Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Daciana
I sit across from Hera at the table in my chambers, trying to process what I’m seeing. Kieran’s hand, warm and possessive, rests on my thigh, his fingers pressing just hard enough that I feel the tension radiating through him.
“I was not expecting the leader of the gypsy witches to show up,” Kieran says, his voice gentle.
Hera smiles, and there’s an enigmatic curve to her lips that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“But she’s so young,” I murmur, staring at the woman’s smooth skin and bright eyes.
“Don’t let her appearance fool you.” Kieran’s fingers tighten on my thigh. “Hera is older than both of us. Centuries older.”
I freeze. “What?”
Hera’s smile widens, looking both mysterious and knowing. “Gypsy witches are not bothered by things like time, child.”
I gape at her, then at Kieran, my mind spinning. “So…what, you’re immortal?”
“No.” She adjusts her long white dress, the fabric whispering against her skin. “I can be killed.” Her sigh is heavy with the weight of ages. “Nature requires balance in all things. We may not die from natural causes, but we can be killed. And we are physically weaker than most.”
I’m silent for several seconds, processing her words. “Elara was one of you.”
The smile fades from Hera’s face instantly, replaced by a deep pain that I’ve seen reflected in Kieran’s eyes a few times. It steals my breath.
“Yes.” Her voice is soft now. “Elara was a child—an infant, really. Were it not for the fated mate bond, I would never have given permission for her to be with Kieran.”
Her lips press into a thin line when she looks at him, and I realize with a jolt that she blames him. It’s there in her eyes, sharp and cutting.
When Kieran looks away, heat flares in my chest. “It wasn’t his fault!” My voice comes out louder than I intend. “He died, too. Or did you forget that?”
Hera’s gaze snaps to me, and for a moment I think I’ve gone too far. But then, her expression shifts to one of surprise, maybe even respect.
She studies me for a long moment, her ancient eyes taking me apart piece by piece.
“How curious.” A pause, weighted with centuries of pain.
“Our Elara was sheltered from the world. Until she began to run with shifters, she was always safe, so it is indeed—” She stops herself, and her eyes flick to Kieran before returning to me.
The unspoken accusation hangs in the air between us.
She sighs again, and it’s the sound of old grief that has been given voice. “You called for me?”
“Yes.” I lean forward, ignoring the way Kieran’s fingers slide higher on my thigh, a silent warning or perhaps to comfort me—I can’t tell which. “I want to know why I am dying in every life, in the same way over and over again. Is it truly a curse?”
Hera nods.
The world tilts. I feel Kieran’s hand tighten around my leg, his claws pricking through my pants.
“Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?” Kieran growls. “I could have looked for a way to break it.”
Hera gives him a look that would freeze fire. “Watch your tone, boy. I am still your elder.” She pauses, and the silence is brutal. “You cannot break the curse. It was cast by a witch whose death sealed it in the flow of destiny. That is why you are both reincarnated.”
I swallow hard. “Why does Kieran always have his memories while I never do?”
Hera smiles coldly now, and her age is suddenly evident in her eyes—centuries of knowledge, of pain, of watching the world turn. “Now you are asking the right question. But I’m sure your Kieran can give you an answer. After all, he met with one of my sisters recently, didn’t he?”
“I couldn’t understand what she was talking about.” Kieran’s frustration bleeds into his voice. “She kept saying ‘a curse on a curse.’”
Hera nods. “Yes. We cannot interfere in another witch’s magic, especially one that is tied to destiny and fate.” She takes a breath, and I hold mine. “We could only wait for the curse to weaken, but it would have taken millennia. So, the gypsy witches cast a curse upon the curse.”
“What does that mean?” My heart is racing now.
“They intended to have Kieran remember Elara in every lifetime.” She looks between the two of us.
“For the curse to weaken, Elara had to keep dying until the weight of the curse of the gypsy witches could weaken the original curse significantly. Enough that it would allow the two of you to forcibly change your own destiny.”
My blood runs cold. “Keep dying.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. I’ve died. Over and over. And they planned it.
Kieran’s hand is trembling against my thigh now. I reach down, and his fingers immediately lace through mine, crushing them tightly.
“Once the curse is sufficiently weakened,” Hera continues, “you get one chance to fix everything.”
“How?” I demand. “How can we change our destiny?”
“I don’t know.” Hera’s honesty is somehow worse than a lie. “You have to figure out why you were cursed and get rid of the one who cursed you.”
Kieran frowns. “That person is long dead. You said so yourself.”
Hera leans back in her chair, and the movement is utterly graceful. “No. They reincarnate as you two do. You have to find them, wipe out their entire line, and then, the curse will break.”
I lean forward so fast Kieran’s hand nearly slips from mine. “You don’t know who it is? You can’t give us a clue?”
“No.”
The single word is a death sentence.
Hera gets to her feet, and I watch as she approaches me. She caresses my face, her touch so tender that it makes my chest ache.
“You look nothing like Elara,” she says softly, “yet you are every bit of her. But Elara was innocent, whereas you are a warrior.”
“I don’t feel like a warrior,” I whisper.
“You were the child of the gypsy witches.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “The only child in a long time. There is nothing we wouldn’t have done for you, and nothing we haven’t done for you.”
A wave of emotion crashes over me. This woman loved Elara. Loves me, even though I am not her anymore.
“We will be watching over you,” Hera says, her voice thick. “And I wish that you will get the happiness you once dreamed of.”
She walks toward the door, and panic seizes me.
“Would you like to stay?” The words tumble out desperately. I’m suddenly terrified to let her out of my sight, to lose this connection to who I once was, to the people who loved me. “Please.”
Hera shakes her head, and the sadness in her smile breaks me. “The curse we cast had its own consequences. We are no longer allowed to step out of our territory. The gypsy witches who once traveled the world are now imprisoned on one select piece of land.”
“Since the curse was cast,” I breathe.
“Since we chose to save you.” She opens the door. “We would do it again.”
Then, she’s gone, disappearing into the shadows.
After a moment, Kieran murmurs, “She has returned.”
I deflate in the chair, suddenly exhausted. The weight of everything—every death, every lifetime, every moment Kieran remembered while I forgot—crashes down on me.
Kieran pushes my hair off my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “Are you alright?”
I shake my head. “We’re searching for a needle in a haystack.” My voice cracks with frustration. “How are we supposed to find somebody when we don’t even know what he looks like?”
The hopelessness threatens to swallow me whole. I stand up, needing to move, to pace, to do something other than sit here drowning in the impossibility of it all.
“We don’t even know if this person is in the palace. Or the capital. Or the Wolf Kingdom! We don’t even know if he knows who he is! I didn’t!”
Kieran watches me with that infuriating calm he gets when I’m spiraling. Finally, he says, “Only you have the ability to communicate with wild wolves.”
I stop pacing, confused by his statement.
“The person who cursed us would know this about you. It wasn’t a secret back then, after all. That’s why he went after the wolves.”
The pieces fall together so fast, it makes me dizzy. “The necromancer.” I whirl to face Kieran. “It has to be him.”
“Yes,” he agrees. He is so calm, so collected. “I’ve been suspicious for a while because it was too convenient.”
My heart races. “Convenient? Convenient how?”
Kieran walks over to the window and looks outside, his silhouette framed by the fading light. “Necromancy is a very ancient dark magic practice. It takes an extraordinarily long time to master it.”
He pauses, and I can see the tension in his shoulders.
“It would take decades to be able to make puppets out of shifters, but wild animals? Wild wolves have raw instincts. You can’t control instinct.
The necromancer we’re dealing with has more than just a couple decades of experience, considering how fully in control he was of the female alpha.
If that is who cursed us, then his power would make sense. ”
He turns to me, and his eyes are dark with worry. “If this necromancer has been reincarnated along with us, then that means he is very powerful. And we will have to be careful.”
“What about the attack today?” I ask. “What about the ones from before?”
“The arrows were laced with the same poison.” His jaw tightens. “A very specific one that has been used to harm hybrid shifters who can practice magic.”
“But I don’t practice magic.” I spread my hands. “I’m a pure shifter.”
As Kieran studies me, his eyes soften. “No, you’re not.”
I blink at him. “Both my parents are wolf shifters, Kieran.”
He walks over to me, slowly and deliberately. The intensity in his gaze makes me step back instinctively until my legs hit the chair. I sink into it heavily, suddenly needing the support.
Kieran leans over, caging me in with his hands gripping the two armrests. The heat of him surrounds me; it’s overwhelming and inescapable.
“That’s simply not true.” His voice drops lower. “Because when I marked you, I felt the magic within you. It’s faint, but it’s there. It responds to my own magic.”
I stare at him, shaken. My pulse hammers in my throat. “I—I don’t—”