Chapter 55 – Ryder
Fifty-Five
RYDER
It all makes so much fucking sense. She’s a shifter. A wolf. Like me.
From the very beginning, my wolf recognized her. That’s how the n?kak?stis was able to be formed. Fate knew. Deep down, I knew.
My wolf scratches, begging to be freed. To reach her. To hold her. To touch her mark. To be a wolf beside her. To bring her back to our nest and breed her.
All of which distracts by the very fact Sloane is ordering one of our deaths. We’ll be the kill that turns her Dark. The others look to me for guidance but it’s Carina who holds my attention.
“You’re fucking insane,” she hisses at Sloane right before her eyes get a bit brighter—glowing. The purple flashing to silver.
Fuck, I need to know if she can transform or if she’s like Leah. Leah has the qualities, triggered by emotion like this, but can’t completely shift.
I’ll take either. Any. All. I’ll take her as a full-bloodied witch still. I want her, in any shape, form, and bloodline.
“None of them are dying. You want me Dark? Pick someone else. Anyone else. Not them.”
Sloane clicks her tongue. “As I’ve explained, this murder is vital, Carina.”
“And as I’ve explained, they are not an option.”
Sloane opens her mouth, but a sudden ringing echoes throughout the room. Both Sloane and the female witch standing by the door takes off, murmuring to the warlock, who continues to visually dissect Carina, to watch us.
He’s about to have his throat ripped out. From the minute he entered, he won’t stop staring at her.
He twists to see the others leave, and once out of sight, his nonchalant facade drops and he shoves off the wall, pushing through the spell around the cell until standing beside Carina, reaching for her wrists.
“Don’t touch her,” I snap, my teeth making an audible noise—a threat.
He rolls his eyes. “Hurting her would defeat the purpose.”
“Archer?” Her tone softens as she shares a silent, confused conversation with the warlock, who doesn’t seem too intent on talking to her and pointedly ignores her.
He waves a palm over her cuffed wrists. They fade away, much to the audible intake of breath by Carina, but then are immediately replaced by black tendrils wrapping her wrists. She jerks, but they’re not there for long; melting off her arms until identical cuffs are in place.
“This is your only shot of escaping, but be fucking smart before you go throwing magick around. You should feel your water and the bit of black magick you took from the old Alpha.”
She flexes her hands, rolls her neck, and nods.
“Without the cuffs, your magick is back, but these”—he taps the new ones—“are fake. Mom won’t know the difference.”
“Why are you helping?”
He glances over his shoulder, checking we’re still alone. “My mother’s…not okay. I don’t want this anymore. Maybe not ever.”
“I could have told you that.” Holly snorts in derision but I cast her a warning. If this warlock, this Archer, is on our side, we’d be idiots to piss him off.
He glances down the hall again. “This is—I understand Mom’s concern, but what she’s doing…I don’t stand by it. So stay alive, ’kay? Getting you out is our mutual goal because without you Dark, she’s further from her plan.”
“We’ll try.” Carina brushes a fingertip along the cuffs. “I came here because I needed to know the extent of her plans. We need to warn Starfall, too.”
“Warn quickly. That alarm, if I had to bet, is a rep from the Angeli Telluris, which means Wynter’s time is coming to a close. You know how vicious they can be.”
She stares for a beat, and then glances at me, but the name is unfamiliar.
Archer musses his hair by dragging a hand through it.
“No offence, but Mom’s right; Morgan isn’t training you well.
They’re a group of hunters—mortals, to note—who make their prey all Otherworldly creatures.
I’ll presume you’ve at least heard of the Salem Witch Trials?
They’re behind them, after forming a coalition to retaliate against witches.
As they learned about the others—vampires, shifters, and demons—they began hunting them too.
Any being they feel threatens Earth’s safety—and thus, humans. ”
“They’re only mortals.” Holly snorts, barely earning a glance from him.
“Trained humans, with weapons infused with magick that can wipe any one of us out. How they got these weapons, we can’t figure out, but there’s a load of rumours about it.”
“What do they have to gain for helping your mother get Wynter?” Carina runs her hands over the other, particularly lingering around her fingertips. “Or, why would they help the beings they hunt?”
“Because as generations passed, everything has changed. The world, most notably, and how we all live within it. Most covens have learned to blend in with mortals and cities, so the Angeli Telluris generally leave us alone, unless action is needed to keep someone in line.”
In other words: death.
“Now, they’re basically mercenaries—hired guns for the Otherworld. They’ll kill any they feel threatens the balance but will also turn a blind eye at one for a payday. Mom specifically wants Caden Blackstone to track Wynter down and bring her here.”
Carina curses and lets out a long breath, suggesting this Wynter person is important. “If your mom is that close to finding Wynter…” The two share some silent conversation that ends in grimaces and my irritation.
“What’s in this for you?” I call out to Archer.
“Freedom.”
“Speaking of freedom, what about the Seer?” Carina jerks her chin towards the hall.
What fucking now?
A shadow passes over the warlock’s face, and his chin drops almost to his chest as the ground between their feet suddenly becomes very interesting. “Don’t believe I condoned what’s being done to him. He’s next on my list, but saving him is a bit more complicated.”
Conan’s voice comes from the other side of the room, asking what we’re all thinking, “What the hell’s a Seer?”
Archer’s head tips back to stare at the dirt ceiling. “She’ll be back soon. Do what she wants. It’ll get you the opening you need.”
Then he heads for the cell’s exit, and as if connected by a cord, Carina lurches to follow. “Wait—are you saying kill one of them?”
Archer falls silent, propping himself against the doorway with one leg bent over the other, his arms crossing over his chest. A bored expression takes over, and his tongue plays with his lip ring—an entirely new persona for his mother.
One that didn’t just betray her.
“I won’t,” Carina whispers, agonized eyes returning to me.
Steps echo from down the hall, and then Sloane and her daughter return.