Worse, how can I ever take them away?
When Malia fills me in on her coven’s quest for the perfect rune, she slips off the couch to run her fingers across the empty patch of floor in front of her. Where her fingers touch the glistening tiles, a violet light begins to burn.
“It’s a simple rune,” she says. “And it should be powerful… the most powerful rune of all. But something’s wrong with it.”
She draws a long, vertical line and then begins to mark the circle in the middle.
It’s the royal rune, etched in the color of my hair. Unmistakable. I begin to say so, but then Malia curls her middle three fingers over, her wolf’s claws appear, and she slashes across the royal rune with three claw marks.
It’s the shape of Roman’s death bond, cutting right across the rune in a savage and destructive action.
I wince as pain shoots through my right arm. I grab hold, trying to ease the burning sensation, confused when the royal rune glows through my shirt.
Malia is so intent on the magic in front of her that she doesn’t seem to notice my pain. Taniya, too, is focused on the rune, as if it’s the most important thing in her life right now.
“We try it again and again,” Malia says, her brow furrowed, an intense concentration filling her face. “But it never seems to hold power like it should.”
She leans to the right and starts again to draw on the floor, forming the royal symbol and then cutting through it with her claws.
This time, the rune is cobalt blue, and my brow furrows at the thought that she’s creating it in Koda’s power this time.
“It’s broken somehow,” she says, staring at the rune.
With a shake of her head, she starts to mark the floor again, this time in burgundy. The color of Arga’s power. Then again, in gold, the color of Esta’s power.
Each time, she slashes through the rune and declares that it’s broken. Each time, pain strikes through my arm.
I jolt to my feet, my arm feeling like it’s on fire. I back away from all of the garish colors struck through on the floor. With a shock, I remember that the prison is designed to control anyone who comes here—which includes me.
The first time I was here, Tyrus—the Captain of the King’s Guard—was worried we wouldn’t get back out again, especially the longer we stayed. Every time Malia draws on the floor and declares that the rune is broken, the more I feel my energy seeping outward, pulled toward the prison walls.
The longer I remain in this room, the more desperate Malia’s attempts to create ‘the perfect rune’ become.
“I have to go.” I gasp.
“But you haven’t received the message yet,” Malia says, looking up at me when I kneel to hug her, her warm, brown eyes wide.
“What message?” I manage to ask, my teeth gritted through the pain, violet light pouring between my fingertips where I grab my arm again.
“The message from your father.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
Malia turns back to the runes, but her expression is perplexed. “It’s broken. We can’t make it whole. You won’t understand until we fix it.” Her voice trails off. “We have to fix it…”
As her focus swings back to the rune, I back away, bumping into the nearest couch, where Taniya is sitting. She immediately jumps up, hugging me—so many hugs from my prickly sister.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, looking me in the eye. “We’re okay. You don’t have to worry about us.”
Like fuck I don’t.
I’m more afraid for my sisters now than I was the first time I left them here. My heart hammers in my chest and I hate to leave them here, but I have to get out before the prison takes me, too. I have to keep them safe for now, but I also have to be able to come back and free them.
Giving a quick whistle for my wolves to follow me, I hurry toward the door. It swings wide before I reach it and I heave a sigh of relief that it’s letting me go.
As soon as I step onto the light beam, it races forward, much faster than before, bursting into motion so quickly that I crouch to keep my balance. We fly back through the fake wall, up the incline, and whoosh around each bend.
A bright flash of color ignites the walls twice as we pass. Two more burning runes etched and burning in the steel walls—just like the ones Malia drew—and I can’t get the image out of my mind. Or Malia’s words.A broken message from my father.
