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The stench of blood is all I can smell.

“It’s hard to avoid the femoral artery,” Kian informs me. He runs his knuckles along my jaw. “But I have a lot of practice in restraining witches.”

I shudder. I open my mouth to tell him that he shouldn’t brag about such things—that this isn’t normal behavior. But then I snap my mouth shut again, because it is normal. For him. For a witch hunter, for a wolf who rips apart covens purely because he hates them.

Us.

He releases me and goes to one of the younger witches. I don’t remember her. I don’t really remember any of them, except Cecelia and Maeve. This one looks like she’s a few years younger than me. He takes a fistful of her hair and yanks her head back. With her neck exposed, she lets out a terrified moan through the gag. The sound is agonized.

There’s a puddle of blood under her leg, and even still she tries to move away from him.

“What are you doing?” I hurry to his side. “This is madness⁠—”

“They tried to rip us apart, Astra.” His words are aimed at the witch in his grasp.

He shifts his nails into claws and digs them into her throat. They slide through her skin too easily. And he withdraws a moment later, not ripping her apart as I thought. But at the spray of blood, I understand.

He punctured her jugular.

Blood spurts out of her neck from the claw marks in time with her heartbeat. We watch it arc across the circle, and she squirms and struggles until she’s lost too much blood. It takes less than two minutes for her to lose consciousness.

We watch it in silence. Her death, I mean. Her spirit leaves her body, but I don’t have any prayers for her to guide her on her way. I don’t know if she’s destined for a better place or a worse one, and it’s a relief to not be the judge or jury.

I don’t have it in me to be surprised at the violence. I should’ve known this would happen from the moment Cecelia appeared in that no-name town. Did my mother know this is how it would end, too? Did she know what she was going to subject me to when she sent Cecelia to me?

Or maybe there were other choices, other paths, that we could’ve taken. Maybe if I realized what the mate bond was sooner, and I kept it a secret. Or maybe⁠—

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

How many what-ifs am I going to put myself through before I take responsibility? Before I shuck the idea of my all-knowing mother planning everything out down to the last breath I take?

I straighten my spine slowly, like the idea of standing on my own, unbound by fate, is a new one to me. And when I face Kian, he’s ready for me.

He meets my gaze, and there’s a challenge there.

“It’s not just me they’re repulsed by,” he says quietly. “They saw something inside you that connected you to me, and they wanted to eradicate it. No matter the cost to either of us.”

The yard is lit by hung string lights and some torches that Kian might’ve set aflame around the perimeter. I find Cecelia’s red hair and cut across the circle to her. She, too, has a metal stake in her leg, dug deep into the ground. Her blood comes out of the top and bottom in little drags, forced out by every squeeze of her heart.

She’s not dead. I could spare her if I wanted.

Her hands are bound behind her back. Rope across her mouth, wrapped around her head. It’s a nasty way for Kian to keep them, but why haven’t they used magic?

I tug the rope out of her mouth, and it falls around her neck.

Her gaze goes from pain to imploring. “This is my family, Astra. Please. You of all people know how much family means to a witch⁠—”

“Did you know they were going to try and remove the bond?”

She nods. Tears drip down her face. “I’m sorry. As soon as you mentioned it, Maeve knew. It’s an abomination, Astra. Please. Let us help you⁠—”

“Help?” I shake my head. “You almost killed us.”

“I’m sorry.” She lets out a sob. “I never meant for this to happen. Your mother was one of my closest friends⁠—”

Was. “She’s still alive,” I interrupt. “And I don’t know if she foresaw this betrayal. She’d never do this to me. But Cecelia, why didn’t you leave while Kian and I were inside?”

She presses her lips together. Her eyes shift to her left, and I follow them. To the woman whose face no longer shifts with deception.