Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
I love my husband … of course I do. He doesn’t know there was a dark spirit inside me. No one knew besides my mother, and her mother, and her mother, and so on. But they’re all dead. And now I’m alone.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
The arena looked like someone flung buckets of red paint around. Winter wasn’t so sure scarlet was her favorite color anymore, especially as Fang hooked his claws into her mate’s sides and tossed him. West tumbled into the opposing wall, stirring the crowd.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. How was she the only one biting at her nails?
Fang pounced over to West and pinned him to the ground.
She covered her eyes, watching through split fingers. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“You’re the one who wanted to be up front.”
“And I regret this decision.”
West’s claws dug into the nape of Fang’s neck, piercing muscles and dragging him to the ground. He rolled on top to maneuver Fang’s head to the side, then slammed it into the blood-soaked earth. West reared back, his sharp teeth dripping with saliva right before he plunged them into Fang’s neck.
Winter peeled her hands away from her face and squeezed Everett’s side. “We’re staying.”
Everett was locked in on the fight and ignoring his blessed duty. She was about to poke him when a voice, deep and gentle, whispered from her other side. “Surprise.”
Her heart almost jumped out of her throat.
She turned, meeting warm brown eyes. He was hardly recognizable with clothes on. A whole cloak? “Emrys?” She threw her arms around him. “What are you doing here?”
He hugged her back. “Mm. You smell as good as you look.”
Winter didn’t even mind his creepy compliment. She pulled away, eyeing him in shock. “But how are you here? The queen let you come?”
“Correspondence about this fight has been flying around for weeks. All werewolves have a right to witness a match like this. The queen supports that. As long as we support her, of course.”
Winter arched a brow. “She really let you leave?”
“She can be fair—you don’t think?”
Winter had almost forgotten how broken he was. “We have to catch up after the fight.” She tugged on his cloak. “Tell me you can stay.”
“For a short while.”
Everett’s gasp yanked her attention back to the arena.
West was supposed to be sucking Fang dry like a vampire, not lying on his belly.
His back was being clawed to shreds. With the extent of these injuries, he could lose his ability to transition for weeks.
She shook her head, knowing he’d refuse to see a witch healer. The pain had to be unbearable.
Faces around the arena twisted with sorrow, fear, and uncertainty. Faith was fading. She looked to the moon, half-expecting to see it falling. While she imagined the giant ball of light crashing to the ground, her mate shrieked loud enough to make her whole body ache.
Winter had never understood the stories about hope being impossible to take. How could that be true when it was draining all around her? This was … all wrong. Westley and Fang should both be running out of steam, tiring each other out before a kill shot. But Fang wasn’t slowing down.
West was.
Emrys squeezed her arm, his eyes on the sea of red.
Winter silently pleaded with the wind to help him, but every cry went unanswered. Enough was enough. Prepared to shoot, she pulled her wand from her top knot and held it alongside her thigh.
Emrys was sniffing her—again. “Is it a new perfume?”
Why was he acting so strange? “Yes,” she answered facetiously, her focus on the fight. “It’s called Love, Or Something Like It.”
His laugh was loud and high-pitched, like a bird. “Clever.”
Winter could neither laugh, nor smile. West was balled up, taking laborious breaths. His back was so slick and shiny she could only look through squinted lids. Fang had torn off his skin in layers, and was currently eating it.
If this dreadful wolf was allowed to cheat, so was she. West had one second to make a move because if he was dying, she was using her wand.
Her red-painted knight didn’t need it; he exploded. Furiously and violently. She exhaled with relief. Fang, too distracted by his fleshy snack, went down in an instant. West pinned him to the ground and roared like a wild beast before plunging his claws into Fang’s eye sockets.
Bloodied eyeballs were tossed into the crowd.
Wolves cheered in victory, and not a single one for Fang. The wolf was blind and boiling with rage. Xavier had sawed half his tooth off and West just plucked out two very precious organs.
Oh, no.
Fang didn’t falter; he retaliated. His giant black paw formed a fist shape, crashing into West’s temple so hard that Winter heard a crack. Her mate swayed and toppled to the ground, crumpling over to his side.
A knock out.
“No!” Winter screamed, aiming her wand at Fang. He was up and stumbling in circles. Without sight, he would make for an easy target. The Spine Splitting Spell would slice him in layers, one vertebra at a time. A slow and very painful death.
Everett snatched her wand.
“What. The—”
He chucked it more than a football field’s distance away. Between his reflexes and strength, it was long gone.
She shot him a murderous look. “Fuck. You.” That night she’d ordered him to never touch her broom, she should’ve mentioned her wand too. “Mark my words, Everett, you’re dead to me.”
Winter ignored his stupid rebuttal. She moved closer to Emrys, keeping her eye on West.
“Lover’s quarrel over a twig?” he whispered.
“Emrys, this isn’t a good time, okay.” West needed to wake up—now. He was still passed out.
As if sharing her thoughts, dozens of shifters began to chant.
“Get up.”
“Get up.”
“Get up.”
Fang paused, tilting his head in what had to be realization. West was still down. With crooked steps, he shuffled around the blood-filled arena.
Emrys squeezed her waist. “Well, this is getting interesting.”
He would need to shut up and stop touching her. She batted him off, watching Fang lift his snout as if he were hunting.
His head snapped in her direction, making her heart thump, then it turned—in the direction of her mate. His low growl rumbled through the farm when he bumped into West.
Wake up.
Fang trailed his claws through blood-soaked fur, moving up and around West’s throat. Dagger-like nails plunged into West’s skin before shaking his limp head until it was smacking against the earth.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Please.” Why was she the only one screaming. Why wasn’t anyone helping? This wasn’t nobility; this was bullshit.
Winter scaled the snow-crusted wall, preparing to jump into the arena, but she was tugged from behind. “I can’t let you go in there, no matter what, Winter. He forbid it.”
She dug her nails into the wall and donkey-kicked Everett.
“Fuck you both.” The moment she turned back, Fang twisted West’s neck faster than light.
The sound of ligaments tearing and bones shearing rang so loud her heart stopped.
West—her mate—was looking right at her, except his eyes were lifeless and his head hung at an impossible angle.
He was … no. This wasn’t real.
West was gone?
She vaguely registered a dull thud. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Everett sprawled on the ground.
Dead.
The bellow that escaped her lungs was otherworldly.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. West wasn’t supposed to die.
Neither of them were supposed to die. She slid down the wall, falling to her knees beside the teal-eyed male who’d nipped at her heart like it was always his. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
His flat face stared back at her.
Emrys leaned over them, his body casting a shadow. “Two birds, one stone, hm?”
What did he just reference?
She looked up to find his brown eyes morphing to dark blue, his flesh blanching to an ivory shade, and dense muscle dissolving along with his height. His hair lengthened and straightened to form a sleek black curtain that fell down her back.
“You,” Winter hissed, standing in an instant. She went to choke the queen but her wrists were restrained by slithering shadows.
“You,” the queen purred, “smell just like him.” She looked to West’s limp body and back.
“What was that fragrance called again? Oh yes, Love, Or Something Like It.” She cackled, making Winter’s skin prick.
“How nice. Well, I have a new perfume as well, Miss Leroux. It’s called You Owe Me A Bargain.
” The queen threw everyone back with a blast of her shadows.
Winter was impulsive, not stupid. The queen was angry about their flying lesson. Glamouring herself to look like Emrys had clearly been some part of her evil revenge plan. Winter knew this because it took a plotter to know one and phase five—kill the Witch Queen—just initiated ahead of schedule.
But without her wand or West, how could she succeed? She wept instead. “I have nothing to offer you. And if you’re expecting me to claim you, you can go to hell.”
The queen rolled her eyes. “Do you want him to live, or not?”
Shifters were arguing and crying in the background.
Winter swallowed, processing the queen’s words. Could she really save him? With desperation mounting, she took her chances. “More than anything.”
The queen smiled sweetly. “Then I’ll put my new spellbooks from your lovely library to fantastical use.” She removed the snakes from Winter’s wrist, sauntered over to the arena, and climbed the snowy wall.
Fang was slicing West open with a single claw.
Unfazed, the queen sent several ribbons of shadow his way.
They transformed into serpents mid-air, landing in his fur.
No amount of his thrashing stopped the small creatures from slithering around his neck.
He clawed them viciously, but that only caused them to multiply.
Every slash brought on more snakes. In seconds, dozens turned into hundreds.
He stumbled around until collapsing. Moments later, his body suffocated in a black scaled tomb.
Not one tried to stop the queen. It was likely that they were terrified, but her intentions were very clear—kill Fang, help West. Winter couldn’t stand on the sidelines anymore. She barreled up the wall of snow and tumbled into the arena.
It was so much worse up close. West’s head was crooked, his abdomen was torn open, and blood still oozed from his head.
She held his red paw and cried. “You can’t leave me.
” How could she have ever denied her feelings for him?
She buried her face into his damp shoulder, sobbing.
“I’ve only just found you.” All this time, she’d spent worrying about how and when he would die, wasting the time they had.
She should’ve listened to him. “I’m so sorry. ”
A cruel fingernail stabbed her in the shoulder.
“Your cooperation would be appreciated, Miss Leroux. Now move.”
Winter turned watery eyes on the queen, who glowed like a dark goddess beneath the moonlight. Her black hair shone, revealing blue streaks. They matched her glittering eyes. Shadows danced around her—as if awaiting an order.
“Are you really going to help him?”
Her grin was wicked. “If you claim me.”
Fighting a wave of tears, she swallowed hard. “Fine. I will.”
Without another word, the queen sliced her forearm open with a dagger. She turned West’s head to neutral and let her blood pool in his mouth. Little black flecks—a sign of how potent her magic was—twinkled in the scarlet puddle.
The queen conjured more shadows, sending out several shoots like spider legs, and recited a long spell in a language Winter didn’t recognize.
Ten loud cracks sounded.
Bodies dropped like dominoes.
Screams erupted.
Snarling shifters encircled the arena, starting to climb.
Winter’s stomach rolled, sending bile up her throat. “What have you done?” she shrieked. “Did you kill them?”
The queen didn’t answer. She cast a sphere of shadow around the arena, blocking everyone out.
Snouts, fists, and feet were trying to break through, but the black haze only warped and reformed.
Winter had never seen shadow magic behave like the queen’s before.
Meanwhile, her vile hands were scrunched in Westley’s fur, pleading for the spell to take hold.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered. “The translation said ten lives for the re-gift of one.”
“You used a Necromancy Spell?” There was always a twist with dark magic; Winter should’ve never agreed to this.
“How else was I supposed to help?”
“Not by killing ten wolves.”
“Not by killing ten wolves,” the queen parroted her words in a childish tone.
Winter hissed at her.
“I don’t know what’s taking so long,” the queen continued. “Unless—” Without a second thought she stretched her hands towards the wall of shadow, releasing tendrils that looked an awful lot like extra-long arms.
Ten werewolves toppled into the blood-soaked arena.
Winter recognized Guinevere. The strawberry-blonde shifter was trembling as a serpent coiled around her neck and stayed there.
“Do not cut them, they will multiply,” warned the queen.
“Since Winter likes when I play fair, you’re all here to make a deal with me.
Now, do you want your alpha dead or alive? ”
“Don’t answer that!” Winter shouted.
She dropped her head when the first yes was spoken. It was yes, yes, yes, and more yes. It didn’t take long for them all to agree. With that, she snapped their necks.
Ten more werewolves. Dead.
Winter bared her teeth, needing to kill the queen right now, but West coughed. Blood spurted from his mouth at the same time his cervical spine made clicking sounds.
No fucking way.
He blinked.
Winter dropped her head, crying in disbelief.
The queen clapped. She held her palm out, conjured a small bubble of shadow magic, whispered into it, and then flicked it to the sky. The tiny sphere blasted through her shield and into the night.
Before Winter could ask what it was, she got her answer. Five vampires in burgundy livery appeared. She’d used her magic as some form of messenger service, summoning her guard. They flattened the lapels of their jackets and sniffed the blood-covered ground.
“Focus,” their majesty ordered, “and take us home.” She glanced at the corpses wrapped in serpents. “Leave them.”
An ice-cold hand gripped Winter by the arm, and everything went black. It was odd spinning around in the darkness. But not as odd as the queen striking up conversation mid-teleportation. “Where’s Kaden? Have you left him for dead too? Some flying lesson, Winter.”