Daciana pulls away from me and walks toward her on unsteady legs. “Are you alright?” Her voice is breathless. “Who are you?”
The girl tilts her head, studying Daciana with those dark, ancient eyes. She looks young, but there’s a timeless quality to her gaze. As if she has seen centuries pass.
I move forward, recognition dawning on me. The magic signature, the timing, the way she appeared from nowhere…
“Daciana, you are looking at the leader of the gypsy witches,” I say softly. “Hera.”
Daciana’s breath catches. “You came.”
Hera’s lips curve into a small smile. “You called. I answered.” Her voice is soft but carries weight. Power. “And it seems I arrived just in time.”
Chapter Thirteen
Daciana
I sit across from Hera at the table in my chambers, trying to process what I’m seeing. Kieran’s hand, warm and possessive, rests on my thigh, his fingers pressing just hard enough that I feel the tension radiating through him.
“I was not expecting the leader of the gypsy witches to show up,” Kieran says, his voice gentle.
Hera smiles, and there’s an enigmatic curve to her lips that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“But she’s so young,” I murmur, staring at the woman’s smooth skin and bright eyes.
“Don’t let her appearance fool you.” Kieran’s fingers tighten on my thigh. “Hera is older than both of us. Centuries older.”
I freeze. “What?”
Hera’s smile widens, looking both mysterious and knowing. “Gypsy witches are not bothered by things like time, child.”
I gape at her, then at Kieran, my mind spinning. “So…what, you’re immortal?”
“No.” She adjusts her long white dress, the fabric whispering against her skin. “I can be killed.” Her sigh is heavy with theweight of ages. “Nature requires balance in all things. We may not die from natural causes, but we can be killed. And we are physically weaker than most.”
I’m silent for several seconds, processing her words. “Elara was one of you.”
The smile fades from Hera’s face instantly, replaced by a deep pain that I’ve seen reflected in Kieran’s eyes a few times. It steals my breath.
“Yes.” Her voice is soft now. “Elara was a child—an infant, really. Were it not for the fated mate bond, I would never have given permission for her to be with Kieran.”
Her lips press into a thin line when she looks at him, and I realize with a jolt that she blames him. It’s there in her eyes, sharp and cutting.
When Kieran looks away, heat flares in my chest. “It wasn’t his fault!” My voice comes out louder than I intend. “He died, too. Or did you forget that?”
Hera’s gaze snaps to me, and for a moment I think I’ve gone too far. But then, her expression shifts to one of surprise, maybe even respect.
She studies me for a long moment, her ancient eyes taking me apart piece by piece. “How curious.” A pause, weighted with centuries of pain. “Our Elara was sheltered from the world. Until she began to run with shifters, she was always safe, so it is indeed—” She stops herself, and her eyes flick to Kieran before returning to me.
The unspoken accusation hangs in the air between us.
She sighs again, and it’s the sound of old grief that has been given voice. “You called for me?”
“Yes.” I lean forward, ignoring the way Kieran’s fingers slide higher on my thigh, a silent warning or perhaps to comfort me—I can’t tell which. “I want to know why I am dying in every life, in the same way over and over again. Is it truly a curse?”
Hera nods.
The world tilts. I feel Kieran’s hand tighten around my leg, his claws pricking through my pants.
“Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?” Kieran growls. “I could have looked for a way to break it.”
