I squeeze my hand into a fist, and the effect is immediate. Ahmal’s hand contorts unnaturally, the bones inside it cracking one by one. The sound is sickening. Wet, sharp pops like twigs snapping underwater. He howls, the sound ripping from his throat as his fingers bend at impossible angles. The long bones of his palm go first, fracturing with audible snaps. Then the smaller bones of his fingers, twisting and splintering under the pressure of my magic. Blood vessels rupture under his skin, theflesh already darkening with bruises. His wrist collapses inward, the joint disintegrating.
“I learned that trick when I was a boy,” I say, watching him writhe in mid-air, his face contorted in agony. “I have this ability. My magic learns from other witches and warlocks. It siphons their energy. I don’t need to be taught.” I hold my fingers together like I’m about to snap them. “Would you like to know what I learned from our king? Call for Mara. NOW!”
“Fuck you,” Ahmal spits through gritted teeth, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth where he’s bitten through his own lip.
“I don’t want to kill you to get to her,” I warn, tightening my magical grip. His hand crumples further, the bones now nothing but fragments beneath his skin. The pain must be excruciating, but still he defies me.
Dayo bursts from Ahmal’s cabin first, his broad shoulders filling. Tunde is right behind him, long legs eating up the porch steps in two strides. “Father!” Dayo yells, his voice cracking with panic. “Aaron, please stop!” Tunde begs, tears streaming down his face, his strategist’s calm shattered.
“I just want Mara,” I say, my voice breaking.
“Aaron, stop!” My mother’s voice carries from the territory line, but I can’t. The desperation for Mara is killing me. So I’m going to die one way or another. Might as well be this way, trying to see her one last time.
“Maybe I can show you what my magic has learned from Queen Anora,” I tell Ahmal, giving him a wink. “She’s far, far worse than the father of shifters.”
Everything stops when Amir teleports into the pride, appearing between Ahmal and me. He stands with hands clasped behind his back, pointed ears twitching slightly as he takes in the scene. Dayo and Tunde fall silent immediately, dropping to their knees.
“That is enough, Aaron,” Amir says, his voice calm. He looks around at the gathered lion shifters, his golden eyes assessing. “You’ve shown them what a Blackwood can do. Now put him down.”
I’m breathing heavily, glaring at Amir, my chest heaving with each painful breath. For a moment, I consider refusing. I flick my wrist and Ahmal falls to the ground.
Amir grins.
“You jerk!” my mother yells from the territory line. “You should’ve been here!” She’s pulling at Jacob, trying to break free from his grip. “Let me go or I’ll use magic on you!”
“No, she won’t,” Amir says calmly, not even bothering to look in her direction.
“Fuck you!” my mother shouts back, which only makes Amir’s grin widen.
“Family quarrel?” he asks, looking amused.
“I just want Mara back,” I say, my voice raw with exhaustion. “That’s all.”
Amir turns to Ahmal, who’s pulling himself to his feet, cradling his shattered hand against his chest. The once-powerful alpha is hunched in pain. The lion shifters who had come to his defense immediately drop to one knee at Amir’s presence, their heads bowed.
“Majesty,” Ahmal says, his voice raw with pain.
“What is this, Alpha?” Amir asks. His tone is light, which is worse.
Ahmal points at me with his good hand. “He is trying to destroy my daughter.”
Amir sighs, the sound heavy with a tired patience. “You know the laws of Mother Fate.”
“He crossed the territory line,” Ahmal protests, wincing as he shifts his weight. “He’s not welcome here.”
“Wintermoon was built for unity,” Amir murmurs. “A sacred land we could only dream about before the Great War. Now we have it. We cannot be at war with one another.” He looks between us, his golden eyes flat and patient. “The humans would love nothing more than to see us tear ourselves apart. Then they could reclaim what was once theirs.”
Ahmal falls quiet, breathing heavily, still holding his injured hand. The bone fragments shift with each movement, the hand now a misshapen lump at the end of his arm. His face is drawn with pain, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Is it not up to Mara?” Amir asks, looking between Ahmal and me. Neither of us speaks.
Amir grins, then turns and steps aside. And that’s when I finally see her.
Mara is standing on the porch of her family’s cabin. Her lion ears are flat against her head, her amber eyes wide and wet, her golden-brown tail limp behind her. The look on her face breaks something in me. Horror at what she’s seeing.
She slowly walks down the porch steps and approaches, the lions stepping out of her way. Amir looks at me, and I wave my hand, dissolving the barrier I’d put up to shield myself from the other lion shifters.
Mara has her hands clutched at her sides, her tail swaying nervously as she approaches. When she reaches us, her eyes immediately go to her father holding his shattered hand. Her mouth falls open in horror. She makes a small, wounded sound in the back of her throat, a noise so full of pain it breaks my heart.
