Chapter 44 Carina
Forty-Four
CARINA
When I finally awake—for good this time—a light weight draped over my form tells me someone covered me with a blanket. Another shift reveals chafing; they dressed me too, which I suppose I should be grateful for, considering Sloane and her minions came when I was naked with Ryder.
Ryder.
Hopefully he’s safe and isn’t doing anything stupid.
When I finally blink my eyes open, it’s to deep green walls, a brown blanket draped over me, and a person standing in the corner of the room. No—actually, there are two people. I sit up, ignoring the temporary fog still clouding my head that thumps lightly to take them both in.
A warlock and a witch, both seemingly around my age.
Their similarities to one another are striking—as are their fae-like, sharp features.
Both have pitch-black hair: the woman’s falls to the middle of her back, while the warlock’s is styled and trimmed, the sides a bit shorter than the rest. Piercings decorate their faces—he has snakebites, septum, and one through his right brow; she has both her nose and bottom lip pierced.
Their eyes are purple—the standard colour for any witch or warlock—but rather than the lavender or another light purple shade, theirs are darker, a colour between mauve and wine.
Black magick. It’s changed their hair and eye colour.
The witch moves first, a subtle shift, advancing on me, while the warlock remains against the wall with his arms crossed over his black hoodie. She’s staring with ice in her eyes while he seems bored and disinterested.
Presumably, these are the two who were talking earlier. It also stands to reason that they came with Sloane to get me.
The witch in her tight jeans and ripped top hanging from her shoulder stops beside the bed, leaning until her knees touch the mattress. Her Darkness is nothing like what Harlow felt when coming back from dying. It’s thick and repugnant—a cardigan of black magick she’s wrapped herself tightly in.
If I get a chance to fight my way out of here after learning what I need to, I won’t win against her. Especially not against both of them. Which means me against all of Twilight Grove is a doomed hope.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Morning? My gaze darts around the room, seeking a window only to turn up empty.
“Mom’s spell really took it out of you. Sorry ’bout that.”
“Are you?” I manage to speak through the fog, causing her head to tilt.
“No, not really.”
“Your mom is Sloane, I take it?” Best to start figuring out who’s who, and recalling what she said earlier, I add, “Addie.”
Presumed to be correct, her glare darts towards the warlock. “See? I fucking knew she was conscious.”
“Don’t talk about captives when you’re standing above them.”
Her glare shifts back, and with it, magick passes from her to me. My throat tightens, invisible fingers clenching my skin, all without raising her own hand.
She’s controlling magick with her mind.
Darkness is inherently strong, and this is an example of why it’s coveted but forbidden. If only mine would come out to play right about now.
Since it won’t, I’m forced to physically fight, and reach for my throat, to extract her invisible claws. But as I do, twin black bands clenched around my wrists draw my attention. So I go for those instead, only for my nails to drag uselessly over them.
“What the fuck are these?” I hiss as the strangulation on my throat lets up.
“Magick suppressors. They’ll remain on until Mom feels the need to remove them. As for my name, it’s Adalyn to you.”
I glance past her to her lookalike. The more I study them, the more similarities can be found—not only in their style, but in their features.
Their eyes are the same upturned shape, their nose the same slope.
His face is all stronger panes compared to her softness, but they’re alike enough to be siblings.
“You are?”
Adalyn barks out a single laugh and turns away from me. “If only you knew.” But it’s the warlock my attention remains on, gaze unwavering so he knows this show of theirs isn’t intimidating.
“Archer.”
“Archer and Adalyn. How creative. Twins?”
The look Adalyn shoots me is equal to death. She whirls on her heel without another word and flounces from the room, slamming the door with a sound that entices the headache creeping up to linger for longer.
Once she’s gone, I watch her brother as he readjusts himself against the wall and reaches into his jean’s back pocket to pull out a smoke. Not a cigarette, based on the rolled paper and shape. He places the tip of the joint between his lips, flicks a fingertip at it, and lights it with fire.
He takes one puff before commenting, “You’re brave, having no idea what she can do.”
“Brave or stupid. I’m banking on the fact that you need me alive.”
His eyes flick up from the joint and land on my neck. “Yeah, stupid might be one word.” He shoves off the wall, keeping one hand in his pocket, the other occasionally pulling away the joint after an inhale. “Want a hit?”
“Being nice to me. Now who’s stupid?”
He shrugs lazily. “Or bored. You’re the most excitement I’ve had in a while.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Seeing as Archer seems nicer than his sister—and thus easier to mollify—I swing my legs to the side of the bed but remain seated when my head doesn’t immediately cooperate. “Where’d your sister run off to? She’s fun.”
“To let Mom know you’re awake so you two can talk. She’s been looking for you for a long time.”
The reminder of how they hunted my original coven sends shivers down my spine, and, needing something else to focus on, I pick at the deep-blue, long-sleeved shirt I’m wearing. “Who dressed me?”
“Addie. I didn’t look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Because you’re not interested in pussy. I overheard.”
Archer chuckles around his smoke. “So you really were awake. What else did you hear?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how much to reveal. None of it seems overly important to hold onto. “You all hate my birth mother because she ran away with me. You’re aware of the Darkness inside me from the late Alpha. And we were promised to one another in a union.”
I stare at the guy who, if what they said is correct, I’d likely be bound to in another life.
A life where I wasn’t living with the woman who became Mom.
He’s so far from my type, it isn’t funny.
There’s a charm to him, though, that minus the black magick, I could imagine he’d be an entertaining friend, in the same manner Jasper is.
“That was a long time ago. If anything, I should thank your mother for taking off with you.” He eyes my neck again before murmuring, “As should you.”
“What do you mean?”
The door opens, ending whatever he was about to say.
He ducks his head and focuses on his smoke, shoulders bent inwards to make himself as small as possible—a fact catalogued for later.
A woman enters and drags in with her an influential power.
Something that has Archer backing off and Adalyn remaining in the doorway with her head bowed, neither acting how they’ve been so far.
Sloane terrifies everyone—her own children included—so much that they bow to her will. She’s not a High Priestess; she’s a tyrant. She’s opposite of everything the Goddess wants in Her daughters.
Scared followers make a weak leader. Which means Twilight Grove can crumble from the inside.
Sloane moves towards the bed and clasps her hands together, the sleeves of her blouse billowing. “Morning, Miss Hargrove, and welcome to your new coven.”