait.He’sa Seer?”
“One of only ten remaining worldwide, yes. One who specifically came to me about two decades ago with a prophecy.”
Twenty years ago. That’d make this guy…old, thoughhe doesn’t appear much older than me.
