Chapter 3
It makes no difference
KADE
The stench of broken magic lingers in the air, sharp as the ozone before a storm.
My bones feel its impurity, the wrongness burrowed into the world that refuses to let go and contaminates it with its unpleasantness.
The sigil is shattered, its ancient protection obliterated, and my vicious need to set the earth on fire for it consumes my thoughts.
We move like a gale through a forest, obliterating anything that stands in our way as our power flows into the world around us. The trees bow in our wake, leaves shivering in fear. My magic hums under my skin, restless, eager to be unleashed as it pricks my thumbs.
But I hold it back.
Control is everything.
Control is power and authority.
Control is what we possess, and why the witches cannot be left to their own devices.
Tonight is the first night that restraint feels like a leash I want to break.
The others must feel it too. Darius tightens his grip on the staff he usually carries, his knuckles pale against the polished wood my father used to hold.
“They’ve desecrated the balance,” he says, his voice low but charged with fury.
“Do you feel the wildness in the air? The unreasonable, relentless enthusiasm for carnage? This is what happens when witches meddle with forces they don’t understand. ”
I nudge my toe against the edge of the witches’ territory as the sigil’s absence becomes a palpable ache.
The protection it offered was flawed, but now it’s gone, leaving nothing but a gaping wound in its place.
The magic here is raw and unbound, clawing at the edges of reality like a tormented beast released from the cage that contained it, and it has to be contained.
I imagine the warlock who controlled this coven feels the loss more than I do. We didn’t wait for his permission and we sure as fuck didn’t seek his advice. He must have made some fundamental error that allowed this to happen, and now my brothers and I have to set this right.
We must restore the natural order.
Before it’s too late, and the damage cannot be repaired.
“They understand,” I counter, my voice as sharp as I intend. “They just don’t care. This wasn’t ignorance. It was arrogance.”
“Rebellion,” Galen says, glancing between me and Darius. He clenches his fists, the faint glow of magic visible even through his gloves. “They’ll regret this. They need reminding of their place.”
The magic boundary of the coven’s territory rises ahead, shimmering through the night like an iridescent curtain.
Steep hills bristle with dead trees, their twisted branches clawing at the heavy sky, and I stare at the ridge that separates me from the women I’m hunting.
Beyond that rim lies the place where the magic faltered, where the sigil that held their chaos at bay shattered.
Even now, the remnants of that power surge through the air, wild and uncontrolled.
It thrums against my senses, a dissonant, angry beat that makes my blood pound in my ears.
We breach the threshold like shadows slipping into a silent house, magic woven around us to mask our presence.
The witches’ wards are gone, ripped apart by their recklessness, leaving nothing to impede our advance.
The forest here feels sick, the trees brittle and gray, the soil dry and cracked beneath our boots.
Ahead, the witches gather at the site of their disgrace. A clearing opens before us, its heart scorched black and still smoking, the remnants of some failed rite etched into the earth. The stink of burnt herbs and spilled blood lingers in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of broken magic.
Darius lets out a low growl and stands tall, his hand still clenched tightly around the staff. His fingers are white beneath his tattooed skin and his claw-like nails scratch as they dig into the wood.
“Look at them. Pathetic. Scrambling to fix what they destroyed.”
“They won’t,” I say coldly, my gaze locked on the witches. “They’re incapable, like children who’ve played with fire and burned down their own home.”
Galen steps forward, his magic crackling around him in a faint aura of gold. “We end this now. No negotiations, no excuses.”
“If one of them is pretty, you should take her as a wife, Kade,” Galen says and Darius’s eyes narrow, their darkness blackening. “You need an heir and a witch without a coven will bend to your will. You can discard her once she’s provided you with sons.”
Darius’s shoulders rise in fury and I edge back, letting my brothers fight it out among themselves.
This isn’t a simple matter and we’ve had this argument many times before, never settling the outcome of anyone’s satisfaction.
They’re opening up an old festering wound that never heals, only reopening every time we’re forced to confront some witches or the fragility of our order.
“This isn’t time to solve one problem and cause another,” Darius spits as darkness spills out of his eyes like ink bleeding into the night. “Not one of those things deserves to be a part of our family, not even for a few brief pregnancies.”
“It’s a practical solution to a thorny problem,” Galen counters, his voice like molten iron. “Or would you rather our bloodline crumble while you play at moral superiority?”
“They’ll tear us apart from within as they’ve always done. Witches are poison, Galen, and you’d bring another one under our roof?”
Galen moves so fast I almost miss it, his hand snapping out to grab Darius by the front of his coat. The two of them are locked together now, nose to nose, their magic colliding in a brief, violent crackle that makes the air itself feel heavy.
“Invite isn’t the word I’d choose,” Galen snarls. “If she’s bound to him, she’d have no choice. You’re too blinded by rage to see the advantage.”
The tension between them thickens, the air crackling with unspoken grievances.
The night presses in around the three of us, heavy with the scent of scorched earth and the remnants of broken magic, as the gold glow of Galen’s magic intensifies until it bathes us in its light.
My brothers’ conflict is about to break into open warfare, and their tempers are about to give away our arrival.
“Stop,” I say finally, as my voice cuts through the charged air, louder than their magic, louder than their anger. “This isn’t the time.”
“It’s always the time,” Darius counters, releasing Galen and turning his attention to me. “I don’t see you volunteering to fuck one of them, Kade.”
“I’d rather chop my balls off and ram them down my own throat than fuck one of those disgusting creatures,” I hiss back, fixing them both with a glare.
“But this isn’t about heirs. It’s about survival.
About control and the pair of you are fucking lacking it.
The witches broke the sigil. They’ve proven they’re willing to destroy the balance we’ve spent centuries protecting. We need them to fear us, not fuck us.”
Darius exhales sharply, brushing at his coat where Galen’s grip had wrinkled it.
“Fear fades,” he mutters. “Bloodlines endure. This isn’t just survival; it’s strategy. Without an heir, we’re fighting a war that ends with us.”
“Then give us one with that whore of yours.” Galen shakes his head, his fury only barely contained. “How is your plaything, Darius?”
A grin of pure malice and unadulterated evil lights his face in its darkness. Darius steps forward, his eyes staring into the clearing where the coven broke the covenant and unleashed chaos.
“Sore.”
For a moment, the only sound is the faint hiss of magic retreating and our silent grins.
The quiet speaks a thousand unsaid truths and its heaviness weighs on me.
I watch the witches in the distance as they try to prepare for arrival, aware that they’re only good as a means to an end.
They’re a reservoir of magic to be siphoned, a vessel to birth the next generation of warlocks.
They’re a blight we endure and without us, they are rudderless, their power untamed and dangerous.
Without them, our legacy weakens. It’s a cruel balance, and one we enforce with iron will and bloodied hands.
We savor their tears and delight in spilling their blood.
Still, the facts remain. Without witches, we lose something irreplaceable. Their magic is a raw, untapped vein of power, primal and unyielding. And if they won’t serve willingly, they must be broken.
The wind shifts again, colder this time, and the shadows of the trees stretch longer, darker.
I push a little magic into the world and it hums in the distance, vibrating against the restless and chaotic forces the coven has released.
Galen joins me, his golden aura flaring brightly as it reflects his fury while Darius scowls, and darkness pours from him as he senses the imbalance.
The remnants of shattered magic pulse faintly in the air, a dark and fractured echo of what was. Its undisciplined chaos threatens to devour everything if left unchecked, and I splay my fingers, releasing more of my magic as I seek to contain this weapon that has no conscience.
We move towards the desecrated clearing and my eyes glance down at the scar on the earth where order was torn apart.
The air grows heavier, thick with the residue of the ritual.
It clings to the skin like smoke, acrid and suffocating.
The sigil’s remnants lie scorched into the earth, jagged scars where order once reigned.
This isn’t just rebellion; it’s desecration.
The covenant is shattered. The balance tipped toward chaos.