Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
IZZY
Soraya’s lips purse as she stares at the body, and my heart thumps even faster, creating a high-pitched ringing sound between my ears.
I wonder what thoughts are going through her head. Heaven knows I can’t articulate a single one in my own currently.
After a long moment, she sighs and swishes her hand back and forth in the air. The body vanishes in a cloud of glittery light.
“Where…?” Ethan gawks, scratching absently at his bare chest.
Soraya barely spares the half-naked shifter a look. “To the garden outside. The wards around the covenstead won’t allow me to transport it any farther than that.”
She turns on her heel and begins stalking down the hall—towards, presumably, the garden.
“And you can’t…I don’t know…make the body disappear or something? Make it go up in flames?” Ethan presses as he keeps pace with me.
Grayson ducks back into the room and returns a second later, tugging his shirt over his head.
At least he’s covered. I know Soraya claimed she’s not attracted to dick, but it’s hard for the little green monster in my head to calm down when my guys are walking around half naked, their bodies chiseled from stone.
Focus, Izzy. There are more important things to worry about.
“What the hell is going on?” I push slightly ahead of Ethan until I’m shoulder to shoulder with Soraya, who glances at me sharply out of the corner of her eye. “How did that warlock die? There were claw marks on his chest.”
“Self-inflicted claw marks,” Soraya says, though the stiffness of her shoulders belies her composed tone.
“Self-inflicted?” Ethan pipes up. “He’s a warlock—”
“Who can access powerful spells, including ones that can mutate parts of the body,” Soraya says.
She quickens her pace as we turn a corner and finally reach a door at the end of the hall. She opens it, and we all pile outside into the garden I spotted from Soraya’s window.
It seems to be smack dab in the middle of the covenstead—despite the open air, it’s surrounded on all four sides by reddish-brown brick walls.
An old stone bench rests beneath a willow tree, its long branches creating shadows on the ground.
A single crow sits on one of those low branches, watching me with unblinking eyes, its feathers dark and sleek.
Everything about this place is both beautiful and eerie, a perfect blend of witchy magic and nature. The slightest of breezes—dampened by the surrounding walls—blow back my golden curls.
Soraya continues moving until we reach a bush near the very edge of the garden. Behind it rests the warlock.
The very, very dead warlock.
I swallow around the razor blade that has lodged in my throat.
“Are you saying he did this to himself?” I ask incredulously.
Soraya’s frown deepens as she kneels to inspect the man. “More than likely. Or someone in the coven killed him and then left, though I’m leaning towards the former.”
“But why?” Grayson rasps out, his voice breaking slightly. He clears his throat and tries again. “Why would he do that?”
“Someone must’ve realized you two are here.” Soraya’s lips firm, compressing into a thin line.
“That doesn’t answer the question,” I point out.
“No?” She arches a red brow as she swivels slightly to stare at me. “So you think it’s just a coincidence that a warlock died outside your door, with wounds on his chest and stomach that look as if they were inflicted by wolf claws?”
“But why? I don’t understand the point!” Ethan throws his hands up in the air and begins to pace, the sunlight glistening off his golden skin. “Obviously, they’re trying to frame me, but I don’t understand the ‘why’ of it all.”
“Why did the vampires attack the shifters, pretending to be human Hunters? Why did the witches and shifters fight each other? Why did a witch commit suicide in an attempt to make everyone else believe a shifter did it?” Soraya stares at us intently, willing us to put the pieces together.
I suddenly can’t breathe. There’s a tightness in my chest that hasn’t been there prior—a one-thousand-pound weight that’s cracking my ribs and puncturing my heart. “Someone’s trying to start a war.”
That’s the only thing that makes sense. An unknown foe is pulling all of our strings and making us dance like marionettes. But who is the mastermind behind all of this? Kain? He’s a lot of things, but he’s not smart enough to pull off something as elaborate as this.
And what purpose does this even serve?
Questions race through my mind, one after the other, but I don’t know which one to even begin asking.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if a vampire shows up dead in the next few days with a hex on him,” Soraya continues gravely.
“What’s the point?” Ethan asks, exasperation tinging his tone. “Who would be fucked up to do such a thing? And why now?”
Soraya shakes her head. “I don’t know. I suspected something has been going on for at least a month or two now but haven’t found any evidence.”
“This is evidence, isn’t it? A warlock killing himself?” I press.
“Did you actually see him claw himself to death?” Soraya asks, though her tone implies she already knows the answer. “Did anyone see that? Did anyone—besides you and Grayson—actually have eyes on Ethan when the attack happened?”
“No, but—”
“Then it’ll be your word against damning evidence,” Soraya says as she lifts her hand again.
And then, to my shock and horror, the ground beneath the warlock begins to grow and curl around him, cocooning him in a blanket of green.
The last thing I see are his vacant eyes before they, too, are completely covered.
The ground pulls the dead warlock into its earthy embrace until there’s not a single trace he was ever there to begin with.
“Holy fuck,” Ethan breathes.
Grayson simply stares.
Soraya stands gracefully and uses her clothes to wipe the dirt off her hands. She does all of this so…nonchalantly, as if this isn't the first time she had to make a body disappear.
I suddenly see Soraya in an entirely new light.
When I first met her, I thought she was a vapid, rude, dim-witted princess.
But now I’m beginning to believe there’s more to her than meets the surface.
She’s not just the Maiden, her entire life revolving around the coven and the Trinity.
This is a side of her I doubt she allows many people to see, and I don’t know if that endears me to her or makes me terrified of her next move.
Soraya eyes us all keenly before moving back towards the door. “We won’t ever talk about this again.”
It’s not a question or even a request—it’s a demand. We either heed her warning or face the consequences.
I easily keep pace with Soraya as we step back inside the building.
“Do you think Delaney has something to do with this?” I ask, the twisting in my stomach intensifying.
It would make sense. She’s the leader of the coven, and everyone listens to her. What she says goes. She was the one who unofficially declared war on the Hunters during dinner the other day.
But what does she hope to get out of all of this? What’s her end goal?
“I don’t know,” Soraya answers honestly. “But it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s involved. Mother Delaney has always held a grudge against the shifters, especially after what happened to her sister—your mother.”
“When my mother died, you mean?” I keep my tone blank, not wanting her to hear the pain just that one question costs me.
“That’s one reason,” Soraya agrees.
“One reason?” Ethan asks.
Soraya sighs and absently fiddles with the end of her hair. “There are rumors…”
She doesn’t immediately continue speaking, and I stare at her intently, wordlessly encouraging her to tell me more.
She hesitates, nibbling on her lower lip, before relenting with a sigh. “Keep in mind, these are nothing but rumors. I don’t know if they’re true or not.”
I nod to let her know I understand.
“Well, you already know that your mother was an immensely powerful witch. So powerful that most members of the coven believed she would hold a position in the Trinity when the Crone retired.”
At my confused look, Soraya explains, “Being on the Trinity is a lifelong commitment, for the most part. You have to undergo a series of tests that will determine your power level when you reach the age of twenty. When the Crone retires, the Mother will become the Crone, and the Maiden will become the Mother. The most powerful witch between the ages of sixteen to twenty-five will become the Maiden.”
“You said being on the Trinity is a lifelong commitment,” Ethan interjects. “What do you mean by that?”
“If someone is challenged for her position, then she’ll have no choice but to prove she’s still the most powerful.
Whoever wins will take over the position that’s been challenged.
If no one challenges the witch on the Trinity, then she’ll remain in power until she passes away.
” Soraya shrugs nonchalantly, though her eyes turn distant.
Glazed. Lost in a memory, perhaps? “Fortunately, challenges are rare. The last time one happened was years ago.”
“Why are they rare?” I ask.
From what I heard, witches covet power above all else. Their social standing isn’t based on money or looks or anything like that. No, if you have power, you’re automatically at the top of the food chain. I wouldn’t be surprised if witches constantly fight to secure a seat on the exclusive Trinity.
“Because the battle has to end in death,” Soraya says calmly, sliding her gaze in my direction. “You have to be one hundred percent certain you’re capable of defeating the witch in power. Because if you fail, you’re dead.”
A lead weight sinks in my stomach, and I swallow before turning away.
“You said witches…” I can practically hear the cogs in Ethan’s mind churning as he takes in this new information. “Do warlocks not hold positions on the Trinity? Is it a sexism thing?”
He doesn’t ask to be an ass. Ethan is honestly curious. He’s a lot like Ansel in that respect—both of them thirst for knowledge.