Chapter 6
Zara
Blood ran down the side of my face, sticky and hot as my fangs sank into flesh. The vibration in my blood hummed loudly as I drank, my power buzzing with the need for release. I was half witch, half Fae. I didn’t need blood to fuel my power, but it helped replenish it faster.
To any other Fae, blood would taste like blood–metallic, salty and thick. But to a witch, it was like a drug–euphoric, sweet and rich.
The hot, sweet liquid ran down the back of my throat, and I almost moaned at the sensation. A vision formed in my mind—a flash of emerald eyes, a broad chest. Large, calloused fingers moving up my bare thigh.
My back stiffened, and with a growl, I threw the male I had been drinking from aside, watching as he crumpled onto the stone floor, too weak to move.
Shit.
Guards who had been positioned at the large glass doors of the library lazily walked forward. They avoided my gaze as they bent down, lifting the now pale and unconscious male off the ground by his arms and started to drag him from the room.
He wasn’t dead. I never killed them, at least when it was up to me. I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, guilt weighing on me as I turned, catching Lana's gaze.
She was lounging comfortably on a padded, ornate wooden chair next to a long oak table full of scattered books.
Her inky hair was braided on either side of her head, the plaits tight against her scalp.
Mud dripped off her thick leather boots, which were propped on the table as she absentmindedly picked at her nails, her lips twitching in amusement as her yellow gaze held mine.
Lana was wearing a black silken shirt that buttoned in the middle, and my head tilted as I noticed it.
Why did it look familiar? I looked back to Lana and her smile grew as she watched me.
My jaw clenched as I glanced back at her shirt again, my brows furrowing.
The shirt was familiar somehow, and I kept staring at it, trying to figure out why it had caught my attention.
It looked too big on her, as if it were meant for—
My stomach twisted sharply, and I couldn’t stop the surge of magic that rose to the surface of my skin. Shadows blasted from me, but I managed to stop them getting too far.
I glared as the black, wispy tendrils pulsed around my body like static. The stone beneath me turned black as my power tried to push from me.
The rage I felt at seeing that fucking shirt. His shirt on her. The emotions were all-consuming… but why did I fucking care? His scent drifted toward me, and I growled louder, the shadows darkening in the room.
I took a deep breath, as my magic fought against my skin, wanting to be released again.
Fucking fates, get it together.
Lana let out a laugh, and I snapped.
Before I could register what I was doing, I materialized in front of her, my fist already flying toward the side of her marred face.
She must have expected it, as she had already jumped to her feet, her forearm knocking my fist off its path toward her face with ease.
My boot lifted, and I crashed it into her sternum; she grunted, air leaving her lungs, as she flew backwards.
Wood splintered underneath her as she landed on a nearby table, the crack of the wood echoing around us.
Lana was on her feet in an instant, but I was already in front of her again, my fist finally connecting with the side of her face.
The skin on my knuckles broke open from the force as her skull whipped to the side.
Satisfaction rang through me, but my triumph was short-lived as Lana’s fist slammed into my fucking throat.
I took a few stumbling paces back, choking on my next breath.
Her attack disoriented me enough that I wasn’t prepared when her boot slammed into my chest, launching me backward.
Glaring at Lana’s smug face, I shadowed midair and landed gracefully a few feet away.
My hand extended, and a long, black rope appeared in my palm as I whipped it through the air toward her.
It wrapped around Lana’s ankle, and I pulled.
She snarled as she was thrown backwards, her back slamming onto the stone floor.
Lana was coughing, the air knocked from her lungs, but laughter followed shortly after, the sound wistful and teasing.
“This is how you thank me for bringing you breakfast?” Coughing more, Lana grimaced, then rolled onto her stomach and stood.
“This is what you get for throwing me into that creature-infested cave with no magic!” I snarled, the memory of the vorrack making me shudder.
“So what?” Lana’s grin was sharp and wild. “You survived.”
I was in front of her again, another fist flying toward her smug face.
Lana’s arm came up to block it, but she missed my other fist as it swung into her ribs.
Lana hissed through her teeth as her sharp gaze locked onto mine.
She grabbed onto my arm, twisting it down, as her foot crashed into the side of my leg.
My teeth clenched, but I managed to stay upright as she pushed away from me, preparing for another strike.
I took a step toward her, and I was about to shadow behind her and push her to the floor when a voice sliced through the air, making us both pause.
“Enough.”
Breathing heavily, we both straightened, scowling at one another as we slowly turned toward Morgana, who was now striding lazily into the room.
Her dark hair was braided tightly to her scalp, like Lana’s, and her purple cloak swirled around her as she walked toward us. A black silken dress hugged her petite form underneath, and her yellow eyes narrowed on us with a quiet reprimand.
I bowed my head, Lana doing the same. Although her bow was half-hearted.
My left arm twitched, and an overwhelming sense of sadness pulsed through me.
I huffed in irritation—Xavier. He had been feeling that all morning, as well as rage and a cacophony of emotions that irritated me to my very bones—because I, too, now felt those things.
On top of my own feelings, and sometimes her feelings.
I was surprised I hadn’t gone mad…or maybe I had.
“What’s done is done, Zara,” Morgana snapped, irritation lacing her words like a whip.
Lana smirked smugly at me, but it quickly fell as Morgana continued.
“You should know by now Lana doesn’t think things through.
Always in the way, messing things up.” She laughed coldly, her gaze slicing to Lana. “Always such a disappointment.”
Lana stiffened, her hands twitching by her sides as she met her mother’s icy gaze.
“You disappointed me too, Zara,” Morgana hissed, turning her icy gaze back to mine. Pain lanced through me, that thing in my chest coiling. “But, like I said, what’s done is done.”
I held my head high, my expression and gaze unwavering. I wouldn't show weakness or submission, and I wouldn't apologize for something I had no control over.
Morgana smirked, her expression thawing.
It had been three weeks since we took Territan—or rather, since they took it.
We were back in Velra, our home, where this entire plan had been set in motion. The guards who had played their part in our deception were gone, replaced by the usual insufferable ones, and had all been well compensated for their performance.
To pull off the illusion, she had everyone take potions daily to keep their magic suppressed.
Spencer, of course, had concocted them, and Morgana had somehow found a way to glamor everyone into looking human.
She had cast some sort of spell on the village and the castle.
It acted like a ward, surrounding us like a shield, cloaking anyone who entered within its boundary.
And then there was me.
My magic acted unpredictably, which prevented Morgana from controlling me as she'd planned, but in the end, she got the outcome she had wanted.
My mouth turned dry and my shoulders stiffened as Morgana strode forward, her pale face stopping only inches from mine.
My skin stung as her icy fingertips made contact with my cheek, her hands cupping my face.
I locked my gaze with hers, swallowing the urge to flinch.
Never let her see you weak. That lesson had been beaten into me long ago.
“I’m glad to see you up and feeling like yourself,” she murmured, a knowing smirk twisting on her lips. One of her hands left, and I felt the back of her fingers drag down my cheek in mock affection. “Have you fed? You need your strength for what comes next.”
A flash of resentment surged through me, and I forced a tight smile onto my lips. “I could use more blood.”
I didn’t. But I knew that’s what she wanted me to say, and it was better to do it my way than for her to force me.
Morgana studied my face, her eyes flitting between my own, searching. She suddenly released me from her grasp, the sting of the warm air burning my cheeks. With a wave of her hand, she gestured to someone behind me, and I heard the door to the library open.
Two short, mean-looking guards strode in, carrying a woman between them.
The woman had matted, long blonde hair. It was stringy, greasy and hung in clumps around her slim face, which was bruised heavily.
Yellow and blue stained her pallid skin, and her knees hit the floor with a sharp thud as the guards dropped her onto the cold stone.
The woman was shaking, and her hands were clenching and unclenching into fists.
Her hazel eyes glared in our direction as tears streaked down her cheeks.
I could tell she wasn't a source. She was a prisoner, an unwilling participant to this feeding. A punishment for something, or maybe nothing.
Morgana took measured slow steps toward the cowering woman, and the woman went still, rigid. She had restrained her somehow; the woman’s eyes flashed with fear.