Blood. Fresh blood. I can smell it on her. I glance at her mouth. Dried blood crusts her lips, stains her teeth.
What is happening here?
She moans, a sound incoherent and raw, and I shake off my confusion as well as my concealment. Questions later. Help first.
I kneel beside the woman, already reaching for my magic. I pour stabilizing energy into her, and I feel her body trying desperately to absorb it, clinging to anything that might keep her alive.
“Who are you?” I ask, keeping my tone gentle despite the horror crawling under my skin.
She focuses on me with effort. There’s something there. Recognition, maybe. But I don’t know her. I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.
“Cassandra,” she whispers.
The name means nothing to me. I shake my head. “I don’t know you. How long have you been here? Who did this?”
Tears spill down her hollow cheeks. Each word is labored, punctuated by shallow inhales. “Everyone forgot me. Nobody came. Nobody looked.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am. Whatever happened to her, however long she’s been down here, no one deserves this. “But I don’t know who you are. I’ve never met you.”
“Elara,” she breathes.
The world stops.
My chest constricts. “What did you say?”
“My Elara.” Her chest heaves with the effort of speaking. “They killed her. Because of me. Because of what I saw.”
I grip her shoulders, searching her face for any hint of familiarity. “You knew Elara? How? When?”
“I was just a girl.” Each word comes in gasps. “She found me. In the village. Took me in. Taught me magic. Taught me kindness.” She pauses, struggling. “She was like a sister to me. My big sister who made everything better.”
My mind reels. Then a hazy, distant memory. After Elara and I became mates, she mentioned a young local witch she was teaching. A girl from the village who showed promise. Who made Elara smile with her enthusiasm and joy.
“Gods,” I breathe. “You were just a child. Elara talked about you. She said you reminded her of sunshine.”
“She loved me.” More tears stream down Cassandra’s face. “Protected me. And I destroyed her. I destroyed everything.”
“What happened?” I ask, still trying to reconcile this broken thing with the image of a young, happy witch. “What do you mean, you destroyed her?”
“I saw it.” Her words barely exceed a whisper. “In a vision. The prophecy. You and Elara would have a child. A son. And that son would reclaim the throne. Would bring back the first royal bloodline.”
My blood runs cold. A prophecy. About a child Elara and I would have.
“I was so excited.” Cassandra is crying now, each word punctuated by sobs. “I thought it was wonderful. Beautiful. I told someone. A witch I trusted. An older witch who I thought would help.”
“What did she do?” But I already know. Already feel the dread building.
“She betrayed me. She went to the royal family. Told them about the prophecy. About your child who would take back the throne they had stolen.”
My wolf snarls. “And they came for you.”
“They took me. Tortured me. Starved me. Forced the full prophecy from me. Every detail. Every word. I tried to hold back. I tried. But they broke me. Made me see more. Made me tell them everything.”
I feel sick. This girl, barely more than a child, tortured for a vision she couldn’t control.
“They were going to kill Elara,” Cassandra continues. “To prevent the child from being born. But the witch who betrayed me told them it wouldn’t work. Destiny would just force Elara back. She’d be reborn. Reincarnated. The prophecy would find a way.”
Ice floods my veins. “So, what did they do?”
