Page 77 of Revenant

Tears sting my eyes. “What do you want?”

“Simple,” Reed says. “They want you, and I want to be with Avery.” He strokes the wolf beside him again, and I realize the creature’s eyes—Avery’s eyes—are fixed on me with something dangerously close to deliverance.

“You’re using me as a bargaining chip?” The words come out in a strangled laugh. The realization rips through me. This was never about protection. It was a trap.

The pack closes in. My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat. My breathing stutters, the magic inside me swelling until it feels like it will tear me apart from the inside out. Reed’s voice keeps going, taunting me. “You know, for some all-powerful witch they claim you are, I haven’t seen you do…anything. Are you sure you’re even a witch? Maybe they’re all mistaken and you’re nothing but a blip.”

I drop to my knees, one hand pressed to my chest as if I can physically hold the panic down. The thought slices through me. I’m going to die. There’s no way around it. Nobody’s coming. Anyone who would, can’t—they’re bound to the school grounds.

My body grows heavy, the magic pressing inward like a pressure cooker. Reed watches me with a grin that makes my skin crawl. He turns his back and walks away, the first wolf—Avery—following him until the trees swallow them too. I’m left alone with the pack, their growls filling the cold, damp air.

A silver wolf lifts its head and howls, a long, mournful sound that sets the others off in a chorus. Another steps forward, larger than the rest, its coat a deep reddish brown, its presence heavier. It licks its lips slowly, as if savoring the moment before a kill.

Everything flashes—my parents’ faces, Bastian’s mischievous laugh, Koen’s steady presence, Elias’s calm, Pryce and Moriah’s quiet reassurance, even my aunt’s reluctant affection. The memories come in a rush, and I let the tears fall. The pack closes in, the pressure of their proximity undeniable.

The magic inside me folds in on itself, building into a buzzing inferno. I don’t know how to control it. I don’t know how to aim it. But I can’t let them take me.

I scream. The sound tearing out of me, and the forest answers. My arms fling out as if I could push the world away. The nearest wolf lunges and its teeth snap past my wrist—a hair’s breadth from closing fully—only to be met by a force that rips through the air. The impact is a shockwave of sound and light that makes the trees shudder. The wolves convulse, bodies seizing, howls turning into strangled, horrendous noises. One by one they collapse, writhing on the ground.

I drop my hands, panting, scrambling to my feet. For a moment I think they’re dead. The silence is absolute, ringing loudly in my ears. Then a leg twitches. Another follows. They begin to stir, slow and pained, and I realize I haven’t killed them. I’ve only hurt them—enough to piss them off.

The largest of the wolves before me rises, shaking its head as if to clear the fog of my attack. It growls, low and furious, and I try to will the power back into my hands. I call for it, but it’s like trying to catch smoke. The magic is stubborn, refusing to obey when I need it most.

The wolf before me bares its teeth and lunges without a second thought. I close my eyes, bracing for the end, but the pain never comes. A flash of wind skates across my face, causing my eyes to spring open.

A dark shape streaks through the air and collides with the attacking wolf. A black wolf, fur like midnight, slams into the other, latching onto its throat. The two tumble, snarling, saliva and blood flying, but the black wolf gains the upper hand and pins the other down in a brutal, silent command.

I don’t waste the moment. The other wolves are still down, struggling to rise and failing. I run. My legs burn, lungs screaming with each ragged breath. I don’t look back until the forest’s edge is a smear of green in the distance. Tears track down my face, salt and rain mixing.

Werewolves. The guys were right. They weren’t lying about the danger. But they were wrong about the target. They didn’t want witches. They wanted me.

25: Pryce

A week ago, she couldn’t stand without shaking. Now she thinks she can challenge me. It’s almost amusing…Almost. If I wasn’t stuck here instead of dealing with matters that actually require my attention, I might even let her try as entertainment.

“Drink,” I say, for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Or what?” she asks, baring her fangs at me instead. “I said I’m not doing it.”

“Then you’ll lose control,” I reply, already bored with this argument. I need to get back to Alicent. If it wasn’t for the potential harm a new fledgling could cause, I would never have left her with Koen. “And I’ll have to clean up whatever mess you make.”

“He ends my life, turns me into…into this—” She gestures to herself, disgust consuming her features. “I’m supposed to what—fall in line and pretend this isn’t a fucking nightmare?”

“It’ll get easier, Sage.”

“Of course you’d say that,” she snaps. “You didn’t have your life ripped out from under you and get told to be grateful for it.”

That’s when my resolve snaps. I surge forward, closing the distance in an instant, caging her in until we’re nearly nose to nose.

“Say that again and see how little patience I have for your ignorance.”

It’s probably reckless to corner a newborn—their strength is volatile, unpredictable even—but I don’t stop. I don’t pull back. Not when I’ve been dragged away from the one woman I’ve given a damn about in centuries. When I’m stuck here babysitting someone who should’ve stayed rotting in that basement.

I lean in closer, forcing her to hold my gaze. “No,” I whisper. “I’m not telling you to be grateful. I’m warning you—fail to drink, and this so-called second chance will be nothing more than ashes in your fucking fingers.” Defiance comes off her in waves, a retort already loading on her tongue.

Sage’s eyes drop to the bag that’s still in my hand, before meeting mine again. A huff of frustration leaves her as she rips the bag from my grip and drinks it down greedily.

“Now, was that so hard?” Her feedings are still a mess, blood paints the area around her lips, but she uses her thumb to wipe it away, sucking it clean to ensure not a single drop is missed. It’s been a struggle for her to feed, not because she’s not hungry, but because she’s repulsed. By us and herself. Which has made for a rather difficult transition period.