Chapter Two
Her eyes caught on a horrific sight—Libby crumpling to the ground, her mates Liam and Jacob falling beside her.
Matthew stood over them, eyes gleaming with triumph, blood dripping from his sword.
The sound that tore from Marion’s throat was half a scream, half a roar of fury.
She wanted to run to them, but another enemy lunged, forcing her to raise her arm, sparks of violet fire bursting from her palm.
The man shrieked as the flames consumed him, and Marion pressed forward, rage giving her strength.
The battlefield was chaos. Screams intermingled with the roar of fire, the crack of bones breaking, the sickening thuds of bodies falling.
Witches hurled fire and wind, warlocks sent shadows slashing through the dark, and the ground itself shook with the force of so much unleashed power.
Marion pushed through, dirt and blood caking her skin, her breath ragged.
She swung her arm, fire leaping outward, cutting down another of Matthew’s men.
Her chest heaved, but she could not stop—not when she could still fight, not while her sisters still stood.
A woman shrieked nearby as a wall of fire consumed her.
Another cry followed when an earth-shattering crack split the ground, sending combatants tumbling into the abyss.
Marion stumbled, ducking beneath a flying shard of stone, the acrid air burning her lungs.
She steadied herself, her gaze darting frantically for the faces she loved.
Around her, flashes of violet, gold, and emerald lit up the smoky dark, every strike another soul lost or spared.
Then she saw them.
Saffron stood a few yards away, her mismatched eyes glowing as Ryan and Alaric pressed close to her. The three of them weren’t fighting. They were talking, their faces twisted in grief, tears streaking their cheeks. Marion’s heart lurched. Something was wrong. She had to reach them.
She shoved through the melee, cutting down another attacker. “Saffie!” she screamed, running toward them.
Halfway there, the pain hit.
It was like a spear through her chest, jagged and merciless.
Marion staggered, her vision blurring, and then she collapsed to her knees, clutching at herself.
Her breath tore out of her, ragged gasps that refused to fill her lungs.
She turned her head just in time to see Ryan and Alaric struck down.
Their bodies crumpled at Saffie’s feet. Saffron’s scream ripped through the battlefield as she collapsed over them, hands clutching their still forms, her voice shattering with grief.
“No,” Marion whispered, the word lost in the roar around her. Pain seared through her body, white-hot and unrelenting. She slumped sideways onto the blood-soaked earth, her tears mingling with the dirt.
“Marion!” Ursula’s voice cut through the haze. Then she was there, sliding to her knees beside her, hands glowing as she tried to summon healing. Fear shone in her usually calm eyes. “What happened? What did they do to you?”
Marion could barely form the words. “I ... don’t know. It feels like something inside me is tearing me apart.” Her voice cracked, her chest jerking as the agony raked her insides raw.
Ursula pressed her palms to Marion’s chest, whispering incantations, but nothing happened. Her frown deepened, panic flashing across her face. “It’s not working,” she muttered. “Why isn’t it working? It should be working!”
Marion’s body shuddered. The agony was consuming her, blackness edging her vision. She reached for Ursula’s hand, squeezing with what little strength she had left. “You have to live,” she whispered. “For all of us. Promise me.”
“No,” Ursula said fiercely, shaking her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “Don’t you dare leave me. We need you. I need you.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Marion’s lips curved weakly, even as blood touched her teeth. “But you do. Live for us. Live for me.”
As her strength ebbed, a strange warmth washed over her. The pain dulled, replaced by a glow that surrounded her fading consciousness. A figure appeared—a woman bathed in light, radiant and calm. Her voice was soft, echoing like music in Marion’s mind.
“Your fates will come for you,” the glowing lady whispered. “They will help you find the strength you hold within. But it will take time. Rest now, child. Your story is not yet finished, for it has only just begun.”
Marion’s last breath shuddered out of her as the darkness claimed her.
****
Brielle bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding, sweat soaking her sheets.
The scream she had held in Marion’s throat still trembled on her own lips.
Her apartment felt stifling, every shadow heavy with the echoes of the vision.
Her chest ached as if the pain were still real, as though fire still burned through her lungs.
She pressed a trembling hand to her sternum, trying to steady herself.
This wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A fragment of her past life as Marion Cloughson. She knew it in her bones.
The room around her was familiar—her sanctuary, tucked on the floor beneath Saffie and Ursula.
The scent of dried lavender clung to her sheets, but it did nothing to calm her racing heart.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, pressing her palms to her eyes, willing herself to breathe.
Upstairs, Ursula and Saffie still lived, still breathed, still laughed.
On her own floor, Willow, Jacob, and Liam remained—her family, her coven, the people fate had bound her to again.
She stood and paced, each step sharp against the wood. Her reflection in the darkened window startled her—eyes too wide, skin pale, the faint shimmer of purple light dancing across her fingertips. Her magic stirred uneasily, awakened by the nightmare.
She clenched her fists until the glow faded, muttering, “Not now. Not yet.”
Her gaze slid to the window again, where the city lights glittered like stars.
The contrast between centuries weighed heavy on her.
In 1813, the world had burned. In 2025, it still trembled with danger.
The Council hadn’t stopped. The battles weren’t over.
And the memories clawing their way back through her dreams were reminders of just how high the cost could be.
She whispered into the empty room, her voice shaking. “I can’t lose them again.”
She pressed her palm to the wall, feeling the faint hum of power woven into the wards she, Saffie, and Ursula had laid together.
The strength of their bond steadied her heartbeat, but only barely.
Memories of Libby’s lifeless eyes, of Ryan and Alaric falling, of Ursula’s desperate sobs clung to her skin like smoke.
She wiped her tears roughly with the back of her hand, determination flickering through the fear.
She knew what she had to do. She needed her coven. She needed to share this vision before it was too late.
****
Lennox was fourteen the first time he realized he wasn’t just angry—he was dangerous.
It was 2011, ten years after the world had stolen his parents. Hunter had grown hard and protective in those years, his shoulders carrying the weight for both of them. But Lennox? He had grown wild, reckless, his temper like tinder waiting for the spark.
That afternoon, the spark came. Again.
He and Hunter were walking home from school when three older boys cornered them behind the gym.
The boys were taller, stronger, meaner—the kind who thought it was sport to hunt the younger ones.
Hunter shoved Lennox behind him, squaring up with the biggest. “Go home,” Hunter growled over his shoulder. “I’ll deal with this.”
But Lennox couldn’t just walk away. Not when he’d seen those same bastards cornering a girl from their class earlier, their hands grabbing where they didn’t belong. He’d yanked her free, shouting at them, reckless and loud. That was why they were here now. Because of him.
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut, you little prick,” one of the boys sneered at Lennox before slamming Hunter back against the wall.
Hunter didn’t flinch. “Touch him, and I’ll kill you.”
The fight exploded fast. Two of the older boys swung for Hunter, fists cracking against his ribs, his jaw. He fought back, wild but outmatched. Lennox tried to help, but the third boy slammed him down, knees pinning his shoulders. Rage clawed through Lennox as he thrashed beneath the weight.
He could only watch as Hunter stumbled, blood spilling from his split lip, as one kick drove the air from his lungs. Hunter went down hard, curling around the blows.
Something inside Lennox snapped.
A roar tore from his throat as power surged through his body.
He thrust upward with a strength he didn’t know he had, throwing the boy off him like he was made of paper.
Lennox scrambled to his feet, chest heaving, fists clenched.
The bully lunged again, but Lennox was faster this time.
He slammed his fist into the boy’s face, once, twice, until he sagged to the ground, dazed and unmoving.
The sight of Hunter being kicked lit a deeper fury.
Lennox leapt onto one of the boys, dragging him down with a scream of triumph.
His fists pummeled, fueled by years of grief and rage.
Hunter, bloodied but still standing, caught the last boy by the collar and slammed his head into the wall.
The fight turned fast. The predators were running, scattering with curses, leaving only the two brothers standing in the wreckage.
Lennox’s hands trembled, blood on his knuckles, breath tearing in and out. Hunter’s left eye was swelling shut, his lip split wide, but his voice came low and sharp. “You dumbass. Three against two? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Lennox spat blood onto the ground, defiant. “They were touching a girl in my class. I wasn’t gonna let them get away with it.”