The words stop me cold. I go very, very still. “I have also grieved,” I say quietly. “More than any of you.”
Her smile fades. “Your time for revenge is coming. You cannot prevent the inevitable.” She leans forward, and there’s a terrible look in her blind gaze. “Your souls are bound. You will mark her.”
A growl tears from my throat. “I won’t.”
She shakes her head. “This is the last chance you get.”
Then, suddenly, she lunges forward with impossible speed, grabbing my wrist with strength that shouldn’t belong to someone who looks like her. She forces my sleeve up, revealing the mark on my forearm—black as ink, twisting across my skin.
“A curse on a curse,” she whispers.
My heart stops. “What does that mean?”
“My kind broke our most cardinal law.” Her fingers trace the mark, and I feel magic spark against my skin. “We do not interfere with the magic of other witches. But we cursed the curse that was placed upon you.” She pauses, white eyesboring into mine. “That is why we have not moved beyond your territory. We will be struck down if we ever leave.” A slow and vicious smile crosses her face. “Have you never wondered why you remember each lifetime?”
My mind goes blank. Then, it explodes with realization.
“This is because of you?” The words come out strangled.
Her unseeing eyes narrow. “We wanted revenge. Our daughter should have lived a life of happiness. We will give her that life.”
Fury erupts from me, hot and deadly. “You did this to me! You made us relive—”
“We only made sure you remembered.” Her voice is calm, matter of fact. “The day the curse breaks, my kind will breathe our last.” She releases my wrist and sits back down, her expression softening. “Bring her to see us once we leave. We fulfilled our promise to her.”
I step forward, rage making my movements sharp. But my eyesight is starting to blur. “What promise? What—”
“We cannot tell you everything,” she says, and her voice sounds distant now. “But the curse is weakening.”
“What do you—”
“After all, the curse of a gypsy witch is stronger than any other curse.”
The tent tilts. I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of the table. My vision darkens at the edges.
“No—” I try to growl, but the word comes out weak.
Then, slowly, my knees give out.
I close my eyes.
When I open them, I’m standing in the middle of a busy street. Humans stream past me, none of them giving me a second glance. There’s a wooden bench in front of me.
For a moment, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Some fever dream brought on by stress and the conversation with Lucian.
But then, I look down at my palm.
The cut is still there, fresh and bleeding. And carved into the wood of the bench, with what looks suspiciously like blood, is the same symbol the witch drew on her table.
I stare at it, my wolf snarling in my mind, and only one thought echoes through my head.
What the hell have they done to me?
Chapter Seven
Daciana
I stare at the history book before me, tracing the faded ink with my fingertip. The dates blur together, but one thing stands out clearly.
