“I dare,” Aidon says, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits.
“There’s something wrong with you; let us help,” Riven says, stepping closer with open arms, like he’s approaching a timid animal.
Insulting.
“Step away. I don’t want you in my space,” I target his slave ego, and it works; he halts…
A terrible tremor shakes my body, but I force myself to contain it.
“Iron Lady, I have a request. I will barter for it as the heir of the shapeshifter clan,” Aidon says to Margorate.
“How dare you oppose me?” My breath quickens, but I no longer care about containing the hunger.
“Karo!” I roar, nearly stumbling, and she ducks behind Aidon, trying to reach me.
She’s on the verge of touching me, but Jestin’s sand chains hold her back.
“No!” I yell, glaring at the traitor I once considered mating with. I will destroy him, his friends and all the family he has left.
“You will regret that,” I growl.
Jestin’s green depths are like shattered mirrors.
Good.
“Name it, Draconis,” Margorate says flatly.
“I need you to remove the masking charm from Karo,” Aidon replies.
She looks between her and me, then nods slowly. “I can do that,” she agrees, drawing blood once more.
“No, you won’t. She is mine.” I try to stop her, but Riven steps in front of me.
“Please don’t do it. You can’t oppose the Witch,” Karo pleads, sinking to her knees.
“The Forest Witch? I’m not afraid of that old frog,” Margorate states, and cuts her palm.
I try to create a shield before her, but my teeth chatter.
Jestin catches me in his arms as my legs give out beneath me. “Sels, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” I cry out, clutching his shirt.
He cares. Even after all the blows I’ve made him suffer from. That simple truth nearly breaks me. I don’t deserve him, yet he still catches me when I fall. Treacherous moisture gathers in the corners of my useless eyes. I turn, letting the tears fall silently, sealing my lips shut.
One long, steady inhale, then I stare at the hag. Utterly pathetic and fully powerless.
“Love, what’s happening?” Jestin asks again, nudging my hair with his chin, and I make the mistake of meeting his gaze.
That moment costs me greatly, because Margorate chants, “Suiku puku napoley.”
Karo’s screams pierce my skull, raw and jagged, mingling with the sickly scent of blood. Judging by the thick crimson seeping from her ears, the spell has likely shattered her eardrums.
“What have you done? Have you no sense?” Margorate demands, rubbing her forehead.
How dare she judge me?
I struggle against Jestin’s grip, but he holds me like iron.
