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“You’re not mates.”
“How astute of you.” Timoth looks at her as a coveted possession, and not the attractive kind. Like a stepping stone, and she’s no better. “But you’ll learn soon enough, little girl, that mates are worthless in the grand scheme of things. They get in the way and unfortunately, must be removed and replaced…just like you’ll be.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” they answer in unison, but it’s Theresa I’m focused on. Her parting words before exiting and locking the door behind them, stabbing me in the chest.
Loyalty is a fickle thing, young child. My nephew will teach you that lesson—he’ll be the cause of your tears and death.
13
ISABELLA
“You’re on serving duty, Witch. Alpha’s order.” The man who introduced himself as the beta yesterday sneers, pushing me through an entryway and into a vast room filled with wolves. He’d collected me not long ago, almost caught me mid-dream walk—and dragged me through the forest and back to the estate with malicious intent clear in his eyes. Furthermore, I don’t know if these people are part of the royal pack or not, but each member sitting and celebrating looks at me with disgust. So much hatred. “Get to work.”
“No.” The word is spit out with venom, yet the man is unaffected. Instead, he throws his head back and laughs while I glance around the room. It’s large, easily the size of a ballroom with large tables throughout and chandeliers above each one. From one end to the other, the left side has windows that overlook the forest while the heavy, white linen drapes are open and tied to the side with an intricate woven rope the color of gold.
A crest sits at the center of each fabric panel; a black wolf inside a green shield with a crown atop it’s head, just like the one on Xadiel’s back. This time, though, I make out the rest. On the left, there’s the symbol of the sun and on the right, a moon with the Evergreen name stitched beneath each emblem.
The same one is found behind the raised dais where the royal table remains near empty, except for his aunt in all her overdone glory with a haughty look on her face. Triumphant. Cockier than our first encounter.
I’ve been in Theresa’s presence twice now, spoken once, and I don’t like her. Her spirit is dark; jealousy and gluttony exude from her while everyone remain aloof to it. I know it’s because of my powers that I see and they don’t, but the ugliness isn’t hidden. More like no one pays attention because it doesn’t affect them yet.
But it will. It always does with people like her.
Just like the longer I’m on these lands my eyesight clears and what’s been hidden rises from the murky waters. What controls the narrative is old, but not wiccan. I know that now as I pick up the sharpness of a fae’s enchantment—the sorcery is meant to create havoc and it’s done just that.
Theresa and Timoth are being led by it, but not against their will. This is deliberate.
What did King Larue offer them? Yet another thought is more daunting; he knows who my mate is. All of this was done to separate us.
Refocusing my attention on Theresa, I take in her appearance. She’s in the finest silk dress the color scarlet red, not a hair out of place. There’s jewelry on her neck, wrists, and ears as she smiles and waves at those in attendance. So many clamoring for her good favor.
You’d think this was a grand ball and not a simple dinner. Then again, I see many she-wolves in attendance dressed up with their partners in suits with ties that match their date’s apparel. Xadiel’s aunt still outshines them all, though. She wants the attention, yet not the kind I’ll provide before leaving this place.
I will never beg a man. Not even my mate.
Will never allow myself to be treated as I have been ever again.
And had I not known better, I’d say she was the queen and not the aunt who’s more than friendly with the beta. Their match is one of convenience and power status, not an ounce of love. Their auras don’t linger or meld with one another. No complement.
My family never dressed like this to host coven dinners or meetings with sector leaders. We wanted our guests to feel comfortable and at peace while on our lands; Wiccan traditions are about connection and love, not opulence or false appearances.
He will be the cause of your tears and death.
“What did you say, bitch?” Timoth’s hand strikes out and I step back on reflex, yet the shackles around my ankles impede me from creating enough space. He knows this and the gleam in his eyes confirms it, yet I don’t back down.
Instead, I stare at him and wait for the strike that never comes, though.
Not so much as a graze to the cheek because I’m tugged aside while another werewolf steps forward in a challenging manor. “Touch my luna and die, Timoth,” the males voice booms, the power behind his vow shocking those inside the royal dining hall.
Where did he come from?
The guests pause mid drink or bite, cutlery clanging against expensive china while the man who first stopped me while walking through their land grabs a hold of the beta’s arm. One yank, and they’re nose to nose, the younger of the two growling aggressively while taking a protective stance in front of me.
“Stand down, Gamma Cain. Know your place—”
“I’m not the one who’s forgotten his bloody role in this pack, Beta,” Cain snarls lowly, Timoth’s title dripping with disdain. Or maybe the feeling itself is for the man? The two don’t seem to like each other; it’s clear as day in their eyes. Their body language. “She’s untouchable by law, and I will not stand here and have you or anyone harm her.”
