Chapter 30
Thirty
CARINA
“Carina, could you come inside? Alaric is asking for you.”
We got back to camp a short while ago. Ryder almost immediately disappeared, pulling that hot and cold thing he enjoys doing. This time, it doesn’t bother me. After spending the entire night curled in his arms, we both need distance from the strange truce we’ve found ourselves in.
Final day, I think, heading to where Marissa stands on the steps of Alaric’s cabin. Today marks day seven. If Sloane wants to be a bigger bitch, today will be the day she’ll come. Otherwise, hopefully she gives the pack the day and arrives tomorrow.
Approaching Marissa, I find sunken lines around her eyes and my stomach drops. “Is he—?”
“Please, come inside.”
Feet heavy and mood heavier, I trudge behind her and shut the door, pausing at the sight.
Alaric appears to have aged in the days since I was last allowed in here, the black tendrils of Darkness thicker than before.
He wheezes, trying to use the wall to get himself upright.
Marissa nearly knocks me over in her rush to keep him down, whispering soothing words.
“Co…”
He can’t even finish the word. Holding my breath, I step around Marissa, staring at the shifter well on his way to the Otherworld. Magick lights my hands. There’s nothing permanent to be done, but my spell from the other day may ease him.
At first peek of my light, his hand twitches in my direction, his low laboured breath a rough scrape. “Save your efforts,” he manages. “I’m dying…no matter what…”
Alaric can’t die because it’ll destroy Ryder.
“You shouldn’t be.” I drop to my knees beside his bed, reaching but pulling back from the black magick, compelled to help but unable to touch.
“This isn’t deadly—not like this. Let me go home.
” My plea is thrown at Marissa. “Please. I’ll get Mom.
She might be able to help. We’ll get Twilight Grove to come today.
I’ll leave sooner if it means he’ll be alright. ”
Alaric coughs, earning my attention again in the same way a train wreck would. I don’t want to look, but need to. He shakes his head, and a sad but peaceful smile tinges his mouth.
Acceptance.
“I’m already…”
Marissa jumps in, wiping sweat gathered on his brow.
“Alaric has been dying for a long time, and he’s always known it.
It’s why he pushed the role of Alpha onto Ryder so soon; he wanted to see his son lead before passing away.
The black magick only sped up what was already happening.
He had a unique bond with Ryder’s mother, and when she died, so did some of his soul. ”
Alaric coughs, turning his head until pain-filled eyes land on me. He stretches a weak hand across his nest, reaching for mine resting on the edge. I turn my hand, giving him as much strength as I can. This time, if he feels my magick surging from me to him, he doesn’t argue.
“Ryder told me about her,” I admit, compelled to. “He visits their spot.” It might be Ryder’s secret, but Alaric deserves to know before leaving his son forever. “It’s where we met.”
Alaric huffs, weathered eyes going to Marissa and back. “Interesting… Did he mention—n?kak?stis bond?”
“Did he mention the term for mates chosen by fate?” I fill in and reshape his question. “Mainly that they’re rare.”
“‘Heart of the wolf’. It’s what Ryder’s mother was to me.
” His sentences start lengthening, my magick giving him enough strength.
“Losing her was like losing my heart. She took it with her, but left a tiny fragment behind. The fragment that’s been getting me this far, to watch over Ryder.
He’s grown now, so the fragment is crumbling, reclaimed by her. ”
“Does Ryder know you’re…” Finishing the question makes it real, so I don’t. “He deserves to know.”
“Have you met my boy? He’s been worrying enough.”
“If I go home, I could find a way to contact Twilight Grove.” I grip the old shifter’s hand tighter and pleading for Marissa to understand. “The deal’s been met. They’ll heal you.” Or at the very least allow him to pass into the Otherworld without the pain of Darkness.
“Don’t,” Alaric whispers. “I want to go.”
Another tear. A feeling of defeat, of being helpless. I lower myself closer to the ground.
Mortals assume having magick solves everything; no more bad hair days, no more running late to work, no more death. But magick is one of the biggest forms of unhelpfulness one can ever experience. In many ways, it’s a trap.
“Why are you telling me this?”
His mouth tightens with his next deep inhale, and a very tense ten seconds pass before Alaric answers.
“So you can run, Carina. Leave us. You’re noble to remain—to be willing to go sooner—but I’ll be dead in a matter of days regardless.
Taking you will serve no purpose to anyone here, so do not sacrifice yourself. ”
Without Alaric’s life on the line, I don’t have go.
Volunteering myself up, against Mom’s wishes, was not only for the good of the coven, but to help the shifters.
Without them needing us, the coven can regroup, keep me away from Sloane, and find another way to figure out what Twilight Grove’s endgame is.
But leaving, even with his concession, feels…wrong.
Darkness hovers, making the room stagnant. The reminder of how this shifter will meet his end. It’s not his responsibility to rejoin his mate under the weight of agony. Of a power that twists the minds and ruins lives.
“You’ll die in pain.”
“When I pass, the pain will end. Life is pain, death is peace. I mean it, Carina. Return to your coven and be safe. They will guard you with their lives.”
That’s the worrisome part.
“Ryder will attempt to follow.”
My ears must be deceiving me. “I’m sorry?”
“He’s protective. He won’t like you leaving, but he’ll let you because it’s for the best. If I’m dead, and you remain, Ryder may not let you go. At the very least, if you’re going, do so with your coven defending you, not the pack. Ryder will get people killed trying to keep you.”
“Keep me?” The question is nothing more than an awkward squeak, followed by a glance at Marissa whose expression remains passive. “Ryder will be thrilled to see me gone!”
He stares long before blinking his concession. “Maybe. Ignore an old man’s ramblings.”
I take in his words—his lie—as the truth, letting them settle into my gut until I’m breathing easier. “Good. Either way, I won’t leave until you’re gone. Because if there is something that can be done…”
“There’s nothing, but thank you.” His eyes slide shut, and his next breath is stuttered. Most of them have been, but without talking, they seem louder. A stuttered breath that tears up my lungs.
Marissa rests her hand on my shoulder like I’m the one in pain. Like I’m the one about to lose a father. “Never thought I’d see the day a witch cried over a shifter.”
“Never thought I’d see the day a shifter was trapped by black magick, but here we are.” I swallow the bitterness of this entire situation. “It’s not fair, and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing any of us can do.”
“It’s not your fault,” she whispers, moving her hand to play with my hair, stroking it in comfort.
“We dragged you into war.”
“You did nothing.”
That’s the problem. Alaric may have been dying from age and loss of his mate, but the black magick was an addition no one counted on.
If only there was something. Something…something—What did Mom say?
“Black magick is something else entirely. To remove it, a witch would have to take it into themselves, becoming Dark in the process.”
Black magick works on Dark acts—death, mainly.
I’d never heard of anyone taking it, but I suppose our souls are susceptible to every kind of magick, if we so desired.
When Harlow accidentally killed two people, her soul was opened to Darkness.
After the loss and later return of her powers, she accepted it back into her alongside her element, but there’s nothing really to say she had to.
It was natural at that point, though. A regaining of all possibilities rather than made so by another death.
So if I willingly open my soul—
Throwing Marissa’s hand off, I come up to sit on the edge of Alaric’s bed, not fully thinking through what comes next. It’s only a little Darkness, and without murdering, my soul should remain intact. I think. Realizing now how little I actually know about this kind of magick…
I grasp his hand, tuning out Marissa who immediately asks, “What are you doing?” and bow my head until my forehead presses to his withered skin.
Hecate, help me and this wolf. Don’t let this fail.
If I take on the Darkness, am I even allowed to pray to Her?
Not knowing how, and probably insane for attempting it, I mentally call out to the Darkness while my fingers skirt up the man’s arm, tentatively touching the black tendrils, visible to my eye only.
Hello? Darkness?
Not my finest moment, but anything is worth trying.
I, Carina Hargrove, offer myself to you.
Did that do it?
I want to embrace you.
How does one embrace Darkness?
By turning away from Hecate, of course. Turning away from nature and my elemental magick, I send all focus into the tendril beneath my palm. Feeling it glide like silk beneath my fingertips, snaking around Alaric’s arm.
Come to me.
And then it works. The snake-like sensation slithers from his arm to mine, upwards to my neck where it links into a collar that can never be removed. It pushes down onto my skin, bowing my back beneath the weight of a new master.
You want this? A voice asks, as slithery as the sensation attaching itself to me is.
Yes.
There’s a chuckle, one low and malicious that numbs my insides. You say that now. Darkness isn’t Light magic.
It nudges at my soul—don’t ask me how, because who the hell knows—shoving aside my water powers to make room.
I’m aware. I want it.
With those three powerful words, a sensation surges from Alaric to me.
A pressure pushes into my palms and tendrils link around my body.
They wrap my fingers before moving up to my hands, my wrists, and covering my arms like sleeves.
They continue over my torso, around my neck, and down to my legs before ending at my ankles.
The Darkness seeps into my body, my heart, and my mind.
Welcome, it whispers.
“Oh my,” someone murmurs.
I stand, abandoning Alaric’s hand while flexing my own. Power surges, different than earlier. Stronger. More invincible.
Not weakened by earthly connections.
But still much the same too, probably because in the grand scheme of how Darkness infects a witch’s body after murder, this wasn’t a lot by comparison. More like a nudging reminder of having something that may make some of my choices questionable, but far from being evil.
Beside it, the cooling nudge of my water magick reassures me of its presence.
“What did you do?”
Alaric blinks up at me. His skin is still pale with his oncoming death, but his eyes are brighter. More like the man Ryder knows. The pain permanently etched into his expression since meeting him is gone and his breaths, though weak, are less shallow.
“Allowed you to die without pain.”
“You stupid girl.” He stares down at his body with a hard shake of his head. “You’ve infected yourself.”
“It’s not a weakness to help someone else.”
I turn away from the bed only to be knocked into place by the sudden chilling whispering voice in my ear, Kill him. Then embrace Darkness entirely.
Fuck off, I tell my new imaginary friend and walk away.
“Carina,” Alaric calls when I’m halfway out the door. “You still need to run. You’re a fool if you think my son will let you go, especially now.”
Still not sure what he means, I exit the cabin and head into the forest where the wind blows harshly, nature’s slap for my actions. It’s nothing less than I deserve, and I settle at the base of a tree and shut my eyes, ignoring the invisible collar my neck is adorned with.
A collar that chains me to a different master. One that owns my soul.
I’m sorry, Hecate