Without thinking, I tossed the emerald talisman at Zephora's chest, scarcely giving the coven-leader enough time to catch the small object. My audacity clearly caught the woman off-guard, since she didn't lift a hand in time to catch the magical ring. Milliseconds before it collided with her chest, the ring paused midair and twirled between us.
She might not have been able to catch it in time, but her magic was fast as a whip. It crackled in the air between us for one long moment, and I felt my brazenness shrinking with every passing second that the ring floated slowly toward Zephora's extended palm. The witch offered a feline smile that didn't reach her eyes, and a chill tickled my spine at the sight of a dozen other witches mirroring the same expression.
These women could cripple me with a single glance, yet here I was throwing out demands and pitching magic talismans at their leader. I had half a mind to apologize, but Zephora's attention had already drifted to the emerald ring that now rested in her slender hand.
"Thank you for returning this to my coven," Zephora finally muttered, her thumb grazing the edges of the stone.
"Let's hope your magic proves itself to be worth it," I replied, crossing my arms against my chest. "It wasn't easy to retrieve."
Memories of Savannah's severed finger and a dozen Golden Walker warriors lying on the ground flashed through my mind, and I forced the reality of the situation from my thoughts. If I dwelled on the consequences of my actions for too long, I'd lose sight of the reasons behind them. I'd lose my edge.
A witch that I did not recognize snorted, "The Golden Walker Pack is a piss-poor ally. You didn't lose much in making an enemy of them."
My knuckles bleached as my hands tightened into fists, but before I could open my mouth, a low growl rumbled from beside me.
Nolan stepped forward, "Keep your witchlings on a tighter leash, Zephora."
I offered my mate a sideways glance, taking a moment to appreciate the muscle that twitched beneath his chiseled jaw. The helplessly ravenous female inside of me begged to trace the stubble that lined his strong features, to trail kisses along the muscles in his neck that clenched and betrayed his anger.
Zephora, on the other hand, looked like she might like to rake her magic like daggers across his chest and leave him bleeding out in the grass. She hated his demands as much as he hated hers.
This allyship hung on a very, very thin thread.
But a huff of agreement spread low throughout the surrounding werewolves, a quiet display of unity behind their Alpha, and Zephora must have realized that we outnumbered her coven. She released a tension-filled breath.
"You must forgive Alisia's words against your old pack, Luna," Zephora spoke to me, although her eyes remained on Nolan. "My coven finds it difficult to forgive thieves. We are grateful that you retrieved our talisman, nonetheless."
My father and brother bristled at the subtle insult in the coven leader's words, but I chose not to defend their honor. Another day, I silently promised to them. For now, we had more pressing issues.
"Now, your end of the deal," Nolan pressed, all but ignoring Zephora's apology on behalf of the witch named Alisia.
She waved a hand in the air, "Of course, of course."
And then I felt it. The prickle of magic wafting through the air, buzzing in my ears and then slowly seeping down the rest of my body. It tickled my fingers and kept rushing downwards, pooling in the bottoms of my feet. I blinked at the sensation, foreign but not unpleasant. At least, until the magic began to take root in the ground beneath my soles.
"What the..." I trialed off, realizing that I couldn't move.
My legs were firmly anchored to the grass and dirt beneath me, and, no matter how much I concentrated, I couldn't lift a single toe. Zephora's magic rooted itself deep, and I became a statue frozen from the waist-down.
"Nolan!" I shouted, twisting my torso so I could turn to face him, but Zephora reached me first.
Too preoccupied by my sudden loss of control, I didn't realize that the coven-leader wielded a knife in her hand until it came slashing down upon my palm. The same palm that had only just begun healing from when I'd enticed the hybrid earlier that morning.
Pain sliced through my forearm, followed quickly by the familiar warmth of blood leaking down each fingertip. I clutched my bleeding palm to my chest like that might stifle the pain pulsating from the already-exposed wound, but the damage had been done.
Every member of the Black Lupis Pack snarled at the unprovoked attack on me, their Luna, and Nolan already situated himself between Zephora and me. He snarled, one taloned hand lifted in the middle of an attack, but the magic had stopped his movements as well.
He cursed at the witch, who merely smirked at the sight of the all-powerful alpha reduced to this, "Oh, calm down, Alpha... I just needed a bit of blood."
She slowly moved away from his extended claws, enjoying the situation too much for her own good, and brought the blade of the talon to her eye-level. The steel was doused in a thin layer of my blood, and she brought the metal to her tongue, lapping at the crimson liquid.
Zephora's daughter, Angelina, stepped forward now, carefully maneuvering around Nolan's massive, shaking form before stopping in front of me. Something like pity shone in her eyes as I continued to struggle against the magic rooting my legs in place, but she did not hold my gaze longer than one second.
She pulled a small, silver chalice out of a satchel slung over her shoulder, and placed it beneath my bleeding hand, which was now as immobile as the rest of my body. The thick, metallic liquid pooled in the cup.
What began as a small puddle at the bottom of the chalice continued to rise, and my injured palm did not begin clotting to stifle the blood flow. Magic, no doubt, manipulated and milked my veins for more and more.
And the witches began chanting. Latin verses left their lips in unison, like they had practiced this particular spell a thousand times before. Like the words had been implanted in their brains since before birth, as if the Moon Goddess had gifted them each with this particular seed of knowledge. It should have terrified me, but I no longer felt in danger.
Even Nolan stopped his thrashing at the sound of their chorus rising above all other surrounding noise. A warm, unnatural breeze lifted my hair and swarmed around the crowds of wolves and people alike, and I thought I scented wonder and terror mingling through the air.
Witches... Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. For half of a second, I felt envious of them.
And then everything stopped. My eyes snapped downward, and I realized that the chalice was filed to the brim. Immediately, I lifted my palm to my eyes, but the wound had already closed. My feet were no longer bedded to the dirt, and I nearly fell after taking my first step toward an unfrozen Nolan.
I'd forgotten Zephora and Angelina, forgotten the chanting witches from a moment ago and hurried into my mate's waiting arms. Nolan furiously grasped for me, as if he needed immediate reassurance that I'd not been harmed. It didn't matter that the pack or rogues were watching as he buried his head into the side of my neck.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark figure shift. Its ears flattened back against his head. Dominic. I squeezed my eyes shut once more.
Angelina passed the chalice filled with my gore to her mother, who now brushed past Nolan and me without a care in the world. If I hadn't been pressed so tightly to my Alpha's chest, he might have wrung the coven leader's neck, so I pressed myself closer to him.
"I'm okay," I whispered in his ear, and the trembling of his muscles lessened. When I sensed that he'd finally calmed down enough, I pulled back.
Just in time to watch Zephora stride between the werewolves gathered at the entrance of our packhouse, blood sloshing over the edges of the silver goblet. She stopped in front of the door, whispered one last spell, and dipped her fingers into the thick crimson. When her fingers emerged, she painted my blood across the threshold of the doorway.
She painted until the last droplet of my blood had been drained from the chalice, and then stepped back. "It is finished."