“King Theron isn’t my mate,” I remind her.
“You’re right, but his curse is similar, and his only way for redemption is through his sons.”
“What has that got to do with you using me as a channel?” I ask.
Kelly looks away, not offering an answer. Thankfully, Dahlia, Leila’s grandmother, does. “Kelly is a seer. If she says they can’t channel you, she has a reason for it. It means Kelly has seen you’ll need your power, Priestess,” Dahlia tells me.
Dahlia’s words make my stomach twist in knots. “What did you see?” I ask curiously, and Kelly turns her head to look at me through the bars, her gaze distant as if she is looking through an invisible veil of time. Her eyes turn white, her pupils too, casting an eerie sight to witness. Her mouth opens, yet the voice that leaves her isn’t entirely her own.
“While a king’s power might lie in strength and command, a broken-hearted queen’s power thrives in the shadows of sorrow. Her heart’s agony becomes a weapon, her love’s loss a battle cry. She is the relentless night, the savage wind, a terror that neither forgives nor forgets.”
“I still don’t understand.” My brows press together, and I glance at the other witches in the cell with her. They look hollow, as if the words she speaks they already experienced.
“Mountains move, and kings may fall. A queen ascends but mourns it all. A queen without her heart’s true mate is fury, wrath, and love’s dark state.”
Instantly, I am reminded of how I rejected Regan. Still, he fights to reach me. Zeke, who fought for me, lies unconscious beside me. Finally, I stare at Lyon, who is still awake despite being drugged with mandrake root, his eyes savage as he crouches in the corner, watching my every move. Lyon’s mind hallucinates, telling him to end me, while some part of him clings to our bond to spare me.
Kelly’s voice clears my mind, pulling my attention back to her. “Your mother, a queen once scorned, altered history and cursed the kings. She cursed all of us. But you, Zirah, are her redemption, their condemnation, and our salvation. She cursed you as virtue incarnate, a priestess with the love and power of seven. However, your destiny is far more ominous. Pure and unbreakable virtues will become dark if your love is shattered.”
I feel the cold tendrils of fear grip me as I try to decipher her words and what she is keeping from me.
She doesn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes are fixed on some distant horizon. “Seven Sins she cursed them with—a father’s greed and sons’ betrayal. But you, the last female lycan born. You’re a hybrid, a child of virtue, you’re both the blessing and the curse. Your fall would be a cataclysm beyond reckoning.”
The tremors in the mountain grow stronger, the vibrations resonating through the rock floor as the guards approach, but Kelly’s voice remains steady, a haunting chant amid the chaos of my mind.
“A king’s downfall is sin. A queen’s is virtue turned dark. While a king kills, a queen with a broken heart sets the world on fire. A scorned king is a danger, but a scorned queen is an apocalypse.”
The prophecy she speaks sends a chill down my spine, and I grip the bars, my knuckles turning white, my mind reeling from the words. Kelly’s eyes finally meet mine, clear and focused but filled with sorrow I can’t fathom.
“Regret is the hardest thing to live with. Channeling your magic won’t be mine. If he falls, we all do. Your virtues are your strength, but if they break, they could become the worst of sins,” Kelly tells me while my mind wonders who it is that falls. Which of my mates did she see die? The footsteps grow nearer, voices carry in the tunnels when sudden alarms blare loudly again, and the guards fill the place.
The alarm continues to wail, the explosion and tremors signaling the approach of some unseen threat—or perhaps an opportunity. I pull my thoughts together, determined not to let fear paralyze me. “We will escape, Kelly. We will break the curse. And I will choose love, not darkness.” My cell door opens, and guards rush in. Lyon attacks instantly, but because he is injured and unhealing, he is no match for their darts or strength. Lyon’s dragged out, and my coven members scream as they are dragged from their cells.
Suddenly, Kelly yells above the chaos, her words wrapping around my mind and stealing my thoughts. “Remember, destiny is weaving, and you stand at the loom. The pattern may be set, but the threads can still be changed.”
The tension in the room grows palpable as we all prepare for whatever comes next, but the prophecy she speaks lingers in the air. It’s a warning, a challenge, a reminder that my choices could either redeem or damn us all.
Chapter Fifty
A putrid scent of death and decay permeates the air, mingled with the distinct metallic tang of spilled blood and the stale aroma of machine oil. It’s a sensory assault in this unholy melding of nature and technology.
James, the wolves, and I stealthily navigate the underground bunker. We are ghosts in the gloom, edging closer to the core of where Slavic has my mate.
As we twist through the snaking tunnels, we are confronted with more of his guards and something else. He appears to be a man. However, his towering form exudes a menacing aura, eyes glinting with predatory coldness. He is a monster bred for warfare, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle standing between us and Zirah. Dragon. He isn’t from mine or Slavic’s kingdom but one of the kingdom’s Slavic’s in alliance with. I just hope he is the only one here because dragon shifters are of a different caliber. Luckily for me, we are in too small of a space for him to shift.
“Does your king know you’re here?” I growl. My senses hyper-focus on him, canines lengthening instinctively, muscles coiling like a spring, but he is a solid wall.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his mouth and unleashes fire. I barely move in time, yet the heat is searing when the guards yell for him to stop. It only takes me moments to notice the explosives strapped to the walls. He may be fireproof, but none of us are, and neither are the rest of Slavic’s guard.
He growls menacingly and charges. I also run at him, but he has more reach than me and grabs a fist full of fur, flinging me to the back of a cell. I hit the wall with a thud, my body chipping away at the rock. Groaning, I roll onto my hands and knees only to spot a sight far more chilling than any adversary, and it freezes me in place.
Malachi’s body. Lifeless.
He’s been discarded on the grimy floor of this hellhole. The sight is a punch to the gut—as if all the air has been forcibly expelled from my lungs. James rushes over and punches the dragon shifter who tossed me like a feather, stopping his advance in time for me to get to my feet. However, it takes him seconds to spot his brother dead on the floor.
“Malachi?” he murmurs, dropping to his knees beside his younger brother. His agonized whisper echoes in the cavernous space, “Malachi . . .”
A raw, guttural sob shreds the eerie silence, reverberating through the stark corridors. It’s a sound no older brother should have to make, a pain so profound it claws at my heart. James’s hand trembles as he reaches out. The cold, unyielding feel of death beneath his fingertips is a harrowing reality.
