Chapter Fourteen
Jay
Ow. Ow. Ow.
We’ve been here for hours, and my knees are killing me.
Now that Caleb is reading the names, I don’t have anything entertaining to distract myself from the pain.
The silver lining is Caleb, who appears to be just as miserable.
Or bored. I can’t tell unless I want to make it obvious that I’m staring at him.
The double doors to the hall burst open, slamming against the wall.
A symphony of gasps arise at the sudden noise.
All heads turn to find a woman with dark chocolate colored straight hair that stops just above her tailbone and striking eyes to match.
Dressed in all black form-fitting wear, she’s got an hourglass figure with hips women would kill to have.
It’s me. I’m women.
Along with being strikingly gorgeous, she carries herself with a wicked air of confidence, making her that much more attractive. Even if she hadn’t made such an entrance, she would’ve captured the entire hall’s attention. With full lips pulled up into a smirk, she knows it, too.
Caleb sits up a little taller in his chair, his eyes rake over her curves. He meets her smirk with his own. It’s no surprise he finds her attractive—anyone would—but for some reason, his interest has my wolf growling.
She surfaces, and I know my eyes must be glowing.
As if speaking their own language—and his smirk a beckoning call—her stiletto knee-high boots click across the floor while she struts down the aisle, head held high.
Everyone in the room follows her with their eyes.
The clicking stops when she reaches Caleb.
Tyler’s eyes dart around the room, ultimately landing on her. “Is it just going to be you?”
“I’m perfectly capable of presenting myself,” the woman answers.
All other bachelorettes came with a guardian or mentor to represent them. For her to come without is a power move. One I respect the hell out of.
“I’m sorry, but it’s custom to have someone represent you . . .” Tyler says.
“My Aunt Dehlia and her daughter Selene send their regrets. Their coven had an emergency.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What coven might that be?”
“The Hecatae.”
The crowd erupts in whispers of the dark ones. It isn’t until evil and grim reaper are heard in hushed tones that the witch chooses not to ignore them further.
“Not all dark witches are evil. There’s dark and light. Dark magic can just mean dabbling in realism and reality is, in and of itself, dark.”
The whispering stops. The witch has the floor.
“Selene is a dark witch. Some of you may call her grim reaper . . .” She side-eyes the room. “She serves as a crossroad between life and death. Her magic allows her to take and give life with a wave of her hand. She can bring back the dead and give offers to them, too.”
Her hands drop to her side, palms open, a loaded weapon.
Caleb is probably worried she’ll retaliate at his pack’s disrespect, inquires further, bringing the focus back on him. “And . . . your aunt Dehlia?”
The witch folds her hands behind her back, and Caleb lets out a breath.
“My Aunt Dehlia has magic that lies in the middle of life and death, which allows her to connect to the dead. Their gifts complement one another.”
“Like a psychic?” Tyler asks.
“Oh, she can do so much more than that. She can connect with the dead, but her craft lies in the middle where she can open the doors between each afterlife destination. This allows her to pull souls from each door and rearrange them. Like anyone from, both Selene and Dehlia have magic rooted in fate. If you’re familiar with Hecate—”
“Hecate? What’s that?”
“Not what. Whom,” she corrects Tyler gently. “You might have once heard Hecate was the Greek goddess of the underworld, but she is so much more. She is the night, a protector and a masterful necromancer. Each coven has a god or goddess our magic descends from and therefore, who we worship.”
Tyler gawks at Medein, still confused.
Caleb leans in to explain to him. “It’s like our Moon Goddess.”
“Precisely.” Medein says. “Whereas, Gaia is the goddess my elemental magic comes from. Both Hecate and Gaia have similar affinities.”
Upon hearing how powerfully connected she is, they make an exception. “Please, proceed,” Caleb says.
Their eyes are glued to one another. If I’m not mistaken, I’m sensing sexual tension or at the very least, extreme intrigue.
“I am Medein Rosa. The name Medein means to protect and rule over, while Rosa stems from Rose. I am the fourth of my name and the first of my coven, Zagaia.” Her voice, much like her name, rolls off the tongue like audible seduction.
Tyler sifts through the several pages of prospective mates, scanning his finger down the list of names before stopping on one. “Ah. Yup. There you are. Sorry bout that. Why do you want to be considered as a mate prospect?”
“The more diplomatic answer is I share Mr. Waller’s abilities to create balance in nature.
His hunting skills serve as population control this land needs to continue to thrive.
The spiritual bond I have with the land is transactional but one of respect, nonetheless. My powers are elemental in nature.”
She doesn’t look at anyone else while she speaks—only Caleb.
“I am aware of this pack’s bountiful resources, but with the walking dead and wolves of none.”
What did she just call us?
“Plaguing your territory, your advantage will soon dwindle. In other words, your food source needs my powers and vice versa. Unlike some, I won’t pretend my desire to enter into a marital arrangement with you is one based solely on admiration but one of mutual benefit,” she says.
I cross my arms and clench my fists at how the witch speaks of my kind as a plague and an imbalance to nature. They see a decrease in bounty, but even with slightly less, they still have more than most.
Despite the witch’s eloquent insult to my kind, I can respect her deliverance and honesty.
She’s not trying to boast Caleb, and this pack that they’ve probably never set foot in before.
Medein has come empty-handed. Clear about what she seeks from Caleb and clear about what she can offer, too, but confident enough in her leadership to find it elsewhere. A true salesman.
Judging by the narrowing of Caleb’s eyes and the rubbing of his chin, he likes that about her, too. But knowing him, the only thing appealing about this strong woman is the challenge to break her.
“You talk about my abilities as if you’re familiar with them. But I don’t know anything about yours,” Caleb says.
“I can show you if that is what you wish,” she says.
Caleb smirks, sharing an approving glance with Tyler. When Caleb returns his gaze to Medein, he nods.
Medein shifts her head in Tyler’s direction. A slight breeze floats through the hall before, the coffee mug on the table in front of Tyler falls onto the floor. It shatters on impact.
I jump at the sound.
Caleb has a delayed reaction, only bothering to turn his head toward the glass several seconds after. His demeanor changes from intrigued to unimpressed.
Me? I find it fascinating.
Seconds later, the scattered pieces tremble, then float toward each other, putting themselves back together like a seamless jigsaw. The slight breeze lifts the cup and returns it to the table like nothing happened.
“As I said, I can appreciate balance. My ability to destroy and repair is one I don’t take for granted and hold grave responsibility over,” she says.
It’s as if the room all opened socks for Christmas. The gilded bow and the crimson satin wrapping paper were promising yet deceiving.
Caleb glances at Tyler.
Tyler says, “We’ll let you know.”
He’s about to open his mouth to move on to the next prospect when Medein speaks again.
“I’m getting the feeling you don’t have a thorough understanding of my abilities. Allow me to try again,” she says.
“All powers are impressive. We just have so many prospects to get through today,” Caleb says diplomatically.
Medein’s eyes glow white. She exhales with her mouth forming a large “O.”
My hair flaps in the strong wind that now whips through the hall.
Expensive vases, priceless sculptures and heirloom paintings fly off the walls and shelves and break on the floor. Glass rains as the stained-glass windows lining the building’s walls shatter.
Shrill screams carry throughout the hall as the audience descends into panic.
People scramble from their seats and topple over each other, pushing and shoving to reach the exit. Before anyone can escape, the door slams shut, trapping everyone inside. They bang on the doors pleading to get out.
Caleb’s eyes blaze gold as he stands in concern for his people. Like a predator stalking its prey, he slowly rounds the front of the table.
Tyler rounds the other side and mimics his movements.
Suddenly, the chaos pauses.
What I assumed to be years of collectibles lay in shambles on the floor because her talent could not be appreciated for what it was. The need to prove her worth in a room of mostly men was not lost on me.
Idiots. All of them.
I respect the heck out of her for forcing them to see it now.
Medein inhales deeply and a low rumble causes the shattered remnants to vibrate and shake.
Huddled in corners, people mumble amongst themselves about what’s happening.
The reparation of her destruction begins. Millions of multicolored pieces of glass, ceramic and art rebuild themselves piece by piece.
Once finished, there’s a pause and an exchanging of glances, then an eruption of applause, Caleb included.
Caleb’s eyes return to their normal blue and tension appears to roll off his shoulders.
The corner of her lip turns up into a sly smile. She’s made her point.
“I look forward to your call.” Medein dips her chin in a bow of sorts. She passes me, and I lower my head and growl when she gets too close for comfort.
I can appreciate her ability, and it’s nothing against her, but I don’t trust witches after what they did to me. And the thought of being enslaved to another witch is too much to fathom.