Chapter 21 #2
Cade follows me and offers his arm, but I only grab his hand.
If he believes I can handle the pain, I’d love to stick it to the witch and get through this on my own, as much as I can.
Archie sticks close too, sitting between my feet, but not actually touching me.
A fact I don’t fail to notice and am certain is a warning in and of itself.
“You ready?” Cade asks.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But let’s do this anyway.”
The witch smiles, not kindly. More like a dentist who enjoys yanking out teeth without offering anesthesia.
“Excellent,” she says, then reaches into her bag while still looking at me with that very dead gaze. “Fear always makes the magic root deeper.”
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
Mildred doesn’t waste time. She gestures curtly toward the chaise again, the shawls around her shoulders rustling like irritated birds.
“Lie down. I’ll need to use pressure.”
Yay me.
Still, I do as she commands, while every instinct screams for me to bolt.
Cade sits beside me, offering his forearm like some kind of sacrificial hero.
Archie relocates to sit beside my head, tiny paws tucked under him, peering at me like he’s watching a horror movie he can’t manage to turn away from.
Mildred snaps her fingers. A small copper bowl floats to her side, filled with thick, glowing ink the color of molten gold, or maybe molten pain. Both most likely.
“Hold her,” she says to Cade, not even looking up.
“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” he growls, protective instincts sharpening.
The witch finally glances his way, unimpressed. “If she bites me, you know what will happen.” She blinks once. “Don’t make me upset, Cade.”
This is her not upset? Oh hell.
What has my mate gotten me into?
I glare at Mildred, but then nod at Cade. “It’s okay. Do whatever you need to. I just want this over.”
He kneels closer to me, wrapping a heavy arm around my waist, pinning one arm to my side, and then reaching for my other hand, intertwining our fingers.
I anchor myself to him, to the connection that pulses through us, and close my eyes.
I can do this. It’s not going to kill me.
Cade wouldn’t let that happen.
“You’ve got this—” Liz says, but is cut off.
“Quiet!” Mildred snaps. “It’s time.”
I clamp my eyes shut, refusing to witness whatever fresh hell this witch is about to unleash, but the moment her cool fingers graze my shoulder and nudge my bra strap aside, dread slams into me so hard my breath stutters, and I can’t help myself.
I have to look.
Striking blue magic coils up her arm, tendrils gathering and tightening, humming like a swarm of angry bees looking for a place to sting.
Me, I’m that place.
I squeeze Cade’s hand tighter, grateful when he doesn’t flinch.
His gaze stays locked on mine, warm enough to melt stone, soft enough to unravel me. “I’m here,” he murmurs.
I nod, or at least I think I do. It’s possible my head just trembled in terror.
Mildred exhales, mutters something in a language that sounds older than this house, and then—
Fire.
A blaze sears through my shoulder, pure flowing agony, burning straight through skin, muscle, nerve, and bone. And it’s not a pain that hits and fades. It grows, roots in, and claws through me like it’s carving its name for me to never forget.
Still, my jaw stays locked down, teeth grinding so hard I swear I hear a molar fracture. A scream claws up my throat, but it can’t escape. I won’t let it. I refuse to give Mildred the satisfaction.
I also physically can’t.
The chokehold this anguish has me in leaves me unable to do anything but blink and hold onto Cade for dear life because I swear that’s what I’m fighting for.
This is far worse than anything I’ve felt before. Worse than Malrik’s magic. Worse than shifting for the first time. Worse than dying in the explosion that forever changed my life.
My vision narrows, the room smears into indistinct colors. Cade’s hand is the lone point of clarity in a universe igniting with torment.
He winces. Though I doubt it’s from the magic, because I’m fully aware that I’m disrupting the circulation in his fingers. His knuckles are likely turning blue. Maybe purple, possibly chartreuse. Doesn’t really matter to me right now. He has healing.
“Just breathe,” he manages, even as I crush his hand like a hydraulic press.
I attempt a breath, but it comes out as more of a wheezing death cough. Still, the effort counts.
Mildred’s spell rips through me again—sharper this time, spiraling outward from the branding point. It feels like someone is tattooing my soul with an iron prod that’s been dipped in the sun.
The smell hits next. Burning flesh, my burning flesh, crackling in the air as magic sizzles like wet lightning.
My eyes water, but I’m not crying—reflexive pain hydration.
And just when I think I can’t take anymore, when the black spots in my vision grow more intense, the heat finally eases, from an inferno to sweltering rays until I can sense a cooling sensation.
Mildred steps back with a grunt. “You survived,” she says, as if she didn’t just set me on fire for recreational purposes, and maybe like she’s disappointed.
Cade gently releases my hand, flexing his fingers like he’s checking whether they still work. They might not.
My vision clears enough that I can look down.
And… Oh.
The tattoo—which feels like a laughably inadequate word—is breathtaking.
A crescent of molten gold arcs across my shoulder, its surface filled with luminous runes so fine they look etched by starlight.
Flowing lines curl around the crescent in elegant spirals, rippling like living currents of magic that refuse to stay still beneath the skin.
The entire design shifts subtly, as though someone trapped light itself under a glassy surface and it’s still trying to breathe.
Power hums through me—new, steady, familiar in a way that bypasses logic and goes straight to instinct. One that my inner being recognizes and claims without second thought.
Another puzzle piece of becoming who I’m meant to be slides into place.
There’s only one more missing, Wolf practically purrs.
Cade hums under his breath, pulling my attention back. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s badass,” Liz corrects, leaning over me with Archie in her arms. He looks mildly traumatized, like he needs emotional support after that experience, and I love him even more for it.
I breathe out, shaking and exhausted but strangely calm. “It’s something all right.”
Across from us, Mildred wipes her hands on a rag with all the enthusiasm of someone cleaning up spilled milk. Then she looks at me with clear displeasure.
“I really thought you were a screamer.”
“I’m sorry to let you down.” Am I really apologizing to the woman who just tossed my soul into a pan for a quick sauté?
“Mm.” She shrugs, gathers her bowl to drop into her bag, and heads for the door without so much as a goodbye. “If it festers, that’s a you problem. Don’t call me.”
Then she leaves.
Just walks out like she didn’t incinerate half my shoulder and insult me on the way.
I stare after her, dumbfounded. “Is she that way because of the prophecy, or did something crawl up her ass and die a hundred years ago?”
Archie finally recovers and jumps into my lap. “Most definitely the latter.”
A weak, pitiful laugh breaks out of me—and wow does it hurt—but I’ll take it. I reach for my shirt, but I hesitate to cover up the beauty.
The room is oddly quiet, though, and that has me looking around. “Where’s Iris?”
Liz frowns. “She muttered something about burning cookies and left about halfway through.”
Considering the smell of charred skin earlier, a fair mistake.
Cade leans down, kisses the unburned side of my shoulder, and whispers, “Don’t worry about her right now.”
Easy for him to say. But for now—for this moment—I try because I’ve never felt stronger.
Only that doesn’t quite give me the relief I expect…