Chapter Nineteen
FRANKIE
Potent magic swirls in the air, brushing against my skin like cobwebs.
I shudder at the unnatural sensation, the urge to scrub myself with a wire brush nearly overwhelming.
My wolf surges forward, wanting to slash and tear into the magic, but I force her back.
The last thing I want is for the coven to know their spells don’t work on me.
I concentrate on the small surge of wild magic I associate with shifters. It doesn’t mean Tyler is at the other end, but I swear I catch the tangy scent of warm whiskey I associate with him. It’s faint, muddled with other scents, but I lock on to it, determined to find him.
I curse the fact that I ever allowed him out of my sight.
I knew it was dangerous, but I let him go anyway.
Any harm that comes to him is my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself.
I survey the mages around me, gauging their skill level.
While they’re weak individually, they are a significant threat if they decide to work together.
Another surge of magic wraps around me, searching for a way past my shields. Tendrils of magic burrow through my walls, and my insides recoil at the sensation, swearing that bugs are crawling through my flesh. I thicken my shields, allowing my wolf to surface, and the sickening sensation fades.
As I follow the tug plucking at my heart, I notice that we’re heading toward a large chapel, and I don’t slow when I spot even more mages waiting on the steps. There must be nearly fifty of them surrounding us now, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snarling.
How fucking dare they take Tyler and try to keep him from me!
My hand itches to draw my blade, its comforting weight resting in the sheath on my thigh. The only reason the mages haven’t taken it away from me yet is the invisibility spells carved into the handle. The knife will remain unnoticed until I draw it.
Gramps had it spelled for me, the cherished blade the only item in my possession from our time together. I’ll slice the throat of anyone who tries to take it from me.
Bellamy radiates tension, hovering near my back, ready to explode into action at the first sign of trouble.
Garth is no less on edge, watching the crowd with a narrowed gaze, his bright blue eyes glowing with his beast. Concern for him flutters in the back of my mind.
Though he remains in his human form, I worry he has gone completely wolf.
I’ve seen a shifter turn feral only once before…right before the council arrested him. It wasn’t a pretty sight. They live off rage and suffer impulse control issues. They are virtually beasts in human form.
Concern for Garth sits heavy in my chest, and I barely resist the urge to fuss over him. Sure, I might have special abilities, but I doubt even I can pull someone back from the edge of insanity.
Since he’s not drooling and frothing at the mouth, I shake off my distraction and focus on the more pressing issue—rescuing Tyler.
As we approach the white chapel, I spot the man standing on the top step. He’s in his early forties, dressed in khakis and a pressed button-down shirt. His light brown hair is styled in a way that should look suave, but just makes him look like a preppy douche.
The closer we step toward the chapel, the heavier the air grows.
When his beady little black eyes latch on to me, his caustic power swells, hitting like a kick to the chest. The man is a lot older than he portrays, very much reminding me of the council members, and much like them, his magic is a viscous black.
That only happens when magic becomes perverted. Witches and mages are just as corrupt as any other species, many discontent with being able to perform only simple acts of magic. No, they want to be the biggest and baddest.
Unfortunately, physical bodies can only withstand so much magic before they begin to deteriorate.
A devious few discovered that by draining magic from others, you can steal bits and pieces from their very soul and boost your own power.
If you take too much, the soul eventually becomes a shriveled husk. Without a soul, death is imminent.
While you can gain more raw power directly from another witch, any preternatural creature will offer a boost. It’s a sickening practice that was outlawed long ago.
To my disgust, the council has been using it for centuries, covering their depraved crimes with charms and spells.
If anyone becomes suspicious, they disappear, cannibalized into the machine that powers the council.
While there is a slim chance he might have stumbled upon the cursed spell on his own, I don’t believe in coincidences.
No doubt the council has a hand in this mess.
Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn the council moved on to feeding off the paranormal community outside of Kyperian decades ago.
They can only kill so many before the truth is discovered.
From the age of the man in front of me, I’m guessing he’s been stealing magic for a while.
Many would see this man as debonair, a strong protector with the ability to keep their coven safe.
If he wasn’t raised in the town, the coven probably invited him to stay when people started disappearing, completely missing the fact that he was the one killing them—a clever ploy to prey on the weak and vulnerable.
I wonder how many other covens he’s destroyed, how much magic he’s harvested, before moving on to the next town.
A wave of inevitability sweeps over me, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to escape the insidious presence of the council. Their reach seems to have invaded every corner of the world.
I allow myself to wallow in the helplessness for a few seconds, then I shake it off. Gramps raised me to overcome every adversity. He trained me to survive. I won’t let his death be in vain.
Even from a distance, the magic surrounding him is dark and twisted, the scent so strong that every breath tastes bitter. I peer around at the crowd, but they remain oblivious to the wrongness that hovers around him like a toxic cloud.
They don’t see the insanity sparking in his eyes or the way he leaks magic because his body isn’t built to hold it.
They probably assume it is a sign of power.
Avarice gleams in his eyes when he surveys me from head to toe, the sensation like a pair of slimy hands brushing over every inch of my skin. When he licks his too full lips, bile rises in my throat at the thought of him anywhere near me.
A smirk spreads across his expression at my reaction, a sadistic spark entering his eyes. The sick fuck no doubt takes pleasure in tormenting his victims before he goes in for the kill.
“Do you know why you’ve been summoned here?” he asks, his voice projecting to reach everyone standing in the square.
I can either accept my fate, or I can fight back.
It’s not a choice.
I refuse to be cowed by a man like him. I’ve spent too many years hiding, and it got me nowhere.
I’m done bowing to those who think they can take what they want without consequences.
I plant my hands on my hips and thrust my chin up.
“I was asked to come here to help figure out where the witches of this coven have been disappearing, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened to them. ”
“So you admit that you’re the culprit?” He cuts me off before I can continue, and I mentally sigh at his dramatic, triumphant expression. Clearly, this is how he’s been able to escape retribution after all these years—he’s been blaming it on innocents.
My eyebrows lift at his audacity, and my lips curl in disgust. “How many covens have you killed over the years? Traveling from town to town, stealing their magic to fuel your own? You’re not a wizard like you portray.
You’re barely even a mage. If I research your past, will I find a trail of dead witches in your pathetic attempt to hold off your doom? ”
His face loses its humor, rage darkens his features, and if he could strike me dead, he would do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately for him, the council wants me alive.
“Let me guess, you’re losing your borrowed magic almost as fast as you steal it?
” The townspeople fall silent, a few of them exchanging confused glances, and I push home my point.
“You’re nothing more than a glorified bounty hunter, sent to collect witches for a promise of more power.
Only you’ve been skimming off the top, siphoning more and more of their magic to keep your tainted soul from consuming itself. ”
Dante and Garth remain silent at my claim, probably wondering what the fuck they got themselves into by joining me, and I can’t really blame them.
A few men in the crowd slowly work their way closer to us, the handful obviously his henchmen, if the scowls on their faces are any indication. They don’t seem surprised by my declaration, which means they are just as guilty in my eyes.
“Geoffrey, what does she mean?” a man from the back of the crowd calls out, a hint of doubt coloring his question.
If I expected more people to step forward, I would be sorely disappointed.
Geoffrey raises his hands for silence, shaking his head mournfully, his expression full of pity.
“Remember what I said about her trying to weasel her way out of her crimes? Trying to accuse me! Can you imagine?!” His voice booms in the quiet of the square.
“The only way your coven members will be returned to you is by fulfilling the ransom demand. We must capture the guilty party and turn them over to the authorities.”
Geoffrey’s answer is complete bullshit, but he has the townspeople so convinced of his righteousness that hatred gleams in their eyes. I might have planted a seed of doubt, but their fear and outrage have been nurtured to the point they’re unable to break away from the mob mentality.
The council must have contacted him, offering him a reward for my return.
He’s lived past his usefulness.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the council offered him a place in Kyperian in return for my capture, not that they would honor it.
No doubt he would meet an untimely demise within a few days of crossing the border.
Geoffrey’s lips move, and I brace for a spell to knock us on our ass. Instead, my ears pick up his whispered threat, something only a shifter could hear. “Surrender, or your shifter friend will die.”
The guys tense, wild energy crackling around them as they prepare to shift and fight. Unfortunately, it’s not a chance I’m willing to take. Geoffrey is nothing if not ruthless. If it takes his dying breath, he will ensure Tyler dies.
I grit my teeth at the thought of surrendering and reluctantly step back.
“It’s refreshing to see a woman who knows her place,” he murmurs with a cocky smile, like he thinks he won the battle of wills, and I nearly roll my eyes at the fucking idiot.
My hands itch to draw my blade and take his head, the need for blood like a siren’s song that is almost impossible to resist. As if sensing my wavering resolve, Geoffrey signals to someone behind him. Half a dozen men emerge from the chapel with very familiar chains in their hands.
If I had any doubt about the council’s involvement, it’s gone now.
Those chains are a staple in Kyperian, often paraded about on the belts of Orion, clanking ominously as the soldiers patrol the cities.
Bellamy goes rigid, tiny scales slotting together across the back of his knuckles at the thought of surrendering. He only had a tiny taste of freedom before it’s being taken away again. A beast can only take so much before their mind just snaps.
I debate the wisdom of fighting once more, wanting to spare him the psychological strain, but the odds are too far out of our favor.
It’s not a gamble that I’m willing to take.
Not to mention, if Bellamy shifts, we could very well find ourselves at the wrong end of a rampaging dragon. If he’s lost to his rage, he might not even recognize us. I can heal a lot of things, but I doubt being stomped on by a dragon, torn apart, or swallowed whole are among them.
“We need to bide our time,” I say, trying to reassure him. “I got you out once. I can do it again. Trust me.”
As our jailors approach, a shudder passes through him, and he clenches his jaw so hard that muscles ripple.
I step back, bracing myself. If Bellamy can’t contain his dragon, then we need to be ready to fight.
A moment later, he turns to look at me with his silver eyes so light that they appear white, and I swallow a gasp to find his beast staring boldly at me.
Snow lightly falls from the sky, frost creeping across the ground as he struggles to remain human.
He slowly holds out his arms, never looking away from me as they place the chains back on his wrists.
The instant they lock into place, shadows darken his eyes, and the back of my throat aches.
Though he lifts his head high, I don’t miss the defeated slump to his shoulders.
It should be a crime for anyone to lock away such a magnificent beast, and I’m horrified that I ever played a part in his surrender.
Every second must feel like sheer torture.
The other two men swallow their rage and allow themselves to be chained. When the manacles clamp shut over their wrists, their fangs recede, their claws shrink. I don’t miss the way their eyes flare wide in panic before the color dulls and they lose their connection to their beasts.
The cuffs not only block them from shifting, they also silence their alpha abilities.
They are virtually as weak as a human.
I’m not sure if I just saved their lives or doomed them to a hellish existence.
Either way, our course is set.
I just pray I made the right decision.