Chapter 56 – Carina #2
His eyes flutter, wild, looking from me to the side and ending on Holly’s distraught wolf face.
Her form changes too, back to a naked human who slumps to the ground, stretching an arm as far as she can.
Her fingertips are but an inch shy of his, and it’s her face that becomes the final thing he sees before drifting into the afterlife—his final breath a shudder that tears through my soul.
She screams in agony—in grief.
“You will not die!”
Hands over his heart, I recall every healing spell Mom’s ever taught me. Silly ones for small wounds, stronger ones for bone fractures, and everything in between. Anything to heal him—to bring him back.
“He’s gone,” a sly voice over my shoulder announces.
He’s not gone. I refuse to believe it. Refuse to believe that the others lost a packmate all because they came looking for me.
One way or the other, I caused his death, whether with the knife or not.
They should never have been here. They all got caught up in this because of me when Sloane used Alaric against them, and then again when they followed Ryder.
None of them should have ever met me. All I and the covens have done is bring death into their lives. Conan’s death is my fault, and there’s nothing that’ll make it acceptable.
Ryder’s howl is the loudest. Sharper than the knife that took his friend. Louder than Holly’s screams. And more deadly than the festering poison I am on them.
He shifts back too, but I don’t meet his gaze. “Carina…”
Kill them, Darkness urges. Kill them while I thank you.
Thank me? I ask it, already knowing—feeling—it’s too late. It’s thanking me for giving it more to feed from. I threw the knife; Sloane only redirected it. Such a detail isn’t important to the magick coursing in my veins.
Welcome to your future.
No.
A shiver slinks over my neck, the blue light from my magick that’s still trying to heal Conan darkening, becoming heavier, denser until—
Embrace me. Don’t fight. Be who you can be.
Darkness drowns out my water, my healing, my natural abilities…my connection to the Goddess. It draws me further away from the Light, from goodness, from trying to heal—to save—what I ultimately caused.
Leaning forward over Conan’s body, my hair falls into my view—the hair that, from the roots downward, turns black as the Darkness consumes me—consumes all of me.
“Fuck off,” I grit out to the imaginary voice in my head, the power that’s forbidden for these reasons.
My hands press into my temples but doesn’t drown it out; it’s stronger than the bit I took from Alaric, proving how little I actually claimed.
I believed I was in control, but I wasn’t at all, because there wasn’t anything to control. Not really.
Not like this.
It’s almost laughable, my na?veté.
Let him go, the voice commands. It’s over.
My hands move from my temples to again press hard on Conan’s wound. Blood seeps between my fingers, staining my palms like a sick show of Darkness encasing my hands. I deserve this, though; deserve Conan’s blood to stain my hands.
“Never.”
He’s dead by your doing.
“No, he’s fine. He’ll be fine.”
He won’t be. Conan is gone, and his funeral is this room full of pain. All he’s ever done is be kind to me, and I destroyed his life.
“Carina…” That’s Ryder, pleading. Not realizing the conversation I’m having with the power of destruction.
He’s gone. You’re mine.
“No.”
Accept it. Accept me.
“Never.”
“Carina.” Ryder’s voice again pushes through the haze—the cloud of Darkness I’m happy to succumb to…because what was the point in all this? Sloane got her way. A shifter is dead. I’m a danger to Highridge.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper without looking up from Conan’s face. My words are meant for both him and the others.
Sloane’s hand leans into my shoulder, shattering the voice in my mind and Ryder’s plea.
It wipes away the grief and sends a chill through my veins that have my hands sliding off Conan with acceptance.
Her touch doesn’t only remind me of my new reality, but replaces my emotions with only one: hatred.
Hate for the bitch who made all this happen.
My voice sounds far away when I tell her, “His name was Conan, and he was a good person.” She should at least know the name I’ll be avenging before her life ends.
Her nails curl into my shoulder. “He was a sacrifice and will be remembered as such.”
I jerk her off me to stand, shutting my eyes against the body below me.
Darkness craves more Darkness, she claims, so I’ll feed it more.
Her death will sustain me, and all of our problems will be solved.
I’ll avenge Conan, and Harlow’s parents from the past. I’ll avenge both Harlow and myself for having our souls altered like this, and the pack for what they lost.
Do it. Kill her. Hurt her.
This time, I listen to the voice. Emotions channel, summoning the Darkness above my water magick. Beckoning forth every evil that wants to rip this witch apart.
Sloane observes the tendrils seeping from my skin that encase my arms in silky sleeves. “Misplaced anger is no reason to attack. You forget my decades of using this over you, so you’ll fail before you can even make an attempt.”
“Except I’m no longer expendable, am I?” I smile—one Darkness would be proud of.
One that curls my lips into a snarl. My shifter teeth prod to join.
“You made me powerful. You gave me purpose. Save the covens, listen to a Seer’s warning, help Earth.
I vow to do all that, but your help isn’t required. ”
The tendrils dart forward.