Page 107 of Bewitching the Wolf

“But it’s never too late, is it?” I bluster. “I mean, neither of you are that old.”

Aunt Felicia laughs, showing her pretty teeth. She is still a very attractive wixen, and it strikes me that wisdom and maturity have given her beauty an edge over youth.

“I guess we shall have to leave that in the lap of fate,” she says. “The one good thing about growing older, Tippy Anna, is that you get to learn patience.”

“Well, if I was Traggar, and I saw you dressed in that little gold and silver number, Auntie, I would… I would…”

She raises her brows again.

“Yep. well, never mind.” I dig my nose back into my notebook, blushing. I know the way of wolves intimately now, but I don’t need to elaborate to my aunt. After all, she was the one who gave me the book with the graphic illustrations in it, the one that finally brought me and Jax together. That brought on my heat—which is yet to peak, I sense, by the slick warmth that refuses to let up in my sacred places.

My aunt glances at the big gilt-framed clock on the Vault wall. “It is nearly midday. I think you should go and ask Aurora to join us.”

Aurora has been meditating in the room where the portal cape is usually housed. She said she needed “quiet time.” I wonder whether she has been telepathically communicating with the cape in some way.

I put my book down and head for the door, but before I reach it, Aurora bursts into the room. Her eyes are blazing emerald, and her energy is strong. “The time is nigh,” she says with urgency.

As if in answer to her words, there’s a huge burst of bright light.

It’s coming from the three books.

The plinth on which they sit starts to judder. Within seconds, the books start vibrating violently, bright white light cascading between them, glowing almost incandescent until the whole glass case and the plinth is almost impossible to look at.

Suddenly the glass shatters with an unholy bang, shards exploding like fireworks around us.

And all we can do, Aurora, my aunt and I, is drop to the ground and cover our faces with our hands.

JAX

I draw myself up to my full stature.

And stare down Marsha’s demonic eyes, until they sink back into their sockets.

“You have no hold over me, Marsha. Nor the monsters you imprisoned, nor the humans you duped and lied to. Your dark reign is over,” I roar.

Thick lines and gunnels appear in her face, dragging her skin into the hollows of her skull. Her mouth shapes words that do not fall from her lips. She drags her hands over her neck, gasping, like she’s unable to breathe. A tooth drops out, clunks to the ground. Then another.

She stares at them, horrified.

I recite the words I learned with Mom last night. “Marsha Winters, I am commanded by the Angel Ariel and the planetary system that governs Earth, to offer you compassion if you fully renounce your demonic powers.”

“What’s on offer?” she croaks.

“A small apartment in a gated golf community shared with Ronald DeVine. And the loss of all memories of your previous existence.”

Marsha spits some horrible gray substance. “I’d rather die.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”

“FUCK YOU. And FUCK Aurora. And FUCK ARIEL,” she screeches. And then she literally starts to shrink. She hops up and down, her clawed fists trying to thump me, but she can’t reach me now, she’s too small. Her wizened feet flip-flop around in her stiletto heels. She rips them off and tries to throw them at me, but she clearly doesn’t have the strength.

I watch, horrified yet fascinated, as she scuttles into a corner of the room, her garments flapping around her putrid limbs, her voice a mere hoarse whisper as she hisses out a string of guttural expletives.

From all of this, I have to surmise Marsha is choosing the hell realms. And since she sprang from the loins of a demon king, I guess she knows what she’s getting into.

I shout the incantation that will send her to hell.

“DAG AR MEDOTHA!”