Chapter Seven
Freya
W alker was not my boyfriend.
I was a goddessdamned witch after all.
You’re right, the voice in the back of my mind said, he’s more than that.
Like usual, I ignored my too honest consciousness and focused on the spell. As members of my coven gathered in a circle and clasped hands, I placed the locket in the center of the group and began the incantation.
It was in the Olde Tongue. If the legends were true, Hecate herself had taught the language to her first disciples. As I recited the spell, magic swelled. Its chords hummed across the meadow and crackled in the air. I kneeled before the pendant and placed my fingertips on it. Like a river of energy, my coven’s magic moved through me, and their voices echoed the spell. Magic roared and heated my veins, but the spell only offered glimpses of a beach, flashes of dense woods, and a moment on a raucous city street.
Without opening my eyes, I reopened the cut on my hand with my fingernail and bit back the pain. I let my blood drip onto the pendant and coaxed more and more magic into the object. As I repeated the incantation, I willed the pendant to find its owner.
All at once, I was pulled out of my body.
On four legs, I raced through familiar woods. Rich, vivid scents flooded my nostrils, and greenery blurred by. I scented the air for prey and luxuriated in the strength coursing through my limbs. A deer caught my attention, and I took chase.
The next breath, I was no longer in the forest but in the middle of the ocean. Endless sea surrounded me, and the sun reflected in its depths. My hand grasped a warm, metal railing. As I basked in the gentle ocean spray, I was transported once again.
Someone bumped into me and muttered an apology in a thick Cajun accent. Alcohol, vomit, piss, and a mingling of too many perfumes wafted down the crowded street. Semi-naked people danced on balconies and threw beads at one another. I searched for an indicator of where exactly I was, though I already had my suspicions. I spotted a black and white street sign.
Bourbon Street.
As I crashed back into my kneeling body, I gasped. Only my coven’s ragged breaths filled the air.
“Was that—” Walker gasped. “Was that normal?”
I shook my head. Though I was the one who had attempted to guide what we saw, from the shocked looks on their faces, everyone involved had seen what I’d seen. I wasn’t sure if I was more frightened or relieved that my coven was as bewildered as I was.
“You’re supposed to get one location,” Gloria explained. “I’ve never…I’ve never seen so many places in a single tracking spell.”
Gloria was nearly seven-hundred years old.
She’d seen a lot.
My phone rang and interrupted the stark silence. I almost ignored it, but instinct drove me to dig it out of my pocket. The name on the screen surprised me.
Ryder.
“Answer it,” Lyra encouraged behind me.
“Hello,” I said into the phone.
“Frey,” Ryder said gruffly. “Why did I just feel a damned tracking spell on me?”
???
Walker
Freya’s whole body tensed, and the magic-induced flush across her cheeks paled. “Ryder.”
I was never particularly happy to hear Ryder’s name, and today was no exception. Gasps echoed across the field of witches. A heartbeat later, I understood.
Was Ryder the chimera?
I quickly discredited the idea. The High Witch had claimed the chimera shape-shifted into the beast on the pendant, not into a wolf. Unless Ryder wielded some dangerous power I had failed to recognize, I wasn’t sure what he had to do with any of this.
Ryder’s harsh words were loud enough to be heard through the phone. “You know my damn name. You also have my number, so why didn’t you just call? Would that have upset Walter?”
I rolled my eyes. Ryder knew my damn name too. On second thought, turning over Ryder sounded like an easy route to a job well done.
“We need to talk,” Freya clipped, “in person. Can you come to our apartments?”
He hesitated. “Our old meeting spot. See you in twenty.”
As my mind turned our old meeting spot over and over, Ryder hung up.
“You should take back-up,” Gloria encouraged. “He’s involved with this somehow.”
“I’ll go,” Cadence volunteered. “I’m not scared of the wolves.”
Lyra stepped to Gloria’s side and smiled fondly at my sister. “Of course not.”
“I’m going,” I said. “This is my mess.”
“Our mess,” Freya corrected and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, “but, are you sure? Ryder loves to get a rise out of you.”
And you throw magical tantrums when you’re angry, she didn’t add.
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
I stared into Freya’s eyes and hoped she heard what I didn’t say.
I won’t let you down again. I won’t let any of you down.
“Alright,” Freya conceded and addressed her coven. “Walker and I go alone. We don’t know the extent of Ryder’s involvement, but he’s never been a good liar. If he suspected why I tracked him, he would’ve let something slip. I don’t think he’s dangerous.”
“He’s a wolf backed into a corner,” one of the Elders argued.
“He’s an old friend,” Freya disagreed.
“Josephine was far more than a friend,” a witch sniped. “Look where that faith got us.”
Freya flinched, and I fought the urge to take her hand. “And the werewolves were there to help us end her. Paranoia will only breed further dissent. Now, we must get going.”
Freya turned her back on her coven and headed east, toward werewolf territory. I quickly fell into stride beside her.
“Walker!” Cadence cried.
I paused, and Freya mirrored the motion.
“Be careful,” my sister pleaded.
“I will be,” I promised her.
I meant every word. Though guilt fought to eclipse my thoughts, I wouldn’t allow it to. I couldn’t. I had one shot at redemption for both myself and the ones I loved, and I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers.
I wouldn’t let my magic wreck us all.
Freya and I walked deeper into the woods. Trees crowded us, and little moonlight guided our path. We didn’t follow a trail, so I carefully placed each step. The last thing I needed was to roll an ankle on the way to meet a werewolf.
“Listen to your magic,” Freya advised. “It can guide you.”
She trekked across the rocky mess of a terrain in her usual graceful fashion. Her steps easily avoided any stray logs, thick roots, or dips in the ground.
“I’m sort of trying to keep it quiet,” I said, “not encourage it to get involved.”
Freya sighed. “I think that’s part of the problem. You can’t control magic with fear.”
I bristled. She had every right to chastise me, but it still stung.
“You’re one to talk about fear,” I muttered.
Freya glared at me. I almost smiled. I might have the temper issues now, but one quick, always-effective way to piss off Freya was to imply she wasn’t the bravest, most perfectly fearless witch in all the land.
“What is that supposed to be mean?” she snapped.
I shrugged, and, as I predicted, it only angered her more.
“Don’t back out of your opinion now,” she prodded.
When I didn’t answer, she stopped and crossed her arms across her chest. I tried to keep walking, but she snagged my arm. I stepped closer to her, until only a breath separated us. Our chests brushed. Freya peered up at me, so small but so powerful. She could topple mountains when she looked at me like this—with intensity that only Freya could manage.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered. “You’re too scared to admit we are something to each other.”
For a heartbeat, her gaze softened, and those big eyes stole my breath. Without thinking, I kissed her. She sighed into my mouth and locked her lips to mine. I cradled her delicate jaw, gripped her waist with my other hand, and pulled her closer, until we fit together like puzzle pieces. I swept my tongue into her mouth, needing to taste her, then grazed her lip with my teeth. Freya gasped, and I lost myself in our kiss.
My magic hummed pleasantly, mingling with Freya’s. I tried to quiet it, but the sensation of Freya’s body pressed to mine eclipsed my thoughts.
Her hands ran up and down my back. When her nails dug the slightest bit into my skin, I groaned. Every time, Freya kissed me like it was our last chance at it. Every time, I loved it and loathed it and needed more.
“When I heard groaning,” a familiar, grating voice said, “I figured I should head this way.”
Freya freed her mouth from mine, but I held her close as I met Ryder’s gaze. He flashed me a grin. As he stared, his freaky eyes reflected the moonlight that slipped through the trees. He crossed his arms across his broad, shirtless chest.
At least he has pants on.
Freya turned in my arms to face him, and I released her, except for the hand that lingered on her hip. I couldn’t completely remove myself from her and not only because this was Ryder—Freya’s werewolf ex who’d asked her to meet at their old make-out spot—but because this was where the tracking spell had led us.
I didn’t share Freya’s faith in Ryder. Freya was more capable of taking care of herself than I was lately, but boyfriend or not, I wouldn’t let her loyalty to him get her hurt.
“Ryder,” Freya greeted. “Thank you for meeting us.”
Her gaze scanned the woods beyond him, and Ryder scoffed.
“Do you think I brought back-up?” he asked. He studied the two of us. “ Should I have brought back-up?”
With a sigh, Freya pulled the pendant out from under the neckline of her black shirt and other jewelry. From the way it shined, she had wiped her blood off it. Freya held it out to Ryder.
“Do you recognize it?” she asked.
Ryder took a deep breath and stepped closer. His face softened in a way I had never seen before. He was transfixed by the pendant.
“I…” He reached out to touch it then snatched his hand back and shook his head. His usual scowl returned. “I’ve never seen it before. What is it?”
Freya and I shared a look. He was keeping something from us.
“We’re not sure,” I answered honestly.
“We performed a tracking spell,” Freya explained, “and the results were… unorthodox. I saw several locations.”
“And one of them was mine?” Ryder asked. He swallowed.
I had never seen Ryder nervous, but I was pretty sure this is what it looked like. His brow was furrowed, and his amber eyes were round. Freya nodded, and he studied the pendant further.
“Something is strange about that thing,” he said.
“You don’t know anything about it?” I questioned. “Or why it led us to you?”
Ryder snarled. “No. I’m not a liar, human.”
I bristled. In the craziness of the last day, I had forgotten my transition wasn’t known. Since the battle, the dark witches and vampires had kept their distance, and the Coven of Hecate had kept theirs. Though Freya had wanted to learn what punishment her Lucifer-loving neighbors had received, she hadn't wanted to reach out and risk them learning about how she had saved me.
Even the wolves, the longtime allies of Freya's coven, had been kept at bay. Ryder knew about my brush with death, but he wasn’t aware of what it had taken to bring me back to life. We had kept my new powers on the hush, specifically to avoid any trouble it could bring our way.
We’d been swimming up shit creek without a paddle on that endeavor.
“What was that?” Ryder demanded and studied me further. “You’re usually disgustingly proud of your humanity. Why’d you flinch?”
As he studied my unnaturally bright gaze, horror lined his face. When he looked at Freya, there was true concern shining in his eyes.
“Frey,” he whispered, “what have you done?”
Before she could answer, he turned to walk away.
“I-I can’t be here,” he said. “I can’t know about any of this—the Leaders—”
“The High Witch already knows,” Freya explained in a rush. “It’s why we’re here. She needs us to track the owner of this pendant and bring it to her. It’s our shot at redemption.”
Ryder laughed humorlessly. “You’ve got to know this is some elaborate punishment! A trap. None of the Leaders will allow—” Ryder glared at me in disgust. “That thing to live.”
“He’s not a thing,” Freya argued. “He’s still him. I just saved him. You didn’t even notice his transformation at first.”
“Well,” he argued, “I was a little taken off-guard by the amateur, woodsy porn you guys were rehearsing for when I got here.”
Freya stepped closer to him, out of my reach.
“You know me,” she whispered. “I’m-I’m not Josephine. I wouldn’t have tried to change a human. I changed a hunter, who is also the descendant of a witch. I brought to life the magic already in his blood, and I wouldn’t have done it if it meant hurting anybody.”
Ryder’s face could only be described as heartbroken.
“She’s going to hurt you , Frey,” Ryder countered. “You’re the one who gets hurt in this.”
As Ryder voiced my greatest fear, I grimaced. He met my gaze over Freya’s shoulder and snarled.
“You should do us all a favor,” he growled, “and die. Like you should’ve the night of the Bloodmoon.”
“I tried,” I whispered.
“Not hard enough.”
“Ryder,” Freya interrupted. “That pendant led us to you for a reason. Whether you want to be or not, you’re involved in this.”
He studied our single clue again, and that dreamy look returned.
“Something about it calls to you,” Freya observed.
Ryder sighed. “It’s familiar, but I know I’ve never seen it before.”
He ran a hand down his face and looked away. He paced the small space between trees, occasionally pausing to glare at me. For once, I couldn’t bring myself to argue with him. He was right. I was the reason we were in this mess.
After a while, he said, “I’m not the one the High Witch is after. You know that, right?”
Slowly, Freya nodded. I did too, not that Ryder cared about my opinion of him.
“I have to help you find her—it,” he quickly corrected and nodded at the pendant. “Whoever that belongs to. I want to know why it’s attached to me or why the High Witch wants it. I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.”
“Neither do I,” Freya agreed.
“But you don’t have a choice,” Ryder said. He glanced at me then back to Freya. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” she answered evenly.
Her answer chafed my guilt, but I was selfish enough to feel relief too.
“Good,” he said with a sly smile. “Then you really wouldn’t be the girl I used to know.”