But I’d survived that darkness. And in the years that followed, I survived other darknesses as well—the brutalities of the hunters. The deaths of friends and loved ones. The war in Blackmoon Bay.
Now, I had to survive Midnight.
And survival, I was starting to realize, wasn’t an endpoint you reached. It was a process you endured—an endless cycle of trying and sometimes failing, but ultimately getting up again to fight another day.
Maybe I’d never be completely free of those ghosts. Maybe looking into Elian’s eyes or saying his name would always cut me open. Maybe I’d start waking up at the witching hour again, my heart bleeding, the pain so deep it would drive me to my knees.
Didn’t mean it had to control me, though. Didn’t mean I had to give up fighting.
The love I had for him, the love I lost, the darkness… All of it had shaped me into the woman and witch I was now—a witch who’d called upon the dark goddess and wielded that incredible magick to save her family. A witch who’d found the strength to face the man who’d nearly broken her, just so she could repay her debts and save them again.
So, pain? Darkness?
Yeah. Maybe surviving meant learning how to appreciate those things too.
Sitting in the sun-dappled grass with the gargoyle, I carved a pentacle into the soft ground at the edge of the pond with my dagger, then wrapped my hand around my blade and jerked it hard, cutting a deep slice.
It wasn’t mutilation, though. It was magick. A blood spell for strength and courage. A thank-you to myself for not giving up. For learning, day by day, to spin the pain of experience into the gold of wisdom.
I made a fist, squeezing the blood onto the pentacle.
I will not give up. I will not stop fighting. I will not drown.
It felt like a promise. A sacred oath between my heart, my soul, and fate itself.
The blood glowed bright, then sank into the ground with a quiet hiss.
The softest breeze carried away my silent vow.
And in its wake, a dozen black roses bloomed in the mud.
9
HUDSON
Saint was my boy and all, but damn. My boy was a fucking liar.
He’d told me about the witch last night—about this Midnight run we’d all signed up for, come hell or high water. But now that the woman was pouring her heart out—not to mention her blood—I realized he’d glossed over a few key details.
Like the one about how he’d jacked up her life. Broke her heart so bad she’d made a date with Death and damn near sealed the deal.
Fucking Saint.
I’d never learned why or how he’d ended up in Midnight. Same with Jax. Just wasn’t the kinda group therapy bullshit you shared in a place that had you running for your life more often than kicking back with friends over a few beers. Out there, no one had a past. No one had a future. All you ever got was the moment. Sometimes, not even that.
But now? I wanted to know all of it. Every gritty detail.
What the hell was so bad about his old life that it’d driven him to bail on a woman like Haley? A woman who’d clearly loved his dumb ass?
Stillloved him, if the heartache in her voice was a sign—and in all my centuries of taking accidental confessions just like this one? Yeah. It usually was.
I wasn’t able tofeelanything in my stone form—no human touch, no sense of my own body, no rain, not even the fly-by bird shit that hit me on the regular—but I could sure as hell see and hear everything, and my brain worked just fine too.
Saint had really done a number on her.
Babygirl was a fighter, though—had to give her credit. Pulling herself out of that dark hole? Showing up here asking for his help? That took a serious set of lady balls, and hers were made of steel.
Even with them crocodile tears slipping down her cheeks, she still looked like a warrior.
