My beast presses his massive paw against my brain, as if to squish the very idea out of my head. Unfortunately, the insidious thought won’t be dismissed so easily.
The only way I’ve survived so long is by not trusting anyone.
I glance at Garth, wondering if he can sense anything wrong. Normally, the fucker is nearly as paranoid as I am, but he’s too focused on the physical threat closing in around us.
So it’s up to me to remain on guard.
Once we find Tyler, we’ll leave.
The dragon can fucking fend for himself, but I’m not leaving without my kitten. If she thinks she can play us, she has totally misjudged our vindictive tendencies. Even if I have to kidnap her, I’m determined not to let her go without retribution.
My beast doesn’t protest the idea, content that she will remain by our side.
We just need to survive this shit show first.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FRANKIE
Potent magic swirls in the air, brushing against my skin like cobwebs. I shudder at the unnatural sensation, the urge to scrub myself with a wire brush nearly overwhelming. My wolf surges forward, wanting to slash and tear into the magic, but I force her back. The last thing I want is for the coven to know their spells don’t work on me.
I concentrate on the small surge of wild magic I associate with shifters. It doesn’t mean Tyler is at the other end, but I swear I catch the tangy scent of warm whiskey I associate with him. It’s faint, muddled with other scents, but I lock on to it, determined to find him.
I curse the fact that I ever allowed him out of my sight. I knew it was dangerous, but I let him go anyway. Any harm that comes to him is my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself. I survey the mages around me, gauging their skill level. While they’re weak individually, they are a significant threat if they decide to work together.
Another surge of magic wraps around me, searching for a way past my shields. Tendrils of magic burrow through my walls, and my insides recoil at the sensation, swearing that bugs are crawling through my flesh. I thicken my shields, allowing my wolf to surface, and the sickening sensation fades.
As I follow the tug plucking at my heart, I notice that we’re heading toward a large chapel, and I don’t slow when I spot even more mages waiting on the steps. There must be nearly fifty of them surrounding us now, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snarling.
How fucking dare they take Tyler and try to keep him from me!
My hand itches to draw my blade, its comforting weight resting in the sheath on my thigh. The only reason the mages haven’t taken it away from me yet is the invisibility spells carved into the handle. The knife will remain unnoticed until I draw it.
Gramps had it spelled for me, the cherished blade the only item in my possession from our time together. I’ll slice the throat of anyone who tries to take it from me.
Bellamy radiates tension, hovering near my back, ready to explode into action at the first sign of trouble. Garth is no less on edge, watching the crowd with a narrowed gaze, his bright blue eyes glowing with his beast. Concern for him flutters in the back of my mind. Though he remains in his human form, I worry he has gone completely wolf.
I’ve seen a shifter turn feral only once before…right before the council arrested him. It wasn’t a pretty sight. They live off rage and suffer impulse control issues. They are virtually beasts in human form.
Concern for Garth sits heavy in my chest, and I barely resist the urge to fuss over him. Sure, I might have special abilities, but I doubt even I can pull someone back from the edge of insanity.
Since he’s not drooling and frothing at the mouth, I shake off my distraction and focus on the more pressing issue—rescuing Tyler.
As we approach the white chapel, I spot the man standing on the top step. He’s in his early forties, dressed in khakis and a pressed button-down shirt. His light brown hair is styled in a way that should look suave, but just makes him look like a preppy douche.
The closer we step toward the chapel, the heavier the air grows. When his beady little black eyes latch on to me, his caustic power swells, hitting like a kick to the chest. The man is a lot older than he portrays, very much reminding me of the council members, and much like them, his magic is a viscous black.
That only happens when magic becomes perverted. Witches and mages are just as corrupt as any other species, many discontent with being able to perform only simple acts of magic. No, they want to be the biggest and baddest.
Unfortunately, physical bodies can only withstand so much magic before they begin to deteriorate. A devious few discovered that by draining magic from others, you can steal bits and pieces from their very soul and boost your own power. If you take too much, the soul eventually becomes a shriveled husk. Without a soul, death is imminent.
While you can gain more raw power directly from another witch, any preternatural creature will offer a boost. It’s a sickening practice that was outlawed long ago. To my disgust, the council has been using it for centuries, covering their depraved crimes with charms and spells. If anyone becomes suspicious, they disappear, cannibalized into the machine that powers the council.
While there is a slim chance he might have stumbled upon the cursed spell on his own, I don’t believe in coincidences. Nodoubt the council has a hand in this mess. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn the council moved on to feeding off the paranormal community outside of Kyperian decades ago. They can only kill so many before the truth is discovered.
From the age of the man in front of me, I’m guessing he’s been stealing magic for a while.
Many would see this man as debonair, a strong protector with the ability to keep their coven safe. If he wasn’t raised in the town, the coven probably invited him to stay when people started disappearing, completely missing the fact thathewas the one killing them—a clever ploy to prey on the weak and vulnerable.
