As Slavic’s dead son’s body is brought in, I peer around at what remains of my coven. “Hurry,” Slavic orders with a kick to my side. I stumble forward and nearly land on his dead son. Glaring at him, he sneers. “Don’t tempt me, or I will have Lyon killed this time,” Gritting my teeth at his words, I start the chant, my voice ringing out in the eerie silence.
King Slavic’s eyes are on me, intense and probing. His impatience is a thick cloud in the room. And then, I change the words, deviating from the familiar chant.
“That’s not the spell you used last time!” he bellows. I meet his glare, holding my ground, but there’s panic beneath his anger.
“It’s a stronger spell. The other didn’t work,” I say calmly. My words hang in the tense silence, a promise of power, of resurrection. Or so he thinks.
He turns to one of his guards. “Well, look it up!” he orders the man who holds my coven’s grimoire, but they won’t find this one. This one I know from Granny; she created it herself.
Cold determination fuels me as I begin the incantation while Slavic’s guard sifts through pages. “In sanguine vinculo, malum purifico,” I chant, my voice steady. My coven, held captive, looks at me with wide, knowing eyes. They can see it in my gaze, feel it in my words as they ripple around the room. I’m setting the stage for war, and the underground of this mountain is about to be our battlefield.
“How does this spell work? Is it the same as the blood bond?” Slavic demands, his voice grating on my nerves as his men search the grimoire for my words.
A deceptive smile tugs my lips, my heart pounding a fierce rhythm against my ribs. “Oh, it’s much better,” I say, my voice dripping with malice. “It cleanses, restores, rejuvenates, recalibrates the negative energy.”
“Is it . . . black magic? Will he be the same?” he questions, his brow furrowed.
“He’ll be better, purer.”
“So he won’t be darker like with the blood bond?” he questions.
Laughter bubbles up from deep within me, a biting tune in the chilling silence. “No, it’s something else, something purer, something your son is not,” I retort. There’s a cruel satisfaction in seeing his face fall. In the confusion and uncertainty that flicker in his cold eyes, he looks at his guard holding the spell book. The man shrugs and quickly turns another page.
With a swift flick of my fingers and a ferocious scream, I finish the incantation. “IGNIS!” The body before us catches fire, flames engulfing it in searing defiance.
“It cleanses us of evil, and your son was one of the worst!” I scream at Slavic, my words ringing out in the room.
“No!” Slavic’s scream turns to a roar. So I shift, and my body morphs, contorting painfully as I transition into my lycan form.
Chaos erupts. Guards rush toward me, their swords gleaming under the harsh light. But I’m faster, stronger. With my coven watching, I tear through them, my claws making quick work of their feeble attempts at subduing me.
Meanwhile, the members of my coven spring into action, turning on the guards that hold them and causing chaos before racing to free Zeke and Lyon, their faces etched with determination. They fight with a ferocity that leaves me feeling a bizarre mix of pride and fear.
Fear that they will be hurt, rendering them powerless once we leave here. The air crackles with raw power as I fling magic at Slavic. All around me, the once stifling underground turns into a battlefield. Metal chains clang and snap, and my mates hit the ground.
Chapter Fifty-Two
A potent mix of relief and distress fills the air as the freed half of the coven streams from the depths of the mountain bunker. Kelly, a powerful witch who happens to despise me, staggers forward, her energy severely depleted. Her body is marred by the unforgiving clutch of King Slavic and his men. Despite hating me, she allows me to help her, which is a relief because I’m pretty sure she would have dropped in the tunnels had I not grabbed her.
Leila, an unwavering small girl amid the turmoil, helps drag the last woman out before I have a chance to go back for her. She stumbles out with the woman, who is choking desperately on the dust and debris. Her eyes search and scan the faces of her coven.
“Grandma?” she calls out, and I see James also peering around, checking the faces of the women here, but they are far too young.
Kelly stands straighter, shaking off my hand holding her arm. “Crap.” She walks over to Leila, her steps heavy and tired. “Leila,” she calls, her voice hesitant as she waves to get the girl’s attention. “Your grandmother . . .” She pauses, unsure how to continue.
Leila’s face hardens. “Where is she, Kelly?” she asks, but I can still see the fear in her eyes. Kelly looks back at the mountain and sighs heavily. “What happened?” Leila asks, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.
“Half the coven is still trapped . . . Your grandmother is with them,” Kelly replies.
Leila bites her lip, her gaze fierce but trembling. She takes a deep breath and looks back at the mountain’s tunnel entrance. “Well, I guess I’ll go get her,” she declares, her voice filled with conviction, and I can tell there won’t be any way to talk her out of it.
“Leila, the mountain is crumbling, it’s literally falling apart. I can feel it under my feet, that place isn’t stable,” Kelly says, grabbing her arms.
Leila takes a step back. “I never said you had to go with me, but I am going, Kelly. I promised my brother I’d bring our grandma home, and I will.”
Kelly glances at the mountain before her lips form a hard line, and she grabs the girl tightly. “You listen to me, and you listen well. You have until the third crack, the fourth it falls. You need to be out by the third crack,”
“Third crack?” Leila questions.
