Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 24
“Argh!”
The stunted cry was guttural and followed by a distant howl. The Darkness shivered with perverse delight at the sounds. They would be too late.
“Hush now,” the witch cooed, stroking the blade’s edge along the stern line of the she-wolf’s jaw. “The time has come.”
The dagger’s point dropped down to the multitude of necklaces adorning Arlette’s neck. It made a pleasant tinkling noise as it glided over jewel and ornament alike.
“Now is the time,” the witch muttered once more as black veins began to spiderweb across her skin.
In a violent strike, Arlette was pinned to the ground by the witch’s body. Her struggle was futile, and her pain inconsequential to the witch as she was positioned for her demise.
“Mmph!”
“I said, hush.”
The hissed words were soaked in magic and stung sharply as they willed themselves upon the she-wolf. The witch wheezed with excitement and slashed the blade over Arlette’s cheek. Dark red spilled across her whitened pallor. Now was the time.
Unholy energy festered around Merida as she walked away from the broken woman. Her body trembled with anticipation as she dropped the wards.
“Come back to me,” the witch murmured, staring out into the dark recesses of the forest. “Come back to me, Luc.”
++
He did not understand how he came upon them. Only that in one instant he was searching for Arlette at the lake’s edge, his nose hunting for her scent in the sand, and the next he was here, at the old golden birch tree where they had found his younger brother Garret’s body last month.
Merida smiled at the sight of him. He was stunning in wolf form. His dark coat was thick and lustrous. His golden eyes were mesmerizing.
“You came,” Merida breathed.
Luc growled low in his throat, a warning to the witch that held his soulmark captive with a dagger against her neck. The scent of his soulmark’s blood in the air was close to driving him mad, and it was with great restraint that he did not make a move against the witch. His soulmark was not only in pain but drenched in fear that polluted the air with its sour stench.
“Change,” Merida commanded with lazy authority, the darkness in her eyes visibly gleaming as he failed to comply. The dagger pressed harder against Arlette’s neck. “Change.”
He did.
“If you release her to me now, I will kill you quickly,” he promised.
Merida produced another blade from behind her back and tossed it to him. The blade was small and dull—an added act of petty vengeance to the blow she was primed to strike.
“You are in no position to make demands of me,” a malefic voice spoke in place of Merida’s husky tone. “I shall not kill her,” it continued, “if you remove the soulmark upon your skin and give it to me.”
Arlette snarled a warning at her beloved and pressed forward toward him despite the blade’s keen touch. Luc responded with a growl of his own, his golden eyes ablaze as they darted between the pair.
“Release her!”
The witch’s smile fell. As did the dagger, until its wicked point caressed the she-wolf’s abdomen. Luc let out a snarl, so fierce his body shook with its release. But the witch stared impassively back, heedless to the parade of howls that followed the alpha's son’s anger.
“Don’t!” he shouted as the long edge of the blade ran softly along Arlette’s belly.
Several wolves appeared in the background, pawing frantically at the strange magical barrier that kept them from their leader’s son. The witch’s ward was erected once more.
“What have you done?” Luc demanded.
“Remove the mark, and I shall tell you.”
With great reluctance, he complied. His eyes locked upon the pair as he bent and plucked the small blade from the ground. He made short work of his task, though his face revealed what pain it caused him to do so. The wolves surrounding them barked and howled, stirred to a frenzy at the act.
Merida knocked Arlette to the side, one hand outstretched to catch her former lover’s soulmark as it soared through the air into her palm. Luc lunged forward but crumpled as Merida’s fingers curled possessively around his stolen flesh.
“Defiant until the end,” Merida seethed, a sneer curling her upper lip to reveal discolored teeth. “Nevertheless, a sacrifice no matter how unwilling is still a sacrifice.”
The pack cried out as one. It as a horrific and skull-splitting sound as Merida presented the pieces of flesh to the earth. The flesh quivered in her outstretched palm before rising. Merida’s lips parted and spoke.
“Ovræ playus outum! Viest tocrum o sath vorce.
Alst om duay cultost, nallem!”
Both Luc and Arlette grew taut at the first utterings of the archaic hex. It raked along the base of their necks and ignited a fire. In Luc, the fire blackened his heart. In Arlette, the fire blackened her womb.
“Ovræ playus outum! Viest tocrum o sath vorce.
Alst om duay cultost, nallem!”
The earth protested as did the stars and her altar tree. The witch’s body caved at the backlash, her bones crunching in protest. But the Darkness forged on, its will stronger than the forces of nature anticipated.
“Ovræ playus outum! Viest tocrum o sath vorce.
Alst om duay cultost, nallem!”
Arlette cried out against her gag in agony, the toxic touch of the fire spreading to her womb. The soulmark began to char in its levitated state while Luc watched on in frozen horror.
“Ovræ playus outum. Viest tocrum o sath vorce.
Alst om duay cultost, nallem.”
The last stance was all but whispered by the witch as she snatched the soulmark from the air. Her bony fingers squeezed tight around it as a snarl bared her stained teeth to the gathered pack.
“Ovræ playus outum. Viest tocrum o sath vorce.
Alst om duay cultost, nallem—duem raste lorem!”
A brilliant light eclipsed the gathering, followed by the mournful howls and keens of the pack stricken by the hex. The witch convulsed as the words continued to tumble past her brittle lips. A dangerous power poured from her body, leaving only ruin in its wake.
Merida’s grip relaxed and from her palm poured the ashes rendered from the soulmark. Luc’s poignant anguish seized the pack bonds at the sight.
“No!”
Luc’s roared protest rebounded against the surrounding trees. With blade in hand and the strength of the Moon Goddess behind him, he ripped away from Merida’s enchantment and sprang forward. A terrible growl ripped from his chest as he slammed his once lover into the tree with his knife firmly planted in the center of her chest.
The witch gave a tremulous groan. Glassy black eyes slipping to pale blue.
“And with my final breath let it be done," Merida croaked. It was done. Their pride and prejudice will forever be their downfall. "Sealed, marked, and bound by my words. Farewell, my love.” Blood smattered across her lips and cheeks as what little life held in her body fled out her wound.
As her body slumped against the tree trunk, Luc abandoned her corpse for his wife. The binds that held her captive burned his hands, but he cared not. The magical wall had crumbled along with the witch, and his pack was here to help.
“Arlette! Arlette!” Luc dragged her into his chest, unabashedly crying his relief as she sobbed into his chest.
It was over.
The Calm
Chapter 14
I drink my coffee in small sips, keeping the mug close to my lips as I stare past the flowers placed in the center of the table and into the nothingness of the beyond. On the inside, my patience is reaching its breaking point.
Not that I let it show with Lucy watching me so intently.
Out of my peripheral vision, her brown eyes simmer with interest at my placid trace.
Of course, Lucy looks absolutely pristine today. Her hair is done up in a high ponytail to better show off her lithe neck in her off-the-shoulder sweater dress. There’s little doubt she’s dressed to impress as the weekend is finally upon us, which means Atticus is home all day.
But apparently not this morning.
My gaze flickers to the clock. It reads ten past nine. From the weeks that have passed, I know Atticus to be an earlier riser. His absence leaves me pondering the possibilities of his unusual tardiness. If it weren’t for hearing him arrive late last night, I would question his very presence in the house.
“Did you sleep well without your husband warming your bed, cousin?”
Lucy bats her lashes at me. The very picture of innocence… if one didn’t know a viper when they saw one.
“He snores,” I murmur as if I can’t be bothered to entertain Lucy.
With a tender sigh, I perch my elbows on the table and take another sip of coffee. Patience, I remind myself, he’ll come.
“Tell me, Winny”—my eyes roll sharply upward—“when will you see your little fairy friend again? I hoped after our conversation yesterday you’d be properly motivated to prove your loyalty.”
My soft hum is the only reply that I offer to Lucy, but it only spurs her on. She deposits her coffee onto the table to lean closer to me.
“Don’t forget, the tonic we wish you to provide the fairy with will do her no harm. It will merely take her out of play for a few short days. Honestly, Winter. All of this—” Lucy twirls her hand in the air “—can be resolved come next week! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
I set down my coffee as well, reluctantly turning my regard to Lucy. Her smile is benign, but her eyes hold a secret. “The witches will know something is wrong with her. Something unnatural.”
“Will they?” she counters. “How much do they really know about the way fairies act and behave?”
I have no response. Lucy’s smile remains the same.
“The witches will know there’s been foul play,” I argue back quietly. “It won't take them long to turn their eyes to me.”
“By the time they realize the depths of your betrayal, Winter, you’ll be far gone. I already told you we’ll return home once the task is finished. You do want to go home, don’t you?”
I force myself to keep her stare. “This is a dangerous hand to play, Lucy,” I warn her and attempt to steer the conversation away from my contested loyalties. “The Blancs threaten war with such an act.”
“Must I repeat myself again?” she hisses. “The tonic won’t hurt the little fool. However, it will ensure she can’t bolster the precious border of your new pack. Your parents aren’t interested in a war with the Trinity Coven. We all fully remember what happened last time our pack scorned a witch, do we not?”
Footsteps creak along the ceiling above, and our conversation comes to an immediate stop. We store away our sharp glares as the steps draw closer.
“Morning,” Atticus announces. He enters the room with closed eyes and a stretch. He’s shirtless, with sweatpants slung low on his trim waist. I can’t help but stare while his muscles unfold to accommodate the pull of his arms above his head.
I’m not the only one staring. My wolf rears its head, and a low growl tumbles past my throat as I direct a pointed look at Lucy. She raises both brows in response and leans back into her chair, averting her eyes reluctantly from Atticus broad-boned chest.
Atticus clears his throat, and I hastily return my gaze to him. His blue eyes flicker between the new vase of flowers on the table and me.
“Good morning,” I say, standing slowly and inching toward the kitchen. “Can I make you breakfast? Coffee?”
He nods, his gaze still drifting back and forth between the flowers and myself. He completely ignores Lucy’s own greeting, and I bite back a smile.
“That would be great,” Atticus finally says. A hand breezes through his already mussed hair, making the chestnut hair stand on end. This time my smile wins out. “What, uh, what kind of flowers are they?”
As he takes a seat at the table, I hurry to get him a cup of coffee, my sights darting between the figures at the table. Lucy’s arms are crossed over her chest, an unimpressed look on her face.
“They’re purple hyacinth,” I tell him, setting his hot beverage in front of him.
“Anyone with eyes can see they’re purple,” Lucy mutters.
But Atticus and I share a smile. His hand grazes my hip as I step away and back to the kitchen, and our eyes catch once more. My heart flutters like mad in my chest at the look in his eyes. It’s forgiveness, of a sort, and something promising a reconciliation. I hope.
I blush and duck my head.
Purple hyacinths mean an apology, and they've worked far better than I could have hoped.
“Would you like eggs?”
He nods and takes a long drink. “And a few pieces of toast, please. And another coffee?”
I toss a curious look over my shoulder as I fetch the necessary items for his breakfast. His usually glowing complexion is lackluster, and it looks as if he hasn't shaved in a day or two. The sight is odd considering how well-kept he likes to keep his appearance.
Atticus takes another long drag of his coffee, his hand absently scratching at his chest. My movements come to a slow stop to watch the course of his hand, only to be caught seconds later in my admiration by twinkling blue eyes. Tired, he might be, but he still has his wits about him.
“You look a bit worse for wear, Atticus,” Lucy claims. “Trouble sleeping?”
I make no illusion of my interest in their conversation, keeping my body open in their direction, even if it meant cooking his eggs at an awkward angle.
“You could say that. I got home pretty late last night.”
Lucy hums her acknowledgment. “I heard,” she empathizes. “I hope it wasn’t anything too serious keeping you up.”
He hesitates, and Lucy pounces.
“Don’t tell me it was the Wselfwulfs?” Another silence, Lucy hides her pleasure well with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. She toys with her mug, pretending at consternation as Atticus stares down into his dark coffee. “They’re certainly getting bold.”
“They’re getting presumptuous,” Atticus corrects, his voice darker than normal as his face morphs into a frown. “They slipped past the borders again. Got into town and had some fun with the locals at a bar.”
I miss Lucy’s reaction, my sights pinned to Atticus in shock. “What?”
He nods grimly and tilts his mug in my direction. I shake myself from my momentary daze, tending to the scrambled eggs briefly before turning down the heat beneath them. Seconds later, I'm refilling Atticus mug. My regard is full of concern.
“How? Where did they get through?” I ask quietly.
He gives a slow shake of his head and captures my gaze to relay a silent message: Later. I give what I hope to be a subtle nod and head back to the stove.
“It doesn’t matter how or where. What matters is that they did. The Wselfwulfs aren't just going after the pack. They’re going after the town. If this isn’t a clear indication that what they seek is far beyond their supposed ‘blood debt,’ then I don’t know what will be.”
I’m busy plating the eggs when Lucy chimes in again. “Indeed. Their actions are a direct violation of our laws. Human blood and flesh are not ours to take.”
I turn with Atticus's plate in hand to see Lucy give a short shake of her head. I have trouble reading the consternation on her face. Is it real or false?
“The Celestial Court—”
“Has had its say,” Lucy interrupts rather blandly. “This is your fight to resolve. No other pack will intervene.”
Liar.
Atticus is too busy gulping down his second coffee to notice the fierce glare I shoot Lucy and her smirking rebut.
“I’m beginning to think Callie is right,” he remarks, his exhaustion showing as he runs his hand over his hair again. The muscles in his back bunch and stretch as he bends with the action. When I return and set down his plate, I run my hand carefully over the taut muscles in comfort. Atticus peeks up at me through dark lashes, looping his arm around my waist and tugging me into a side hug. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“Of course,” I murmur, softening against him immediately.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed his touch. My hand lies tentatively against his back still, enjoying the sheer warmth of him.
Lucy clears her throat. “And what does this ‘Callie’ suggest?” This time it is Lucy and Atticus who pass a meaningful look between them. I can’t stand it.
“More coffee anyone?” I ask. Their connection breaks, and I let out a small, thankful sigh.
“No, but thank you,” Atticus responds, squeezing my hip fondly.
Lucy holds out her mug, a smug smile on her face. “Yes.”
Forced to fetch her another coffee, I move with speed, loathe as I am to keep my back to them for even a second. I accomplish the task quickly my teeth as I pour, before striding back over and setting the drink in front of her. Then at long last, I take my place by Atticus’s side.
“I—” The vibration of a phone sounds, and Atticus reaches into his pocket with haste. “I need to take this,” he murmurs, then excuses himself from the table.
His footsteps sound through the hall, then up the stairs. His husky voice is a mere whisper to my lycan hearing with the sound of his heavy steps muffling his words.
“You see, cousin,” Lucy begins, her voice soft and alluring. “Everything is already falling into place.”
I pause at her words. Lucy examines me through lowered lashes, a smile of satisfaction curling the ends of her lips. The sight does more to aggravate me than anything else. Seeing her so relaxed and confident in my home... it ignites in me a wave of anger only Lucy can muster.
“You can’t be so ignorant as to think the Blancs will support the Adolphus pack regarding this unseemly ordeal," she says. My lips form into a line, and in an insufferably patronizing move, Lucy reaches out to pat my arm. “Oh dear, did you think your marriage secured an unbreakable alliance between our pack and the Adolphus’? Winter, honestly.”
