Wolf's Kin (Monstrous Hearts #3)

Chapter Sixteen

The witch who called herself Cleo stood among the lonely ruins, moving only to adjust her spectacles against the harsh winds. She looked far out of place among the crumbling walls of the castle, more like a young tourist in her thick coat, ripped jeans, and sturdy hiking boots.

A deceptive sight—she knew this place better than anyone and yet glanced at the stones scattered in the green pastures without a hint of affection. She had been born in this area and had stared at the castle quite often as a child. Always hating how pitiful it looked, like the carcass of a mighty beast. Always hating how the moldering arches were the grandest things she could ever hope to see.

It was sheer familiarity that brought her here, and all her attention remained fixed on the heavy book in her arms. It was an old, ugly-looking thing—its leather binding had cracked with age, and blood and grime spattered every page. Yet its presence gave her the confidence to pull off her scarf and let the wind whip her scent for miles. Eventually, the beast that had killed two from her coven would find it and track it.

Portia and Vanna had both been fools; they had believed the power of their king would protect them. She knew better. He was the keystone to their rituals, the raw strength that granted their wishes true... and his force worked through their words and their plans. In the end, their flaws had failed them. She intended to do better.

She knew nothing about the black wolves, and apparently her coven-sisters hadn't known enough. Yet within the tattered pages of this grimoire, ancient witches shared rituals and abilities otherwise lost to time. Her research had revealed no insight into what sort of magic put a man in his grave and pulled him back out as a wolf, but she had found something even better: a way to end immortality.

From the satchel beside her, she withdrew a long dagger. The dark, triangular blade gleamed like an oil slick. Sigils appeared on its surface as she placed it on the book.

"Not yet," she said, softly, and the sigils brightened as if the dagger could sense her words. "Not until the end."

Then she put both objects back in the satchel and found a broken wall to sit on, ignoring how her brief movement ignited a rattle of metal. Ah, yes, her first line of defense, even now fanning out around her new position. Silent, obedient, standing at attention as if the decrepit stones were still a worthy castle: fully armored knights with their weapons at ready. The bones inside them had belonged to medieval warriors, but now they were unthinking, unliving things, nothing more than puppets to her commands.

There were twelve of them of course—twelve to represent her king's crown of antlers. Cleo couldn't remember the last time she had thought of him with anything close to affection, but it never hurt to ingratiate herself to his ego. She doubted any of the coven truly adored him. Merely his power.

They all waited, alert to the first sign of intruders...

Clouds had slipped between the nearby mountains when she caught sight of them. From that distance, they were mere blots against the rugged landscape, easy to mistake as lost backpackers or tourists. Yet they moved with purpose, and her skin prickled at the exact moment their path turned in her direction.

When they were near enough to make out their faces, she wondered how Portia and Vanna had ever underestimated the vargr. Even in human form, he looked feral, the glint in his eyes suggesting he had already decided how to kill her. If she hadn't met Adair and learned what the famed black wolves were really like, she would have been terrified.

She studied the witch beside him with far less caution. Jealousy was something she hated to feel, but there it was, worming its way into her heart at the sight of the girl who had captured their king's attention with her mere appearance.