Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
T he words struck deeper than they should. Clover had always worried she wasn’t enough for Rook—not strong enough, not powerful enough, not worthy of an alpha’s love. The dark magic seized these insecurities, trying to twist them into chains to bind her will.
“That’s it,” the witch purred. “Let the doubt in. Let it consume you.”
“No.” Clover gathered what magic she could reach, weaving it into a desperate shield around her core self. She focused on what she knew to be true—Rook’s unwavering faith in her. The strength they found together. The future they could build if she held on.
The witch snarled, redoubling his efforts. Corrupt power hammered against her mind, searching for weakness. Each blow sent spikes of agony through her skull, but she channeled the pain into determination. If this was her last stand, she’d make it count.
“I can end this quickly,” the witch offered as she writhed in agony. “Submit now, and the pain stops. Fight, and I’ll draw it out until your mind shatters.”
Through the haze of torment, Clover caught glimpses of what he planned—using her to destroy not just Rook, but everything she loved. Her shops burned to ash. Her friends turned against each other. Mystic Hollow torn apart while she watched, helpless in her own body.
“I’ll die first.” The words came out raw but certain.
“Noble sentiment.” Justus laughed. “But you won’t have that choice.”
The witch’s magic pressed harder, worming through gaps in her weakening shields. Foreign power sliced through her thoughts, trying to reshape her will, turn her love for Rook into mindless obedience to Justus.
A familiar caw pierced the darkness. Poe. Her heart leaped even as dread filled her chest. Rook would come for her—she knew this bone-deep. But what if that’s exactly what they wanted? What if this whole torture session was just bait to draw him into a trap?
“Ah, yes.” Justus’s smile turned cruel. “Call your mate here. Let him watch as you break.”
“Stay away,” Clover tried to project the thought to Poe, to Rook, to anyone who might hear. “Save yourself.”
But even as she thought it, she knew Rook wouldn’t listen. He would come for her, walking straight into whatever Justus had planned. Unless...
She gathered her remaining strength, not to resist the witch’s attacks, but to prepare one final spell. If she couldn’t fight them, she could at least ensure they wouldn’t use her against Rook. Better to burn out her own magic entirely than become their weapon.
“Your thoughts betray you,” the witch whispered in her mind. “I can feel your plan forming. Do you really think I’ll let you sacrifice yourself?”
Dark magic crashed against her in punishing waves, trying to strip away even this last choice. But Clover held firm, drawing on everything she had left—love for Rook, determination to protect him, fury at those who would use their bond as a weapon.
“You can’t fight forever.” The witch’s voice echoed with cold certainty. “Your mate will die by your hand, and you’ll watch helplessly as it happens.”
“Never.” The word came out as a prayer and a promise. Clover poured her entire being into one last defense, preparing to burn away her own magic rather than submit. Love, fury, and desperate hope crystallized into an impenetrable core as she gathered power for a final, devastating release.
The cabin door exploded inward.