Page 112 of Rejected By the Winter Wolf

Foreboding lifts the hair on my arms and the back of my neck.

She continues speaking, her grip on my hand firm. Something descends over me, and I can’t move. Panic rises in my chest, swift and strong.

The mate bond.

Her lips twitch, like she senses it, and now she pushes magic into me. It encases the mate bond in fire.

In my mind, I hear Kian scream.

Figment of your imagination.

But it burns me, too. My back arches, my mouth opens. I can’t make a sound, my throat locked, but I scream in my mind.

The mirror flashes gold, and Beatrice drops my hand.

I sag backward, her magical hold on me releasing. I cup my bleeding palm and flinch.

The sapphire is embedded in my skin.

Beatrice finishes her spell and falls back in her chair, too. Her chest heaves. We sit in silence until she catches her breath.

I have a hundred questions I should’ve thought of before the spell.

But I was intrigued, and now I have a feeling I’m going to pay for it. Why would I trust her? Why would I think she would help me just because I asked for it?

Because she knew my name. Because she was a kind face after weeks of nightmares.

“Give me your hand,” she says, reaching for me.

I do.

She runs her finger along the cut, healing it easily. She touches the sapphire embedded in my palm, and it flashes bright blue. Then it sinks into my skin, which knits closed around it. I flex my fingers, but I can’t tell that it’s there. If it even is—it could be an optical illusion for all I know. I run my nail across my palm, but I only feel skin.

“What the fuck was that?” I whisper.

“The sapphire holds blood magic now,” she says. She gestures to the mirror. “And so does the mirror. When you activate the two together, it will allow you to see your mother without demons coming through the scrying glass.”

“Is it…?”

“It doesn’t turn your soul black, if that’s what you’re asking.” She stands. “It takes quite a bit more blood magic than that—and this wasn’t you. It was my spell. I put our magic together into the objects for you to use.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“This is just the beginning,” she warns. “The shadow realm is exactly like ours. Think of an overlay. If you peek behind the curtain here, you’d see one small slice of their realm. If you go to Maine, for example, you’d see another entirely. She could be kept in one corner of it, tucked out of the way, and you’d never find her.”

Well, fuck.

“That complicates things.”

“You can use the mirror to scry for your mother, or you can look through it and see the shadow realm where you stand.” She points to it. “Try it. There’s no spell, no magic words—just reach for the power in your palm like you’d use any gemstone. Your will can direct it.”

I pick up the mirror, which has returned to its dull state. It’s so innocuous in its appearance. When I search for the stone in my palm, its glowing, hot power greets me. I dip into it and guide it toward the handle of the mirror.

Immediately, the mirror undergoes its transformation. The metal shines, the mirror’s glass clears—and then ripples. It gives way to one hell of a sight: a world of shadows. I’m not scrying, not searching for my mother. I’m seeing a duplicate of our world dripping in darkness.

There are no demons in sight, but the earth curves the same way, the mountain rising ahead of me. In the shadow world, Beatrice’s home doesn’t exist.

I shudder and turn in a slow circle.