Mate.
Ryder. My…my…
My nothing.
My fangs slide into my gums and a chase of my tongue around my mouth suggests they were never there to begin with. Claws turn back into normal nails. Within seconds, I’m a witch again.
“This changes things. An emerging wolf, a mated one at that, a witch needing to be Dark…” She waves her hands, and the bars blocking me from Ryder dissipate, forming a much larger cell. “Consider me more than intrigued.”
He lunges to his feet only for the vines on the ground to slide up his body, wrap his middle, and shove him against the far wall beside his packmates. I still don’t move—not to him or away as Sloane glides into the cell to stands beside me. Her hand rests lightly on my shoulder.
“Embracing Darkness isn’t merely about killing another. It’s about the person the life belongs to. Killing takes a life, often to save another—usually ourselves. This is what you must think about when you murder. By killing, you’re saving yourself. Then you’re saving thousands of witches. So…” Her nails bite into my shoulder. “To save three wolves’ lives, one must die, and you will pick the one.”
Fifty-Five
RYDER
It all makes so much fuckingsense. She’s a shifter. Awolf. Like me.
From the very beginning, my wolf recognized her. That’s how thenîkâkîstiswas able to be formed. Fate knew. Deep down,Iknew.
My wolf scratches, begging to be freed. To reach her. To hold her. To touch her mark. To be a wolf beside her. To bring her back to our nest and breed her.
All of which distracts by the very fact Sloane is ordering one of our deaths. We’ll be the kill that turns her Dark. The others look to me for guidance but it’s Carina who holds my attention.
“You’re fucking insane,” she hisses at Sloane right before her eyes get a bit brighter—glowing. The purple flashing to silver.
Fuck, I need to know if she can transform or if she’s like Leah. Leah has the qualities, triggered by emotion like this, but can’t completely shift.
I’ll take either. Any. All. I’ll take her as a full-bloodied witch still. I wanther, in any shape, form, and bloodline.
“None of them are dying. You want me Dark? Pick someone else.Anyoneelse. Not them.”
Sloane clicks her tongue. “As I’ve explained, this murder is vital, Carina.”
“And as I’ve explained, they are not an option.”
Sloane opens her mouth, but a sudden ringing echoes throughout the room. Both Sloane and the female witch standing by the door takes off, murmuring to the warlock, who continues to visually dissect Carina, to watch us.
He’s about to have his throat ripped out. From the minute he entered, he won’t stop staring at her.
He twists to see the others leave, and once out of sight, his nonchalant façade drops and he shoves off the wall, pushing through the spell around the cell until standing beside Carina, reaching for her wrists.
“Don’t touch her,” I snap, my teeth making an audible noise—a threat.
He rolls his eyes. “Hurting her would defeat the purpose.”
“Archer?” Her tone softens as she shares a silent, confused conversation with the warlock, who doesn’t seem too intent on talking to her and pointedly ignores her.
He waves a palm over her cuffed wrists. They fade away, much to the audible intake of breath by Carina, but then are immediately replaced by black tendrils wrapping her wrists. She jerks, but they’re not there for long; melting off her arms until identical cuffs are in place.
“This is your only shot of escaping, but be fucking smart before you go throwing magick around. You should feel your water and the bit of black magick you took from the old Alpha.”
She flexes her hands, rolls her neck, and nods.
“Without the cuffs, your magick is back, but these”—he taps the new ones—“are fake. Mom won’t know the difference.”
“Why are you helping?”
