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.
It was easy to see why. Even as this Alice studied her with open hatred, she possessed a vulnerable air that they had all lost centuries ago. To think that his tastes could be so simple... so blind to other options. It was infuriating.
She struggled to keep her reaction hidden while they slowed to study the motionless knights. When they remained silent, she called out, "They're here for my protection and won't attack unless I tell them. You've killed two members of my coven. I didn't think you'd be any friendlier with me, even though I've done nothing to harm you."
"Yet," said the girl. If the vargr beside her had an air of impassive brutality, then she was unrestrained emotion, her voice shaking with anger.
Cleo remained sitting, remained still and composed. She had prepared for a fight, but that didn't mean she was averse to taking an easier way out. The vargr wasn't about to listen; he eyed the knights without a hint of doubt, ready to attack. But the girl might be open to persuasion. "It's possible to avoid any further killing. To find a peaceful way out of this."
"If this is some trick..."
"I swear I'm being sincere. I'm sure your companion can smell as much. There's plenty of magic I could use to get the first blow in, but I'm trying to negotiate, not attack." Cleo watched the vargr from the corner of her eye. Strange, how he made her nervous in a way that Adair never had. He seemed much closer to the savage side of his nature, and she fervently hoped the girl would take the smart way out.
The girl nodded. "Go on."
Cleo sighed and glanced around at the harsh rock puncturing through the green grass. "There used to be a village here before a plague wiped it out. I grew up in it. I had a miserable childhood, believing I'd be nothing more than an ignorant hedge witch using charms to give her goats more milk than her neighbors'. That I would marry some brute and breed for him like I was a farm animal myself until I was discovered and burned for what I could do. I hated every part of my life, including its future.
"When a warlock came for me, I didn't like him any more than the village boys. But I understood that becoming his was far better than any other option. He could give me the power to find my true joy in life. Books. Knowledge. New experiences." Her fingers stroked the satchel until she realized the vargr was now watching her.
She quickly folded her hands and added, "That warlock wasn't Edric. I've been in several covens and served several hag kings. Just because they want you now doesn't mean they want you forever."
The girl shook her head. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I'm saying Edric will lose interest in you. He certainly has with the rest of us. Why not take the best way out for both parties? Join the coven while he wants you and leave it again when he's finished."
The girl laughed, a high, disbelieving sound.
Cleo stiffened. She hated being sneered at. "Don't dismiss it that quickly. It's a lot more rational than your current campaign of death. You'd have to leave the child behind, but—"
"You're a few words away from a ruined throat," said the vargr. His voice sounded rough as a growl and unnervingly flat.
Cleo resisted the urge to reach for the knife. As her gaze darted back to the girl, she said, "I'm just pointing out that you don't have to like the hag king—or the rest of us—to be part of the coven. Pretend enough to get by and then use the power he gives you for what you truly want. Why turn away this opportunity when you can exploit it?"
"Let him use me so I can use him. Does that sum it up?" The girl had fallen serious again, but the bitterness in her voice suggested she was anything but convinced. The vargr eyed the knights once more.
Cleo tried a final time, refusing to fail that quickly. "What would you really lose? Even as his, you can keep your own sense of self. It merely has to stay hidden. It's a shame that my coven-sisters have repulsed you with their behavior, but it doesn't have to be yours. You can remain better than them."
"Is that what you think you are? Do you think you're better?"
"Completely. They really believe they can win his eternal favor and always be his special one. I've never had such delusions."
"But you still want him. You still sacrifice people in his name. And right now, you're aching to win me over peacefully because you're sure he'll notice you for it." The girl's voice dipped into a growl as she added, "You would've eaten my stepmother and sister along with the others. You do what they do. You say what they say. How can you call yourself better when you act exactly like them?"
With a hiss, Cleo rose from her seat, finally fed up. "You're thinking like a child. Become his, get more from it than you ever could on your own, and then go back to the life you want, including your wolf. Believe me, this is the only peaceful way."
"We're way past the point of that," said the girl. Her eyes changed color as she and the vargr both circled away.
Cleo resisted the urge to spit. "So be it. You're both such fools."
Then the knights jumped past her, axes and swords raised high.
The vargr snarled something at the girl and lunged at the nearest one. Cleo watched from the corner of her eye while grabbing at the satchel, interested in how the girl struggled with changing into a wolf. It looked painful, as if she did it out of sheer willpower rather than any formal knowledge or spell, but she also seemed used to it, shaking her fur in place and growling as Cleo straightened up with the grimoire and dagger.
Cleo kept her expression blank—not an easy task as the vargr disarmed the first knight and beheaded it with its own axe. He obviously knew what he was doing, and the bastard was strong. Even as the armor crumpled, revealing the cracked bone inside, she pressed her palm against the grimoire, flooding the rest of the knights with extra speed.
The she-wolf tried pulling a knight down with her weight, but her teeth glanced off the armor. She avoided the stab of its sword without fear and circled around to try again.
Cleo bit back a curse; she had commanded the knights not to injure the girl. The vargr yelled at the she-wolf again, words blurred by the rattle of armor as the knights attempted to swarm him. Cleo guessed that he was telling her to flee, and felt her breath fall shallow at the idea.
It further constricted when yellow eyes met hers and revealed what flashed through the she-wolf's mind: if Cleo commanded them, then stopping her might stop them all. Her fingers began to sweat against the book.
Two more knights crumpled to the ground, but another caught the vargr's side with its sword, staggering him. At that, the she-wolf snarled and lunged for Cleo, who ran further back into the ruins. The vargr roared something, his words muffled by the frantic beat of her heart as she stopped beneath an archway that stood alone. The grimoire also sweated in her hands, the human skin it had been bound with now heating up from the force of this next spell.
Just as she turned with the book tight to her chest, teeth latched onto her arm and pulled her to the ground. Goose down from her coat exploded into the air. Her arm felt like it was being ripped out of its socket. Everything was fur and muscle and snarling.
Then she felt the book twist beneath her stiff fingers and knew the she-wolf had swallowed enough blood.
"Get back!" she screamed, panic driving her voice high, and then the power was there, invisible yet forceful as slashing antlers.
Another knight fell as the she-wolf was flung away, but the others continued to block the vargr from reaching her. Cleo panted as the she-wolf struggled upright as a girl again, confusion clear on her blood-smeared face. Only a few feet separated them, but all fear drained from Cleo as she shrugged off her ruined coat and pulled up the sleeves of her shirt.
"Your black wolf isn't the only invincible thing," she said, sneaking a glance as another knight fell. She would have to be quick. "But he's strong enough that we didn't think we could keep him from protecting you. Instead, we found a way to make sure you couldn't stand being near him. All it takes is a taste of blood."
Even as the girl grabbed at a nearby sword, the will to fight still on her face, Cleo used the dagger on her own arm, spilling more blood onto the opened grimoire. The girl screamed, contorting with the pages. Somewhere beyond the mass of metal, the vargr snarled again.
Cleo called the remaining knights to separate them and then ignored everything except her work, gritting her teeth while carving sigils into the ground and using her wounded arm to drip blood onto them. Then she bowed her head, feeling the hag king's will respond. The grimoire pulsed like a heart from the sudden flush of power. It coursed through her as well, exhilarating and hot as it followed her blood to the girl. The screaming abruptly stopped.
It had been so long since she'd felt her king's power fill her full. For several breaths, Cleo forgot where she was and what was happening. The rush felt as explosive as a climax, as searing as a knife wound. She felt like she could crack the entire world from pounding her fist against the ground. She felt like she could crush every person she hated by sheer force of will. There was nothing sweeter than a warlock's power and her will to guide it.
When her eyes cleared again, she was shaking and panting, kneeling on the grass with the book clutched to her like a child. The vargr was through all but two of the knights, his hunter's instinct severing the plates of armor into heaps of over-decorated metal. The blood on his face magnified the wild rage in his eyes.
The remaining knights blocked his view but not hers, and she smiled at what she saw, voice rising even as he crippled them into useless bone. "Too late! She won't recognize you now. She can't."
Then her gaze flickered back to what stumbled up from where the girl had been. A doe, panicked yet unsteady on her delicate legs. Wide eyes glanced over the vargr with mindless terror.
"Alice," he murmured. Despite the blood staining his clothes, it was the first time he sounded desperate.
At the sound of his voice, the doe shied away. The flash of the surrounding metal further frightened her, and she fled, out of sight in a second.
Cleo let her go; the rest of the coven had their own parts to play, and she wasn't yet finished with hers. "Follow her if you like. She'll never stop running from you. She's not yours anymore."
When the black wolf looked at her again, the glint in his eyes had turned murderous.
Despite the pain throbbing in her arm, she flattened her hand against the grimoire once more. "And now to take care of you."
As he stepped over a pile of armor, sword in hand, the ground groaned. The grass lurched and bubbled from sudden pressure beneath it.
"An entire village was lost to plague and buried here," she said, remaining calm even as the earth around her roiled and shook. "My village. Old skeletons aren't very strong, but there are a lot of them."
The black wolf just snarled as the first of the bodies struggled up from the earth, stained bones held together by rags and roots. As they staggered upright, surrounding him, Cleo shook her head, readying the dagger. "How long can even you last? The hunt is over."