I lower myself to one knee beside the cot in the place he left vacant.
The witch’s eyes are open now. They are a pale, washed-out gray. They find my face slowly, their focus pulling itself together one degree at a time.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
She does not answer.
Her gaze drifts past my shoulder. Her eyes find Sienna holding the back of her hand, and her entire demeanor changes. The lines at her mouth soften. Her thin fingers turn over and grip Sienna’s.
“Thank you,” she rasps. Her voice is like tissue paper.
Sienna shakes her head, blinking. “I can’t imagine what you’ve suffered. I’m so sorry we didn’t find you earlier.”
The witch gives her a slow, tired smile. It is almost too big for her face.
“I dreamed of escaping for a long time.” Her tongue passes over her cracked lower lip. “Then, they broke my legs. I do not have healing magic like shifters do. They kept me drained, used me as a medium. I didn’t think I would ever—”
Sienna’s eyes fill with tears.
The witch’s pale, gray eyes lift to mine. “My name is Meera.”
The words come out clearly despite the rasp, and my chest tightens. It’s my mate’s hand grasping mine that steadies me.
Sienna was right.
She smiles softly at the witch. “We met your niece. She’s going to be so happy to have you home. She’s missed you terribly.”
“Home.” The woman’s gaze drifts past us. “I haven’t thought about home in a long time. How is Fiona?”
Sienna wipes the tear that is now falling down the side of her face. “Well, you should think about it now. And Fiona…has grown up.”
“Oh.” Meera lets out a sob. “I don’t—I don’t want her to see me like this.”
“She doesn’t have to,” I say quietly. “You can recover with us, and we can bring her to you once you’re ready to see her.”
It’s a small concession that I don’t have to make, given how much pain her bloodline has caused mine. But this woman has been through hell, and I don’t want her to suffer any more than she already has.
“My female ancestors hated the Silvercrest line,” she admits. “Twenty years of captivity have changed me. Your kindness—I want to repay it. I can give you your life back.”
The witch’s free hand lifts. It shakes. She lets it stay in the air between her and Sienna. “Come here, child.”
Sienna leans closer, and the witch’s fingertips find the curse mark at Sienna’s collarbone. “Let me end the cycle.”
“No! You’re not supposed to use magic yet!” Sienna takes hold of her wrist.
Meera, a broken thing. “Child, I have enough to do this. This is blood magic.”
I feel the bond between Sienna and me change as the witch’s mouth moves in a whisper I cannot hear.
It is the strangest sensation I have ever felt in my body. The bond pulls. It hums. It runs. It opens or it closes. It does not draw inward like a knot tightening in the center of my chest. It does that now.
The witch continues to chant softly, and the pressure spikes.
Sienna gasps. Her shoulders jerk. The long, thin, black tendril under the witch’s hand becomes so hot that I can feel it from where I am crouched, the bond carrying it to me even before Sienna’s expression changes. My wolf snarls inside my chest, and I lock every muscle in my body to keep from snatching the witch’s hand away.
The pressure climbs, white-hot, into a single point at my breastbone, and Sienna sucks in a sharp breath beside me. Her hand finds my arm, fingers digging in.
I cannot breathe. The bond is full. Flooded. There is so much of Sienna in my chest that I am not certain where she ends and I begin. Underneath that, the cold, dragging thing I have carried my entire life lifts off me in one clean motion.
