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Fated to the Wolven Mage

Page 31

by R.L. Perez

I stretched my arms out, preparing to push my magic toward him. Before I could, he clasped his hands around my wrist. Something cold and shadowy slithered around my arm, dousing all the heat within me. I gasped as he did the same to the other wrist. When he withdrew, I stared in horror at my arms.

They were both coated in cuffs made completely of shadow. The darkness swirled and coiled around me like a snake, concealing the black markings on my wrist. They felt icy and unnatural against my skin. With a grunt, I tried sliding them off. But they wouldn’t move.

“Magic resistant shackles,” Alaric explained, his voice full of steel. “They were created from my magic, and they can only be unlocked at my command.”

My heart sank like a stone all the way to my stomach. No. This couldn’t be. Without my magic, I…

I tried conjuring it. Nothing happened. Closing my eyes, I shoved all my strength inward, trying to rouse my powers. Come on! I urged. You can’t leave me!

But no—my magic was gone. It was as if someone had carved every ounce of magic out of my chest, leaving nothing but a hollow, empty husk.

That was all I was. A shell of a witch.

I was nothing and no one.

“I’m running out of time and patience,” Alaric snapped. “Either stand up, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”

With a snarl, I clambered to my feet and gave him a venomous look, fighting to keep my eyes on his face and not… other parts of him. “Fine, lock me up,” I seethed. “But without my magic to defend myself, how will you stop a Wolven from coming into my cell and strangling me in the middle of the night?”

“Wolven Mage,” Reid barked.

I blinked. “What?”

Reid rolled his eyes. “Wolven is the magic. Mage is the person.”

Alaric sighed in exasperation. “Now is hardly the time for that, Reid.”

“I don’t give a damn about the proper terminology,” I said angrily. “If one of your people kills me, then you won’t get any answers out of me! You have to protect me, or you’ll never find what you’re looking for.”

I was bluffing. And it was very possible they knew it. But right now, the only thing keeping me alive was the answers they sought from Gran’s death.

Dead. Mangled. Chest torn open. The sight of her disfigured body flashed in my eyes. Bile crept up my throat. Would I meet the same fate as her?

I shoved away the thought. I couldn’t deal with that right now.

Alaric groaned, glancing skyward for a moment as if praying for strength. Rage coursed through me. He was frustrated right now? What an ass.

“I’ll station my own personal soldiers outside the dungeons,” he said.

I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Oh, thank the gods! I feel so safe now.”

Alaric gave me a flat look. “It’s all I can do, witchling. I sleep in the barracks next to the dungeons, so I’ll be able to check on you often.”

I tugged uselessly at the shackles once more, but they wouldn’t budge. That horrible chilling feeling still surrounded my skin.

“If you are as innocent as you say,” Alaric said, “then after we cast the truth spell, you’ll be released.”

I swallowed hard. Somehow, I didn’t believe that an entire tribe of angry Wolven Mages who had just lost their king would be quite so understanding about letting me leave.

They wanted someone to blame. And a witch was the perfect target.

I turned to Alaric to say something, but my eyes strayed to his cock for the millionth time, and I inwardly swore. Storms, his lack of clothing was really distracting.

I was about to ask him to put some clothes on when my stomach decided to growl as loudly as the wolves roaming the forest. It rumbled and moaned and drew the attention of both Wolven Mages next to me. Reid’s eyebrows rose while Alaric shot me an expression that was half incredulity, half annoyance.

I cleared my throat, my face on fire. It had been ages since I’d last eaten. In fact, I was fairly certain I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Alaric said, stretching his hand toward the castle. “Let’s go.”