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“The whore who stole my son away from his coven. He didn’t do what he must, so I did it for him. That’s what comes of being in power, Jolie. Sometimes the choice is never yours.”
Is that so?
The glow around my hands seems impossibly brighter. The magic swarms around me, flooding my veins, making my belly feel like it’s on fucking fire, but my mind is clear. My heart is icy cold as my birth mother’s predatory instincts align with my father’s blood.
My fingers flex, claws curving around the tips. I’m still in my skin, though there’s no doubt in my mind that my wolf is taking over.
If not my wolf, something is.
I have a mouthful of fangs. As Marie looks down her nose at me, I show them off in a wicked grin.
She matches it. The matriarch of the coven is a witch, but something about the way she bares her teeth at me in an encouraging smile has me vibrating in place.
“Oh, Grandmere,” I whisper, using the name she insisted on the first time we met, “what big teeth you have.”
She shakes her head haughtily. “Yes. And what big claws you have, petite fille.”
I know.
Marie crooks her finger at me. It’s a dare. It’s a command.
It’s a challenge.
I’m not an Alpha, but I am a wolf shifter. And whether Marie knew what she was doing or not, she begged for a challenge.
And that’s what she gets.
My hands are still glowing with magic. Is that what makes it so easy for me to grab the slick material of her fancy dress in one hand before plunging the other through her chest, right for her heart?
The dress doesn’t stop me. The skin and bones, muscle and sinew… that doesn’t stop me. I dig my claws into her chest, squeezing her heart, doing everything I can to make her realize that I’m not the obedient granddaughter she lost to the wolves—or the son she sacrificed for her own petty whims.
I’m Fallon, and this is my story.
It all happens in a matter of seconds before reality comes crashing in and all I can think is: what the fuck did I just do?
I yank my hand back out of her chest, horrified at my actions, but also feeling a sense of righteousness.
Like I was meant to murder my grandmother.
Because I did, didn’t I?.
Supes are long-lived with impressive senses. The wolves can go from human and back. The witches can throw magic around like bombs. Marie used hers to freeze me. Lucas is strong enough in either form to move the heavy iron fence surrounding the pack house or carrying my dead weight through the woods. Even Eleanor can track using her human nose.
But one thing I’ve learned? They’re not immortal. They can die. Jolie did, run down by a wolf that tore her to pieces.
They can die… which means they can be killed.
Magic can heal a lot of injuries. A silver blade to my inner arm or Tristan’s hind leg, or a feral wolf going for her lover’s throat… a wolf shifter’s regenerative properties are even more amazing. But whether I squeezed Marie’s heart or decided to go after Jade next, there is some damage that can’t be undone.
What I just did to my grandmother? That’s one of them.
She gasps softly, elegant even in her last breaths. Instead of using her magic to avenge herself, she smiles as her champagne-colored dress blooms with bright red blood.
“J’ait fait ce que je devais, petite fille.”
I did what I must, granddaughter.
And so did I.
