The tunnels resemble a complex beehive, a twisted maze of corridors. The musty smell of damp earth mingles with the metallic tang of fresh blood as we leave corpses behind in every tunnel.
The humming sound of activity is distant yet uncomfortably close—like the incessant buzzing of a hornet’s nest. We dart from shadow to shadow, every nerve strung taut. James leads the way, his movements swift and fluid, his senses honed on the task at hand.
When we reach a crossroads in the tunnels, I glance at James. “Which way?” He debates for a moment before leading us to the right, and by the time we hit the next fork in the tunnel, the guards’ footfalls grow louder behind us.
Ahead, the tunnel splits, veering in two distinct directions, but the wolves, seem to have picked up Zirah’s scent. We follow them down the right side of the tunnel until James suddenly skids to a stop. His muscles coil in anticipation. I follow his gaze, my heart thudding in my chest as I take in the sight before us.
“Seriously, a little fucking help would be nice, Litha. It’s your daughter I am trying to save,” I curse at the dead witch under my breath, talking to thin air as if she can hear me.
We’ve stumbled into a part of the tunnel that seems to be a central hub. It opens into a massive cavern with fridges, tables, lockers, and TVs covering the walls. But there’s also a horde of vampire guards, and their eyes gleam maliciously in the low light as we come to a stop.
“You’re really making me earn my redemption, or is this another game of my condemnation,” I hiss at the Fates. Without missing a beat, James and I spring into action.
We’re a whirlwind of fury and desperation, our attacks synchronized as if we’re extensions of each other. James slashes through a guard, while I send another sprawling with a swift kick, knocking down two others as if they were bowling pins. Our struggle is punctuated by the sickening crunch of bones and hissing vampires meeting their end. Gnash and Hunter plunge into the massacre.
Despite our swift onslaught, more guards swarm forward. We fight back-to-back, the line between friend and foe blurred in this dance of death. But my strength is waning, each swing and hit takes energy I don’t have to waste.
The animal within me stirs restlessly, scratching, clawing at the walls of my consciousness. I feel James wobble, his strength draining, yet he fights on with relentless determination while Gnash and Hunter tear into those I don’t see coming. Gnash, I know, can sense our imminent deaths. He can sense my time is running out.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Every inch of my body aches as I pry my eyes open to see what has awakened me. It’s the guards stabbing Lyon through the bars with darts. His grunt woke me, and he jolts awake, eyes wild. Zeke quickly moves me under him, using his body as a shield. A second later, Zeke also groans, his back arching above me.
My vision is blurry, and my senses dull as I feel my connection to my mates wane slightly. The poison they were injected with ripples through me. “Did you think you could hide your shift from me?” Slavic snaps.
I am wrapped in a fog of sedation as I turn to look at him. My thoughts are a swirling storm of confusion and distress. The tang of mandrake root fills my nostrils, the harsh metallic bite doing little to dispel my growing disorientation. It feels as if I am trapped beneath the crushing depths of the ocean.
Slavic stands safely on the other side of the bars, arms folded across his chest as he glares at me. With one finger, he points to the corner of the cell, and I notice the little red flashing light—a camera.
“Ensure she can’t shift,” he snarls, walking off. Suddenly, my chest is lit with red dots, and despite being heavily drugged, Lyon tries to block me, but he’s hit with the cow prodder those guards are so fond of, Zeke too, but several darts hit his chest. I move to attack them as my body begins to shift, but the warm sensation of their darts sinking into my skin stalls my changing form. I choke on the bitter taste of poison in the back of my throat.
“I cannot shift,” I mutter as I look down at my very human hands. The ground rushes up to meet me with a hard thud. The primal force within me rumbles, caged and furious, but it has been weakened, reduced to a mere whisper beneath the chemically induced slumber.
The cage around me is alive with shadows, brutal darkness broken by slivers of artificial light from the guards’ flashlights. Through the gloom, I see the flicker of movement—my coven members split between two cells. Despair clings to them like a second skin, but I see determination smoldering in their eyes.
Kelly leans against the bars. “I heard the guards talking earlier,” she states, and I lift my groggy head. “He’s coming for you, Priestess. It’s why Slavic is in such a state. They’re securing a place for you to perform the spell.”
An elderly woman of my coven speaks from within the same cell as Kelly. “Eastern side of the mountain. Slavic has been trying to block that side off.” Her aura doesn’t ripple as the others do, so it only takes me moments to realize that it’s Leila’s grandmother. Her face is covered in dirt and her hair matted with blood from where she took a hit to the head.
Kelly places her hand outside the cell, pressing it against the ground. My hands also feel the vibration of the guards’ return.
“Listen,” I rasp, my voice carrying in the hushed silence. I draw on the threads of magic that bind us, reaching out to their minds. The connection is tenuous at best, frayed and weakened, but it is there. “We need to plan an escape. We can’t just use brute force.”
A myriad of emotions filters through the bond—fear, hope, anger, but there is an unwavering determination beneath it all. It fuels me and stokes the flames of defiance within my heart.
Suddenly, an alarm bellows throughout the compound, a high-pitched wail that slices through the tense stillness. I cringe at the racket, my ears ringing from the onslaught. Then, the world lurches beneath us. A violent tremor is followed by a loud explosion that sends a shudder through the mountain. Dust cascades from the ceiling, a sinister rain of gray that chokes the air.
A sliver of hope blossoms in my chest through disorientation and fear. The chaos might be the opportunity we need. “This is our chance,” I send the thought out to my coven, gripping the bars of my cage, my knuckles white. “If Regan is here, we must be ready,” I warn them.
“We have no magic without Leila or without the curse being broken first,” Kelly says, and my brows furrow.
“But you can channel me,” I tell them, and they glance at each other, making me realize they are hiding something. “We can, but we won’t, not until the curse is broken,” Kelly whispers, and the vibration through the rock floor grows stronger.
“Our magic was locked in the square when Litha died. To use our magic, we need the entire coven and the square for a channel, but we won’t channel you. If we weaken you, we risk everything,” she whispers.
“I don’t understand,” I tell her.
“To break the curse, you choose them all or let Regan fall along with King Theron. Until then, we are powerless without something to channel. We channel from the square where Litha fell. That sacred place punished our mothers and absorbed our power. When dawn rises, they will either fall or live by your mark, but either way, the spell will be broken.”
