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Is she conscious? Can she hear what’s going on? Can she feel whatever is happening inside her? Furious rage burns in my veins. She’s so weak and helpless. I’m going to kill every single one of these witches for hurting her.
“What is this about?” Dad bellows over the hum of so many hushed voices, which together make a much louder sound.
“You have something that belongs to us.” The witch’s voice is high-pitched, almost piercing.
“And exactly, what would that be?”
“The child born of two worlds.”
That’s enough to make me look away from Lili, my head swinging around to find that bitch smiling. No. They can’t be serious. This can’t mean what I think it does. Benedict lets out a choked sound, and only now do I notice the way Thorne has to hold him in place, so he doesn’t leap out of his chair.
Dad raises his voice again. “What does that mean? What child? We have no such child here.”
“You lie.” The witch hisses through her teeth.
“I do not,” Dad insists. “There is no child here born of two worlds. You’re mistaken.”
She sneers, and it feels like the temperature drops ten degrees. “Are we? Come now, powerful alpha. Lying does not suit you. I suppose we all have weaknesses.”
“They can’t have her,” Benedict growls, baring his teeth. “They can’t.”
“At last, someone is willing to speak seriously rather than lying inexpertly.” Her lips curve upward in what I imagine would be a smile if she didn’t look so cold and brutal. “Explain to me precisely why we cannot have her?”
“Because she’s not yours.”
“She is just as much ours as she is yours, wolf,” she murmurs, and the murmuring which breaks out behind her sends a chill running through me. They’re serious about this. They actually think they’re going to get what they want.
“Dad,” I grunt, looking down at him, silently begging him to put a stop to this. She’s stopped convulsing and is now lying still. Unconscious, I hope. I would hate to think of her lying there in pain, terrified, unable to see but able to hear her life being bartered.
No, I doubt she’d know she’s the subject of negotiations. Even if she heard every word, she would wonder who all the fuss is about. She doesn’t know who, or better yet, what she is.
And here I am, wanting nothing more than to ease her pain, to take it away completely, and get her out of here. The battle between duty and our bond is tearing me in half.
“It seems we’ve gotten off track.” Dad’s not putting on the pretense of being civil any longer. I doubt being insulted is helping his sense of diplomacy. “You called this meeting and made it sound like you wanted to meet to discuss the terms of a peace agreement.”
“That is correct.”
“Now, you tell me you want…”
“Her.” When she lifts her arm, extending one long finger, it takes everything I have not to throw myself over Lili’s body. I expect a bolt of lightning to shoot from her fingertip, but nothing happens.
Though when our eyes meet briefly, I would swear she’s laughing at me. Like she knows what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling.
And of course, she would make a mockery of it.
“The white wolf,” another of the witches whispers, and soon they’re all whispering, and it sounds like nothing so much as a clutch of snakes. The white wolf, the white wolf, it lifts the hair on the back of my neck and makes my wolf growl, scratching and clawing, desperate to burst out of my skin, and I want nothing more than to let him have his way. Absolutely nothing more, but I’m thinking smart. That could get her killed. It could get us all killed. This is one of those times when what’s best for the pack supersedes anything I want. Even something as important as my mate.
There’s soft crying coming from somewhere, and Thorne mutters under his breath when he sees his daughters weeping, clinging to their mother. It’s obvious what’s happening to Lili is affecting them—and they aren’t the only ones.
“You must stop this,” Thorne growls at the witches, but their whispering grows louder. The white wolf, the white wolf. I hear it in my head like they’ve somehow worked their way into my brain. It’s all I can do to keep from covering my ears with my hands. Not that it would help, anyway, not like the sound wouldn’t somehow work its way into my skull.
“She possesses powerful magic,” their leader informs us. “Power that by all-natural law belongs to us. To those of her kind.”
“She is not one of you,” Dad tells them. “She is one of us.”
“She belongs to both worlds.”
“And who are you to say your claim overrides our own?”
“The blood of powerful witches descended from long lines runs through her veins.”
