“Not as strong, though. Your mother was a force to be reckoned with, but you just had to get yourself tied to the Lycan Kings,” he mocks.
“So, we have no idea where he went, My King?” the vampire guard asks, and my eyes go to him. I can smell his fear; it perfumes the van, and my eyes go back to King Slavic.
“They’re linked. Malachi said she marked them all, so wherever he is, as long as we keep these two down, we’ll have time to perform the ritual. He won’t be coming for anyone if these two are incapacitated” the king says.
I can’t help but laugh, the noise sounding odd as it escapes my throat. He has no idea that Regan will be coming for him. The king’s blood-red eyes peer down at me with a devious sparkle.
“My Queen, do share what you find so funny. You’re helpless while your mates are paralyzed, and your coven?” My laughter cuts off abruptly when he mentions my coven. Now King Slavic is laughing. “Oh, you didn’t know? I’m guessing by the look on your face, this is news to you?” he laughs, squeezing my face harder, his nails digging into my skin. “I have your coven, and soon I’ll have the four kingdoms.”
With as much force as I can muster, I lunge against his hold and spit in his face. His smile shifts into a sneer as he drags one hand down his jaw. With his other hand, he grabs my throat, wrapping his slender fingers around my neck.
“Stupid little girl!” His hand tightens on my throat until I can barely breathe. “I’m going to drug your mates with so much mandrake root and amphetamine, then I’m going to watch them hallucinate and tear you apart.” I glare at him. “But first, I need something else. I need them to bring my son back,” he snarls. “So, if you could point me in the right direction to find Regan, it would be much appreciated; I’m a little bored with this game of hide and seek,” he chuckles.
Something within me sparks. A sense of defiance bubbles up, kindled by his derisive words. “You foolish man,” I sneer. He smirks at my response, clearly underestimating the storm brewing within me.
He dares to ridicule me, belittle my ties with my mates, and lay claim over my coven. “You forget, My King,” I spit. “I am not my mother. You are right. I am something else. I am the curse she created.”
He raises an eyebrow, the first flicker of doubt crossing his features. “I know exactly who you are, Zirah,” he retorts, a note of challenge lacing his words.
I laugh, the sound eerie and resounding in the confined space of the van. His guards glance nervously at me, and the tremor in their eyes only stokes the embers of my rebellious defiance.
“And you,” I start, turning my attention to the guards. “Are all dead,” I chuckle. The guards glance at each other, and the king raises an eyebrow at me. “Hell hath no fury . . .” My eyes flick from one guard to another, ensuring my words sink in. “Like Wrath.”
“Regan is somewhere passed out in a ditch, turning cold and probably pissing his pants right about now,” King Slavic states.
This idiot has no idea the monster he is playing with. “Imagine, if you will,” I challenge the king, my voice dripping with icy scorn. “A wrath that’s been wronged. A wrath that’s been provoked. But now imagine . . . that same wrath ignited by the desire to save his virtue. To save me.”
“She lies, ignore her ramblings. She is hallucinating from the mandrake root,” the king states, rising to his feet.
“Do you really believe your castle walls, your armies, or even your power would be enough to halt him?” I laugh as the king’s face turns ashen. His bravado falters as he considers my words.
“Gather your guards, fortify your defenses, and you better start praying. For when Wrath arrives, not even the Fates can save you.”
“You think your words scare me?” he laughs, leaning down.
“They should, My King.” He falters for a second. “Wrath is not tied to me. I rejected our bond, but he’ll come for me anyway. He’ll come for his brothers, and when he does . . .” I smile. “You’ll meet your son in the afterlife.”
His hand whips through the air and connects with my face. My head jerks to the side, but I don’t feel the sting. However, I do taste my blood as it fills my mouth. My tongue runs over my bit lip. I smirk, knowing I got under his skin.
The king hastily exits the van. His men follow suit, leaving me alone. The deafening slam of the door reverberates through the van, plunging me into darkness.
King Slavic better run, for if Regan doesn’t kill him, I will the moment I feel my magic again.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Zeke’s kingdom, a place of radiant beauty and ceaseless activity, is now an ominous ghost town. The destruction is widespread but selective. The castle lies in ruins, but the homes of the ordinary citizens remain untouched, their lives spared from the savagery.
I walk over scattered debris and broken bodies, the once vibrant castle now echoing the cries of the fallen guards. The scent of death hangs heavily in the air, intertwining with the coppery tang of blood staining the stone floor. It’s a ghastly scene straight out of a nightmare—guards fallen like broken toys, their lifeblood pooled around them, painting a morbid portrait of defeat.
On the second landing, I find two familiar figures huddled together—Hunter and Shadow. Their condition is just as horrifying. My heart clenches as I call out, looking for my wolf. “Gnash!” My voice bounces off the stone walls.
“Are they . . . ?” A trembling voice interrupts my thoughts. I lift my gaze to find the young witch, Leila, and my Uncle James, standing close by.
“They’re alive but very weak,” I reply, my voice a broken whisper. Biting into my wrist, I force my blood into the mouths of the near-death wolves. The metallic taste of my own life force fills my senses, my every nerve screaming at me.
“Should you be doing that?” James questions, his brows furrowed with concern. I ignore him, continuing to feed my blood to them, praying that the wolves don’t reject it.
The silence grows thick and heavy as I move to Shadow. My actions have consequences. If the wolves survive, they’ll be tied to my life essence. We’re playing a dangerous game against time, and the countdown has already begun to Zirah’s first shift. The risks are high. Too high.
