Page 36 of The Witch’s Daughter

Your magic… My wolf started pacing in my mind. You can’t do this.

I’m not a freaking bomb, I cried.

After a few seconds of silence, my wolf went low, whispering, Jaxon doesn’t want you there.

I hesitated with my toothbrush halfway to my mouth. He’d done his whole forced Alpha wolf protection thing again last night, swearing he didn’t think I needed him and it wasn’t about that anyway, but I could see the relief on his face when I said I wouldn’t come.

Jaxon doesn’t get a say in this.

I shoved the toothbrush in my mouth, ignoring my wolf’s growls.

I didn’t know this Vincent warlock well, but his cause resonated with me—as I’m sure it did to the other witches and warlocks who were eager to prove themselves. This was my mom we were talking about. I’d seen firsthand how she’d suffered because of the humans, try as she might to keep the worst of it from us.

You know what riled me up?

Anyone messing with my family.

I spit out my toothbrush and dunked my face in the cup of cold water from my canteen, using a rag to quickly wipe my pits.

Three days.

That’s about the maximum amount of time I had before my sister would get our Alpha and they’d all come charging back here with teeth and claws out.

I was running out of time to prove that I wasn’t some liability to my pack. That I could protect them like they protected me—that I could live up to my Gram’s last wishes and show them I was more than they believed me to be.

This is a mistake, my wolf warned.

I stepped outside, squinting as the morning sun beat down on the empty tent canvases. I’d thought it was still early, but by the looks of things I was… late.

Damn it. I took off running.

I wasn’t sure where to go. I managed to catch Jaxon’s scent through the festival. It was hours old and fading, but I used what I had to get to where I needed to be.

Past the festival tents was a dirt field that dipped into a valley, forming some sort of arena with towering wood walls, canopied makeshift structures, and wire fence lining the far eastern border.

I slid to a stop in the field, coming up breathless behind the other warlocks and witches who were talking and stretching out their limbs as they faced the empty podium at the front.

Thank the gods, I’m not late. I rested my hands on my knees, catching my breath.

I wouldn’t be thanking anyone yet, my wolf whispered.

Slowly, I raised my face. Jaxon glared at me, standing next to Calla with her two wolves and the guys. The five of them were just enough removed from the rest of the group and towered over them with their shifter height to look—for all intents and purposes—exactly like a coven.

And they all seemed equally upset to see me. Heat flushed my skin when I thought about what Jaxon would’ve told them. That my Alpha was coming to save the day and I was supposed to hide until she got here.

No wonder they’d all stopped coming around when my magic went on the fritz. Wolf shifters valued strength, and here I was, some broken witch who couldn’t even make it one day without running to their Alpha.

No more.

I raised my chin, ignoring the looks they gave me. I didn’t need them as a coven then, and I didn’t need them now. A horn sounded, drawing our attention to the front, and everyone quieted down.

“Good to see you all this morning.” Vincent took the podium, using magic to project his voice again like he’d done last night. But this morning, he wore looser fitting pants and a black shirt that clung to his muscled chest, not that I was looking at his body that way, like some of the other witches who stood up straighter to get a better view.

“If you’re here, it’s because you’re rumored to be the best of your pack,” he said.

Then why are we here?

Shh. He’s still talking.