Page 95 of Binding His Fated Mates

Summoning every bit of magical power I had in my possession, I turned my attention to the sky above, lifting my hands up. The moon and stars were shining against the rapidly growing darkness and wispy clouds like gray smudges were smeared across the horizon.

Praying my pronunciation was in the ballpark, I spoke a weather-working charm in archaic Gaelic. I’d never used it before, but I’d come across it in the pack’s journals. It had originally been invented by a Celtic witch to call up a tempest. She’d used it to sink enemy ships and protect her homeland from Rome’s first attempts to invade the land that would eventually be called Britain.

Wind kicked up in the clearing and the temperature plummeted, the air turning ice-cold in a matter of moments. The sharp tang of ozone filled the air and power crackled around my hands. The clouds overhead began to roil and thicken, turning black and dense, caught by the power of my spell, mine to command.

And then I slid my hands over the moon and the storm obeyed immediately, mirroring my movement.

I let out a sharp sigh of relief as the last of the magic summoned by my spell left me and the silver light of the moon vanished from the clearing, concealed by the storm I had conjured.

Rain began to pelt down. Lightning, shockingly bright and close, snaked across the sky, striking a tree in the distance. Thunder boomed an instant later.

The elemental power abruptly stopped flowing into my mates.

Micah must’ve relaxed his binding spell, because Hunter and Lee both collapsed to the ground, on their hands and knees and panting, their fingers biting into the ground, relief sweeping across their features.

My mother and father continued their chant, but their gazes were both locked onto me. While my father looked vaguely impressed, my mother’s expression went grim and wooden. She cast a meaningful look at Micah.

My brother stopped his chanting, glaring at me furiously for a long moment, his jaw working, as if turning over options in his head. Then triumph swept across his face, and he launched into a spell I didn’t recognize. It sounded like it might’ve been Old English. It was a single line that he chanted over and over.

And then he threw his hands up into the sky, power rocketing outward from him.

The storm I had conjured broke down the center, pushed apart by his spell.

The clearing filled with silver light again.

Micah continued his chanting, straining himself, his fingers splayed out. Which meant he was actively holding the spell, fighting against the tempest I’d conjured.

But it was working. Elemental power began to flow out of the cardinal points again. It struck Hunter and Lee from all directions, causing both of them to cry out in pain.

My mind raced. My parents were almost to the catalyst.

What could I possibly do?

I knew a counterspell—every witch and warlock learns at least one in the course of their magical training—but it was doomed to fail.

I’d be pitting my power against theirs. I had never been strong enough to stand against them.

It might even burn me out to try—the way I had nearly died back at the bar, trying to perform the Sword of Helios on my own.

But then Hunter let out another gut-wrenching sound, doubling over. And Lee gasped with pain a moment later. My spell—the ritual I’d written with my own two hands—was hurting them.

What happened to me now didn’t matter.

I couldn’t let this happen.

Summoning my courage—and every scrap of power at my disposal—I launched into the counterspell. It was written in Koine Greek, ten words long. A spell of absolute refusal.

My mother’s eyes widened in alarm. But I was certain it was her fear for me, of what I was about to recklessly do to myself, rather than any sort of worry that I might overcome their magic. Her chanting faltered.

My father apparently was willing to take that chance. His expression hardened and he began chanting more forcefully, picking up his wife’s slack.

I sent every bit of my magical power into the spell I cast, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

It was two Henbanes—the two most powerful Henbanes—against me.

The math was impossible.

Then Rowan stepped up beside me. When I glanced over at her, she met my gaze and held it. I saw the fear in her eyes. But she steeled herself, took my hand, and began copying my words, saying the spell along with me.