Shifting Magic: Alpha Games Book Three, page 6
My knees wobbled with relief, but I locked them as I exhaled. “Thank you.”
Burning stares singed my back as I made my retreat. I was nearly to the doors when Hugh called out, “One more thing, Blair.”
I had no choice but to stop.
I took one second to school my features into a blank slate, then turned and lifted a brow. “Yes?”
The coven leader leaned forward in his seat. “You begin working with Natalie in the morning. Be sure to try your best. We both know what will happen if the Moonstone isn’t retrieved.”
Both Orlando and Wyatt visibly stiffened when they heard the magic relic’s name.
I had no doubt his remark was made for their benefit, not mine.
What I didn’t understand, however, was whether or not Hugh was serious about wanting the Moonstone sooner, rather than later.
When I’d first arrived through the portal, he’d made it sound like I’d be here indefinitely. Like he wasn’t in a rush for the Moonstone.
What changed?
The image of the decapitated prisoners played in my mind. I quickly brushed the gruesome memory away.
Realizing Hugh, and the rest of the room, waited for my response, I cleared my throat and said, “Of course.”
That was enough for Hugh.
He waved his hand in dismissal, and I jumped at the opportunity.
I spun around and walked through the open doorway. Stilted conversation resumed in the room behind me. I did not envy the Coastal shifters one bit.
I breezed past the stairs, ignoring the alcove where the bathroom would be. I moved towards the back of the mansion, knowing I’d come across another set of stairs eventually.
I glanced over my shoulder, surprised to see no guard followed me.
If I knew where the Graystone Coven was located, it might’ve been a great opportunity to try and escape.
Except for the cursed blood vow that kept me here.
Ugh.
I approached a dead end. Halls branched left and right. I pictured the path I’d taken when the guard escorted me from my room and took a right, trying to retrace my steps from three stories below.
I found myself in an extremely wide corridor with high ceilings. Portraits lined each side of the wall, some stacked three pictures high. I realized I was in a gallery of some kind.
My steps slowed as I moved through the room, my eyes drawn to each of the portraits I passed.
On the left wall, the portraits looked old. Their colors were faded and muted compared to the ones on the right. But their gilded and silver frames shined just as bright.
The subjects in the paintings also wore different clothes, dating the ones on my left. The women sported high necklines or empire waisted gowns. The men wore coats reminiscent of my favorite Victorian era romance movies. Stephanie teased me endlessly about my preference for the period pieces rather than blockbuster romantic comedies, but she was a good friend who sat through them anyway.
A pang of sadness coursed through me as I thought of my best friend. I hoped she was doing well in Alaska. I knew the Wilds Pack would keep her safe, and she had her brother with her, but I still worried. It was hard not to.
I continued to move through the gallery, admiring the portraits, when I came to the second to last one on the right side.
I froze.
A gasp escaped my lips.
I stared at a portrait of a beautiful brunette with warm, brown eyes. Her hair fell in gentle waves over her bare shoulders, stopping just above her elbows. She looked young—younger than she did in the photo my father kept by his bedside—but there was no mistaking it.
I was looking at a portrait of the last Mother Goddess.
My mother, Bridget Stone.
NINE
Self-preservation urged me to convince myself the portrait of the woman I stared at was, in fact, not my mother.
I didn’t want to feel any tie to this place. And knowing the woman who gave birth to me—the woman my father hadn’t stopped loving since the moment he met her—had once roamed these same halls threatened to do just that.
As the Mother Goddess, I knew she hadn’t lived her entire life in Graystone territory. She had her own home, in a neutral location, to better serve all young sorcerers and sorceresses as they learned to use their power.
But she was still a Graystone sorceress. She grew up here.
And there was no denying it was her portrait on the wall.
I looked at the portrait next to her, and recognized the man’s pale-blond hair.
Unlike his son, his eyes weren’t icy-blue. They were an ordinary brown. But there was no mistaking the other physical similarities. He was Hugh’s father—the sorcerer who’d forced a sorcerer’s bond on my mother that made her abandon me.
The sorcerer who was responsible for the mark transferring to me, making Hugh believe I was the Graystone Coven’s property.
I trembled when I thought of what plans the evil man had in store for me. He’d already proven himself a cold-blooded killer. I knew there wasn’t any limit to what he would do to get what he wanted.
My father had said the sorcerer mark’s obligation required my mother to mate with the former Graystone leader. When she didn’t, and the mark transferred to me, she’d returned to the Graystone Coven to hopefully fulfill the mark’s obligation.
It didn’t work.
For the first time, it dawned on me that Hugh could be planning to force a mating between us.
But for what purpose?
If I managed to give him the Moonstone, he’d have access to my mother’s power.
Which was all he wanted.
Right?
Despite Natalie’s warning to keep my distance from Hugh, I didn’t think I had to worry about romantic designs.
Hugh watched the powerful sorceress with a sharp eye, and his hands always touched her when he had the chance.
I didn’t wish his attention on Natalie, but the fact was, his focus on her meant I was free of his extra attention.
And I wasn’t going to complain about that.
The air shifted. A loose curl brushed against my ear. I rubbed away the sensation.
“You barely look like her.”
I spun around. My hands lifted in defense. Golden power flickered over my fists.
I took in the middle-aged sorceress before me. Her brown hair had streaks of gray, but her skin was smooth. She shared an uncanny resemblance to the young woman in the portrait behind me.
I gasped.
The sorceress stood still. Unlike me, she was dressed casually. A green blouse and pair of tan pants revealed her petite frame.
Only the breeze coming through the open door in the middle of the gallery—how she must’ve entered—disturbed her long brown hair. The corner of her mouth pulled up as she watched my realization dawn.
“Hello, Blair. I’m Jocelyn. Your aunt.”
Her greeting echoed through my mind, eliciting so many questions, as well as several memories.
My father had a contact in the Graystone coven—someone who warned him about the threats against me. It was why he wanted Asher and Chase to win the Alpha Games. He’d believed I’d be safer among the magically-gifted pack.
She was also the one who sent him the warning right before Hugh showed up in Alaska.
Benjamin,
Hugh has sought a prophecy from an oracle. It is only a matter of time before he discovers the truth. The matter must be resolved before he finds her. If not, we will all be doomed.
Hurry. Before it’s too late.
J
I stared at the mysterious J. My aunt. My mother’s sister.
She stared back, patiently waiting for me to say something.
All I could muster was a quiet, “Hello.”
She smiled. “How strange. You may not look like Bridget, but you sound just like her.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
I had no memory of my mother’s voice. I’d believed she’d died when I was just a toddler, but it turned out she’d left.
Sure, she left to protect me.
But she still left…
“Do I have any other family members?” I asked.
“No,” Jocelyn replied matter-of-fact, but I saw the flash of pain cross her features as she explained, “My parents died before you were born, and I never had children of my own.”
“I’m sorry.” It seemed like the appropriate thing to say.
“Thank you.” She gestured to the portrait behind me. “Your mother was only sixteen when that portrait was taken. Just a few months before she went to live with the previous Mother Goddess to finalize her training. She was the Mother Goddess by the time she was eighteen.”
“So young.” She was barely an adult when she took over the role. “Did you miss her?”
“Of course,” Jocelyn replied quickly. “Though, at the time, I was foolishly glad to have her gone. It was hard to always be compared to her.”
“I’m sure.”
“I know your father never mated after your mother,” she surprised me by stating. “But did he ever sire any other children?”
I balked at the idea. “No. Never.” As the pack alpha, my father would never do such a thing. If he sired another child with a female, I had no doubt he’d do the honorable thing and make her his mate.
That would be the only honorable way to claim the child as his own.
“I meant no insult.” She held her hands up innocently. “I was simply curious. Bridget told me how your father feared the pack’s reaction to having a female heir. He appears to have embraced it, but I always wondered if there was a backup child kept secret from the coven.”
What a horrible thing to wonder.
“My father hasn’t been with anyone since my mom,” I replied, confident that was true. Unlike Beta Nathan, my father never seemed eager to find a second mate after his first died.
“Wait…” Jocelyn’s words brought another question to mind. “My mother spoke about me?” I was under the impression my existence was kept a secret from the coven.
Until it wasn’t.
“Only with me,” Jocelyn admitted. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a piece of paper.
Only, I realized it wasn’t a simple piece of paper when Jocelyn unfolded the edges before offering it to me.
I hesitated before reaching out and accepting the item.
The breath caught in my throat as my eyes took in the photo presented to me.
The bright blue sky and deep green forests from my childhood home greeted me, and a familiar mountain ridge sat in the background. My eyes quickly moved off the landscape and focused on the three individuals centered in the image.
My father stood with his arm wrapped over my mother’s shoulder. On her other side, I was propped on her hip. My tiny arms gripped her neck. I smiled at the camera.
My father looked so young. And happy.
Unlike me and my mother, he didn’t look at the person taking the picture. His attention rested on me and my mother, and the open adoration and love in his face sprung tears to my eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so happy.
Ever.
“I retrieved that photo from your mother’s things before the coven could find it,” Jocelyn told me. Her voice was soft. “It was the only reminder of you both that she allowed herself to have. Aside from her own memories, of course.”
Emotion clogged my throat. “I have no memories of her.” The admission hurt. I wished I had more memories of my mother.
“That’s not surprising. You were so young when she left.”
I finally looked up from the photo. Jocelyn watched me with more concern than I would expect from someone I just met. “Did she…” I paused to swallow the lump in my throat. “Did she suffer when she returned here? Before she died?”
“No. Your mother was revered in our coven. In all the covens. Her life here was comfortable. She wasn’t punished for leaving. Her broken heart caused her more pain than anything else.”
“But she mated the coven leader.” I knew the sorcerer’s mark forced my mother’s hand regarding her return, but it was still difficult to imagine her agreeing to mate the man responsible for all her heartache.
Jocelyn sighed. “Henry Graystone was a monster. When Bridget returned, she contemplated not going through with the mating. I told her it wouldn’t cure you of the sorcerer’s mark. But when Henry punished those your mother cared for, it forced her to comply.”
A dark note crept into Jocelyn’s tone, telling me more than her words did.
“What did he do to you?”
The darkness dissipated. She snorted a quick laugh, and a spark gleamed in her eyes. “Straight to the point. I see you got more than your father’s looks.”
“You speak as if you and my father know each other well.”
“Years of shared pain will do that,” she replied, then said, “To answer your question, Henry captured and killed my lover.”
I gasped. “What?”
Decades old sadness shadowed her features. “Yes. I knew I risked Henry’s wrath if he ever found out I helped your mother escape him. But after years of no retaliation, I thought I was in the clear. But when your mother returned and refused to marry Henry, he pulled his ace from his back pocket. He didn’t kill me, but he found the only person aside from your mother I cared for, and he drained him dry.”
I imagined a poor sorcerer strung up like livestock, and I almost gagged.
“How could he do that? Why wouldn’t the coven step up to protect one of their own?” I knew the Graystones ruled with an iron fist, but for the leader to commit such a horrible crime against one of their own… how had no one stepped up to stop him?
“My lover wasn’t a sorcerer,” Jocelyn replied. “The coven didn’t care.”
My heart squeezed. “Was he a shifter?”
Could my aunt have been in love with a Wilds shifter?
Had I met any of the male’s family members during my time in Alaska?
A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “No, he wasn’t a shifter.”
“A human, then?”
Her smile softened, and her eyes unfocused as she fell into a memory. “No. Joseph was a vampire. And he was the love of my life.”
TEN
“A vampire?” I forced my jaw not to fall open despite the surprise coursing through my entire body, shocking my mind, and muddling my thoughts.
Vampires didn’t associate outside of their own race.
Or so I thought.
“Yes.” Jocelyn’s demeanor was calm and patient as she waited for me to get over my surprise.
I didn’t think that would happen anytime soon.
“How did that… happen?” How did a member of the magical race come in contact, and fall in love with, a vampire?
Jocelyn lifted a delicate hand in the air. It swirled twice, and the sensation of a barrier fell into place. A sound barrier.
The feeling made me miss the Wilds Pack.
“I know what happened in the dining room,” she revealed.
I tilted my head in question.
“Not all of our coven is loyal to Hugh,” she said by way of explanation. “As I’m sure you’re aware, given the fact you’ve spoken to Natalie.”
Realization dawned. “You’re working with the rebels, too?”
She smirked. “Something like that.”
I didn’t try to decipher what she meant.
Instead, I put together the hints she gave me and asked, “You and your lover met through the rebellion?”
“Yes.” She nodded approvingly. “When we were just teenagers. Joseph and I worked as recruits for other young people of our kinds. We traveled together, along with others, to show the different groups we spoke to that our alliance was real, and it was strong.”
“I thought vampires couldn’t stand sorcerers.” Or shifters, for that matter.
“No.” Jocelyn frowned. “Vampires simply don’t like to be told what to do, or to have magic used against them when they don’t comply.”
I couldn’t blame them.
“So, they’re allied with rebels in the covens. To what? Bring down the leaders.”
“Their motives are the same as ours,” she replied. “We want to end Hugh Graystone’s tyrannical reign of the North American covens, as well as take down his allies in other covens. The goal? To free each race to govern themselves as they will. And with people’s rights at the forefront of their minds.”
Wow.
It hit me how disadvantageous it was for each group to live in isolation from one another.
Sure, I understood shifters desire to live away from humans. But the fact we didn’t interact with vampires or sorcerers and sorceresses—the fact we lived in ignorance of what went on with each other—hardly increased the odds of teaming up together if any one group started to dominate the others. Like the corrupted coven leaders had been for generations.
Apparently, though, a group of rebels had come together, and they’d been working on recruiting more allies for decades.
“Does my father know about the rebellion?” I asked Jocelyn, wondering if I’d found another secret my father kept from me.
“No,” once again, her tone softened. “Ben had a hard time when Bridget left the Summit Pack, and it was worse when she died. I didn’t want to tempt him to do something foolish, like participate in the rebellion, when he had so many worries and fears on his mind.”
I sighed.
As much as I was irritated with the secrets my father kept, I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He’d lost his wife and had to raise me all alone. He had to keep the truth of my heritage a secret for fear of what the Graystone Coven would do.
Now, his fears were realized.
All because of a stupid birthmark located just above my sternum.
“How did Hugh’s father get the sorcerer’s mark on my mom in the first place?” I was baffled by the idea that my mother, supposedly the most gifted sorceress of her generation, could have had that happen to her.
Jocelyn’s expression darkened. “Hugh is deadly, but his father was a poison. His tainted soul damaged everything and everyone. He tried to say magic started to weaken upon your mother’s death, but it was his use of black magic that began unbalancing magic for all the covens. Once, long before she left the coven and met your father, your mother tried to subdue Henry’s magic with a spell, but it backfired. It weakened her to the point where my parents and I feared she would die.”
