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PROLOGUE
Emily
Morgan hovered in the air, elevated by the black magic that seeped out of each of her orifices, clouding and tainting the air around her. Her eyes were pitch black, like two orbs of darkness, and her hair rose around her as if gravity ceased to exist where she stood.
Breathing heavily, she chuckled, her voice filled with an inhuman tone. “I told you I’d find you, little lamb. I’m here. The lion always finds its prey.”
Her hand lifted, and a black mist twisted out of her fingers like a vine of dark energy, darting toward me and wrapping around my neck, squeezing tight. I gasped for air, unable to breathe. Choking on the darkness.
My fingers gripped at the dark mist, but it was translucent. How could I grip something that wasn’t solid? More importantly, how could it have such a grip on me?
“Don’t you understand,” Morgan said, her voice deep as if she were possessed by the very darkness that gripped at my throat.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, coming closer at speeds I’d never heard before. Lightning lit up the cottage as it struck repeatedly. Everything began to shake—from the very walls and foundation to the objects that riddled the cottage. That is, what wasn’t destroyed by Morgan’s previous attacks.
At first, I was uncertain where the storm was coming from, but after a moment, I could almost feel the buzz of the electricity tingling my skin, electrifying me from the inside. Though, it wasn’t painful. If anything, it boosted my adrenaline and gave me the strength to fight back.
I closed my eyes and let my body fall limp as I loosened my limbs before raising my hands in the air. I brought my arms down like a hammer—a bolt of lightning crashing through the cottage when I did, severing the intangible connection with the black mist.
Dropping to the floor, I scrambled to my feet, barely missing the strike of darkness, sharper than a needle that aimed for my head.
Lightning continued to strike the cottage, obliterating most of the remnants until they were mere splinters of wooden boards and piles of ash.
A lightning bolt struck Morgan’s hand, and she cried out in pain. Black magic sizzled from her body like the steam from hot asphalt after a rainfall, evaporating into the air. The darkness left her body, and only the Morgan I’d known remained. The Morgan who didn’t have black eyes with black mist.
Using her air affinity, she blew a massive wind gust in my direction, knocking me several feet back. She came closer, her steps sure and confident of her predetermined victory. I summoned my water to shoot from my hands in icy shards, slicing through the air like an arrow, grazing her cheek.
She winced, grabbing her cheek and pulling her fingers away slowly to see them blotted with blood. Her eyes turned dark—though not by magic. They were menacing, filled with rage.
A blast of air struck me in the face like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of me. I summoned all the power I had left, taking a deep breath as I prepared my final blow. Morgan must’ve done the same because at the exact moment I brought down a wave of lightning strikes, she brought on a massive gust of air.
The impact of two incredible forces meeting with such power blew us both away. My body flew 30 feet to the side, plunging me into a pile of leaves and limbs from the trees that had been blown apart earlier.
If it weren’t for the vines I’d called upon before, I’d have probably died. But those vines slithered toward the limbs, breaking the fall before the tree limbs could crack my spine.
My body was weak—too weak to move. All I could do was lay in that pile, hoping that Morgan had suffered the same pain as me and wasn’t readying herself for round two. Or three. Or whatever round we were on at this point. I’d lost count and was too exhausted to think about it.
All I could think about were my mates and the hope that our bond was enough to call them to me.
* * *
Samara
“Morgan failed,” I said, swirling the wine in my glass as I stared out the window into the green forest. Buds were blooming in the trees, and spring was on its way.
I stood facing away from My Trusted. That’s what I called him, more as a term of irony. He was my right-hand man, the guy who could get things done when I needed them. I trusted him entirely, but not because he was loyal. Had it not been for my grasp on his soul, he would turn on me in an instant. He had no choice and referring to him as such only reminded him that I was in control and that he, in fact, had no ability to turn down my requests—no matter how much they conflicted with his own intentions.
“My deepest condolences,” he said with a sarcasm that plucked at my nerves in unimaginable torment. If I could kill him, I would.
I turned to him with a smile, my crimson hair flowing over my shoulders and down my back in a way that made me feel, as this younger generation would say, “fierce.”
“Don’t you worry a pretty white hair on your head, My Trusted. I knew Morgan would fail to kill Emily. In doing so, she only set things in motion. Everything is going according to plan.”
“And what becomes of your dear child, Morgan?” he asked, her name rolling off his tongue in disgust.
He found her to be unpleasant and deceitful. How could she turn on her friend so easily, he would often ask. What he didn’t realize was that it was her obsession over her friend that drove her, feeding into her jealousy. Had it not been for that obsession, she would’ve been much harder to manipulate.
“She’ll come crawling back,” I answered, facing the window again. “They always do.”
