Chapter Twelve
The first thing Willow knew was the crash of wood against the wall.
The sound rattled the entire house and before she could even rise from the chair where she’d been curled, Marcus burst through the front door like a storm made flesh.
His power filled the room, black and suffocating.
Hugo hissed, launching himself from the window sill to intercept him, but Marcus’s boot swung out, sending the cat tumbling against the wall.
“Stay away from her!” Willow screamed.
Marcus’s smile was all teeth. “Still protecting the weak, darling? It will do you no good.”
Ursula came charging from the hallway, fury blazing in her eyes.
Her hands were already glowing with spellfire, but Marcus moved too fast. A flick of his wrist sent her flying backward.
She crashed through the living room door, splinters of wood scattering across the floor.
Willow staggered to her feet, heart pounding, fear and fury mixing hot in her chest.
She didn’t even have time to scream before Marcus’s men—blank-eyed, enthralled, their wills shackled to his—surged in behind him.
Rough hands grabbed her arms, hauling her off her feet.
She kicked, bit, fought like hell, but there were too many of them.
Marcus leaned close, his breath hot and foul against her ear.
“You’re coming with me, darling. Tonight, we finish what fate began.”
They dragged her down into the basement beneath the Fated Ink building, the air damp and rank, walls humming with runes that glowed faintly in Marcus’s presence.
He let her go only when his minions had her pinned against the west wall, her wrists bound within the circle of a rune carved deep into the stone.
Power pulsed there, the lines glowing faintly.
She struggled against their grip, spitting at him. “You’ll never win. They’ll kill you.”
Marcus chuckled, the sound low and cruel.
“Your wolves? Trapped beneath your skin, powerless while the sun reigns? They can curse me all they want from their little prison. At dusk, they’ll rise only to fall.
” He straightened, his robes brushing the stone as he lifted his hands, the runes flaring brighter with each word.
“Do you know what tonight is, Willow? The new moon. The sky stripped bare, the goddess at her weakest—and me at my strongest. For centuries, I have leeched her power drop by drop, feeding on the wellspring she used to birth those abominations you call shifters. And tonight, I drink her dry. With your blood and theirs, I bind eternity to my will.”
He stepped closer, stroking her cheek before striking her hard across the face. Pain burst bright as her lip split, blood dripping to her chin.
“Marcus!” Liam’s voice thundered in her mind, savage and furious. “Touch her again and I’ll tear your heart out!”
“Coward,” Jacob spat, his tone all venom. “Hide behind minions and spells while you threaten a woman. You’ll die screaming for this.”
Willow blinked through blood and pain. They were there. Her mates. Their rage burned hot and strong through her veins, even if their bodies were still bound to her skin. She whispered back to them, her voice shaking. “I can’t! He’s too strong.”
“Yes, you can,” Liam urged. “Hold on, love. We’re coming.”
“You’re ours,” Jacob added, steel in his tone. “And nothing will stop us from reaching you.”
Fear still clawed at her ribs, but anger rose hotter. This was Marcus—the man who had stalked her, burned her home, killed innocent people, killed her before. But she wasn’t Elizabet anymore. She was Willow. And she was not alone.
The air shuddered as the last rays of sun faded.
Black smoke seared across her skin and in an instant, Liam and Jacob were there, bodies solid, snarls ripping from their throats.
They lunged, but before they could reach her, Marcus’s minions slapped glowing iron collars around their necks.
The magic hit like a hammer. Both men froze mid-stride, muscles locking, jaws snapping with impotent fury.
Willow screamed, “No!”
Marcus laughed, circling them like prey already caught.
“Look at them—mighty wolves brought low by my will.” He lashed out with a cruel backhand against Liam, then drove his fist into Jacob’s gut.
Both men grunted in pain, but the collars held them immobile, every strike cutting deeper into Willow’s heart.
She leaned forward, pulling against her own restraints desperately, but Marcus’s hand slammed into her chest, knocking her flat against the wall.
Her head cracked against the stone, stars bursting behind her eyes.
Her lip split wider, blood warm down her chin.
Her wolves roared, voices jagged with rage.
“Bastard!” Liam bellowed. “I’ll rip your spine out with my bare hands!”
“I’ll flay you alive and feed your pieces to the crows!” Jacob promised, his fury painting the air with violence.
Willow pressed her palms against the wall, forcing herself upright despite the dizziness. She could taste her own blood, smell the stink of Marcus’s corruption—and beneath it, something else. Something older. A voice, soft but steady, echoing from the bones of her soul.
You are not only human, child. You are a witch. It is time you remembered what you are.
Libby’s voice. Clear, fierce, undeniable.
Willow’s breath caught. Power flickered beneath her skin, a heat that felt less like pain and more like.
.. possibility. For a moment, she saw through Libby’s eyes—the battlefield two centuries ago, Matthew’s killing spell splitting the night, Liam and Jacob falling to the ground as she screamed their names.
She felt Libby’s agony like it was her own, every heartbeat a knife.
And in that reflection, she understood: this searing grief was what their mate had endured watching them die.
What Willow had suffered was terrible, but what Libby had borne was worse.
And now, Willow carried her vengeance too.
She climbed to her feet, wiping blood from her chin with the back of her hand. “You’re right,” she whispered to the air. “It’s time to get my Wicca on.”
The door to the basement slammed open. Ursula limped in, fury burning bright despite the bruises darkening her face. Beside her, Saffie strode forward, her eyes blazing, her hands already alive with a storm of green fire. Together, the three women faced Marcus and his enthralled minions.
“Ladies,” Saffie said, her voice wicked with promise as she strode to the east wall opposite Willow, her magic flaring.
Ursula limped to the south, grounding them in fire and fury.
Willow felt the rune binding her pulse, her own power tugging from the west. For a heartbeat she sensed the space between them, a missing tether, someone absent who should have made their circle whole.
She drew a ragged breath, her anger fusing with strength. “Let’s make this cinematic.”
The basement erupted in chaos. Spells cracked like lightning, bolts of fire and shadow colliding.
Minions screamed as Ursula’s flames burned them to ash.
Saffie’s magic slashed through the air, slicing another clean in half.
Willow raised her hands, instinct guiding her and a wave of white light surged outward, blasting three men back into the walls with bone-breaking force.
She reached out and held Marcus frozen where he stood.
The three women exchanged a glance, power weaving between them like threads of gold, fire and storm.
Ursula lifted her hands and began to chant, her voice rich and commanding.
Saffie joined a beat later, her tone sharper, like wind cutting across flame.
Their words intertwined, ancient syllables echoing with raw magic, wrapping around Willow until her skin prickled with energy.
She gasped, feeling the spell surge strong—then falter, the rhythm breaking, the cadence hollowing.
The absence of the fourth voice left a ragged edge in their circle, the harmony incomplete.
“Hold the circle!” Ursula cried, sweat gleaming on her brow.
Saffie bared her teeth, pushing harder. “Push, Willow! Push with us! Even cracked, our chorus is stronger than his rot!”
Willow’s voice trembled but she forced it into the chant, her words lacing with theirs, patching the gap even as she felt the hole where someone vital should have stood.
“We’re missing someone,” Willow gasped, her power straining, sweat dripping down her spine. “The circle isn’t complete!”
“Then we hold anyway!” Ursula shouted, fire searing from her palms. “Better cracked glass than none at all!”
Saffie snarled, her eyes flashing. “Push, Willow! Push with us!”
Willow lifted her chin, her voice joining theirs. The three of them roared the last words together, the basement shaking as their combined power ripped through the enthralled men. Flesh blackened, bones snapped, screams filled the air before silence swallowed them whole.
When the last of the minions fell, Willow turned to her mates.
The collars glowed red-hot, biting into their necks.
She staggered forward, pressed her palms to the iron and let her power pour through her.
The collars cracked, then shattered, falling away in sparks.
Liam and Jacob surged forward instantly, pulling her between them.
“Claim me,” Willow said, her voice raw, trembling but resolute. “I know what I need to do. Claim me now.”
They didn’t hesitate. Liam’s teeth sank into the curve of her neck on the left side, Jacob’s on the right.
Pain flared, then melted into fire, power, and oneness.
She screamed, not in fear but in ecstasy, as the bond locked into place.
Their blood mingled, their spirits entwined. One heart. One fate. One future.