Page 112 of Mage Massacres

This game was cruel and savage, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Now that I knew Annette was Alania’s daughter, I could rightfully say that she deserved more. Evidence of her misdeeds littered the fae realm, but she wasn’t known as Annette there.

“That one,” she shouted, unable to hold her hands up. “In the dark gray shirt.”

Charlie.

I sucked air through my teeth, pulling the glamor away from the previous Supreme Alpha. Seeing the shifter triggered an old memory, and I squatted down beside Annette to question her.

“Where’s your shifter mate? Wasn’t he a timberwolf or something?”

“Ge—Gerard is in the states, leading a pack. He had nothing to do with me or what I’ve done,” she spat.

I glanced up to see Sloane’s calculating gaze. We had too much bullshit to deal with right now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the Colorado faction alpha turned up dead in the coming weeks. He was already on borrowed time.

“Again,” my mate repeated, bypassing Annette’s punishment this round.

The fae-mage sobbed, though no one in attendance offered support. Charlie had the same expression as his daughter, no doubt hearing the confession. Someone had helped Gerard win an Alpha challenge against a dire wolf, and now we knew who.

“Navy jacket,” Annette muttered, shaking her head as she clutched at her arms.

Murphy.

Black embers hit her back, causing her to bow in her pain. Her scream was soundless; agony etched across her features as trails of tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Again,” Sloane insisted.

Annette cried out, “Red t-shirt.”

Helios.

“Again,” my mate pressed, the rasp in her tone letting me know that she was done.

“Black jacket.”

The fae-mage wept, cowering as she kneeled. She didn’t look up as I dropped the glamor of all four men wearing black jackets.

Sam, Arwen, Novak, and Briggs.

The wolf’s whole body shook in his fury. He’d heard Annette, too. He had pieced everything together, and he was ready to rage. Her interference in her mate’s pack life was ultimately what led to Warren’s death. And had Briggs’ father not died, Ruth would still be here too.

“You can remove the rest of the glamor, Vaughn,” Sloane whispered.

She bent down, tipping Annette’s chin so she could look her in the eye. Her low tone was somehow comforting and threatening, making chills spread over my arms.

“I am not a good person, and neither are you. They keep telling me that I am. But when it’s times like this that make me happy, I begin to question the gray area. Do you know why I’m happy?”

She waited for Annette to respond, though all she received were snivels and watery blinks.

“There aren’t many people who I care about, but I would destroy realms for any one of them. I have killed, mauled, drained, burned... I even made a demon eat his own intestines. I’ll do it all over again, too, because they hurt the people that mean everything to me.

“I won’t lose any sleep over killing you. I won’t think of your death and wish I hadn’t harmed you. I’ll look your mother straight in the eyes—just like this—and tell her what I’ve done with no remorse. And after I end her life, I’m going to kill your father. Then I’m going to hunt down and torture your mate. Because they’ve hurt my people, and so have you.

“I was never meant to be the hero. The Fates created a monster, surrounded her with affection so she wouldn’t become worse than the villain, and asked her to serve justice as she saw fit. We’re all guilty, but some crimes are worse than others.”

Sloane released Annette’s chin, stepping back as she twisted her hand. The black embers heeded her command, swirling in the air above us.

“To answer my question, I’m happy because I truly am a bad person, and I know it, to my very core. I don’t lie about it, and I don’t pretend to be something that I’m not.”

She flicked her hand, the burning darkness descending on them both. It parted around Sloane, searing holes in her exposed skin as it rushed for Annette. The hunger for death was palpable, and the embers ate the fae-mage in mere seconds, leaving nothing behind.