He nodded. “It’s something I’m good at.”
“Option two?” I asked, voice smaller than I meant it.
His eyes flickered to mine. “We fight. Bronc and Rafe would back us, maybe the Kozlovs. We could make a stand. But it would be ugly. Casualties on both sides. And they’d never stop coming.”
I pictured the Council chamber; the thrones lined up like mausoleums. Pictured Lucia and her fangs, Juliet’s laughter gone brittle, Bronc holding a pistol to his own head before letting them break his pack. “You’d die for me?” I whispered.
He barked a laugh, humorless. “I’d kill for you. That’s the difference.”
I rolled onto my back, staring up at the darkening sky. “Option three?”
He exhaled, slow. “We let them have you. They strip the mate mark, give you to Dominic, and send me to rot in whatever hole they use for shifters like me. Life goes on for everyone except us.”
I touched the mark on his neck, fingers gentle. It pulsed under my touch, a living thing.
“They can’t just erase this,” I said.
He shrugged. “If they want to, they will. Council’s done it before.” His hand found mine, squeezed. “But I think it kills you. Maybe not right away, maybe not a conventional death,but…yeah. Of course, Dominic would try to replace my mark. The Goddess wouldn’t stand for it.”
He pulled me close, lips at my ear. “They will not win, Red. Even if I have to burn the world down. It may be a last-minute decision, but I’ll come up with something. I’m counting on the Goddess to inspire me, hopefully.”
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to be as certain as he sounded, and maybe I did feel a tiny seed of faith. But it sure seemed like a long shot.
Chapter 21
King Declan Calloway
Verdant Hollow had a way of lulling you into peace, then reminding you just how little you deserved it. The air was sweet; the wind perfumed with wildflowers and damp earth, every step cushioned by a carpet of moss so thick it felt obscene. But the beauty was a trap: the deeper you wandered, the more the trees closed in, the more the sky became a memory. It was said that Verdant Hollow could kill you with kindness, and if you looked at the number of vanished envoys on record, you’d believe it.
I followed the winding path to a grove of ancient oaks, their branches locked in a silent argument that had gone on for centuries. The roots bulged above ground, tangled and black, making the whole place feel like a set for a funeral. In the center, seated on a low stone, was Elaina Rowan—Wyrdmother of the Hollow, the oldest living witch on the Council, and the only one I feared in my bones.
She was waiting for me, as I knew she would be. Her skin was the color of old bark, her hair a mass of silver-white curls that framed a face more wrinkled than alive. But her eyes were clear, cold green, and they saw through every lie before you’d even spoken it. As I stepped into the grove, she didn’t move, didn’t even blink.
“You have nerve, Calloway,” she said, her voice a dry rustle. “Not much else, but plenty of that.”
I bowed, slow and shallow. “Wyrdmother Rowan.”
She cocked her head. “You never come unless you want something.”
“That’s true of everyone.”
She made a noise—a click of the tongue, or maybe a curse in her native tongue. “Sit then. Let’s get this over with.”
I did, perching on a mossy root across from her, the damp seeping through my trousers in an instant. “I’ll be quick,” I said. “You remember the Purge.”
Her lips thinned. “I remember a lot of things.”
“In the third year, the hunters had you cornered. You lost a dozen priestesses, more in the fire. But I intervened. I brokered a truce. I gave you a path to escape.”
“You gave me a week,” she said, voice sharper now. “It cost me thirty years of penance to the Hollow. My people still bear the scars.”
“It was better than extinction.”
She was silent. The wind whistled through the branches, carrying the scent of sap and wood smoke.
“You owe me a favor,” I said. “That was the deal.”
She looked at me, and for a moment I saw the animal in her—something old, dangerous, desperate to be free. “You waited all this time for this?”
