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“Wynter was different from the start.”
“Have you run through our battle plans with her?”
Cain nodded. “She knows where she and her coven need to be. They want to do as she did and strike a deal for immortality.”
Seth’s brows lifted slightly. “All of them?”
“Yes. And they’re very upbeat about it.”
“Are you going to grant them their request?”
“Of course. The tougher they are to kill, the more useful they’ll be at protecting Wynter.” As their Priestess, she led and protected them, but they were just as devoted to—and overprotective of—her. They’d risk their lives without a qualm to defend her. “She needs that backup. Because every member of Abel’s army will be intent on capturing her.”
“They will fail, just as Abel will fail in taking you out. He won’t be easy to kill—he learned everything he knows about calling on the elements from Adam, who is a master at it. But Abel will not walk away the victor. He will not manage to kill you, no matter what he tells himself.”
“Seth, there is a very high chance that Abel will not even attempt to battle us. He might instead focus on covertly capturing Wynter and then leaving with her.”
Seth’s brow pinched. “Why would you say that?”
“Abel would love to end my existence, but when he hears from Saul that Wynter is my consort, he will figure that letting me live with the knowledge that she’s in his custody would be worse for me than death itself.” And the thing was . . . Abel wouldn’t be whatsoever wrong.
“Oh hell, I never thought of that.”
Massaging her temple a few days later, Wynter paced in the kitchen as she glared down at Delilah. “What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously, I have to know.”
Sitting calmly at the table with Xavier and Hattie, Delilah jutted out her chin. “I warn people that there might be side effects, Wyn. What more do you want me to do?”
“Not sell the potions. At all. We’ve been over this more times than I can count. I don’t get why we’re having this conversation again. It shouldn’t be necessary.”
Only moments ago they’d had a pissed off basilisk shifter on their doorstep raring to kick Delilah’s ass due to the fangs he’d grown in his nostrils. Yeah, actual fangs. In his nostrils—it was worth repeating.
Delilah folded her arms. “You’re my Priestess, you’re supposed to encourage me to pursue my goals, not hold me back.”
Sprinkling herbs into her cauldron, Anabel scrunched up her face in disgust. “Del, the only real goal you have in mind is to screw with people.”
“It’s an added benefit, that’s all,” said Delilah. “I will admit it warms my blackening heart, but I’m merely following—”
“I don’t want to hear about Annis or her teachings,” Wynter cut in. “I want to hear you say that you’ll heed me for once.”
Delilah tipped her head to the side. “You know, I figured you wouldn’t stress so much about the karma potions now that I’m immortal. Only very powerful beings can kill me.”
It was a comfort to know that, yes, but . . . “Plenty such beings live here in Devil’s Cradle, in case you haven’t noticed. You should’ve.”
“I fear no man.”
“Then fear the fucking Ancients.”
“They are scary powerful,” Anabel chipped in, tossing yet more herbs into the cauldron.
Delilah raised her index finger. “But, having been rulers as long as they have, they’ll understand perfectly well that some people only learn their lessons the hard way.”
“You are one of said people, apparently,” said Wynter. “Those mean-ass brews are why you ended up with a price on your head. Yet, despite that bitch-slap from karma, you continue to make them. It makes no freaking sense.”
Delilah’s lips flattened. “Woman, why do you always gotta focus on logic?”
Xavier gave the Latina a look of understanding. “Maddening, isn’t it? If it makes you feel any better, Del, it’ll only handicap her in the long-run,” he consoled. “Then she’ll join the dark side.”
“Don’t you start,” Wynter snapped at him. As a sense of awareness bit her nape, she called out, “Anabel, do not dare taste that brew.” She cut her gaze to the blonde, who gaped at her, a spoon halfway to her mouth.
