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Forty-One

ALEC

I fucking hate this ceremonial shit. Nothing ever good comes from witchcraft.

Except Harlow. She’s an exception.

Being a part of this is what she wants, so I won’t interrupt, and if I’m honest with myself, it’s what she needs. But I still hate it.

Her red hair is a mini flame lit by the full moon when she joins two others, a witch and warlock. I assume the witch to be Morgan’s daughter, Carina, and the male must be whom I smelled on her earlier. He hands her a cloak that she ties around herself. It swirls nearly to her feet, the hood wide across her back, her hair tumbling over it.

She’s so lovely, and it’s with regret I realize I’ve never told her that.

You’re beautiful, Hellion.

I remain in the treeline, watching, and then suddenly, all three are looking my way, the male’s voice rising at the same time his palms light with magick.

Morgan rushes towards him with a strict warning, and then cuts across the field to me. She casts a spell over herself but, seeing as nothing’s changed, I don’t know what she’s done.

“Glamour,” she murmurs, though I didn’t ask. “No one should notice me over here. I see you figured out how to get out of my house.”

“No thanks to you leaving instructions.”

“I’ve made the choice not to mention your presence to the coven yet. They need to adjust to Harlow being home, and her dragging along a vampire mate might be too much for them.”

If anyone breathes shit to her, they’ll answer to me. A fact I doubt this High Priestess would enjoy hearing.

“If you insist on being present for our ceremony—our sacred ceremony, I should note”—her emphasis not masking her annoyance over my presence—“then you need to remain out of sight. Afterwards, we’ll have a small gathering when I’m sure many of the coven will be distracted greeting Harlow on a more personal level. No matter how much your vamp instincts are demanding you take her away, you can’t interrupt.”

My gaze goes from the witch to my Bride. Standing amongst her own kind, her beauty only made more obvious by the shadows of the night, it’s impossible not to view her as a witch. Despite the attempts to get her powers back, I suppose it’s been easier to view her as a weak human up until now, but now she exudes power that makes me hungry.

Not to destroy, but to worship.

For the first time in…well, ever , I want to bow to another person. To be her loyal subject, forever and always.

“I understand,” I murmur to the waiting witch, not taking my eyes off Harlow.

Morgan heads back to the coven, but I’m too preoccupied watching my mate to grant her any more of my attention. Harlow’s hands make nervous flutters by her sides, and the bond reveals a mix of nerves and excitement.

I prop myself against the tree, cross my arms, and observe from the shadows. The place I’m forever destined to be while Harlow will remain in the Light.

As Harlow is led towards the waiting coven, she glances my way and smiles. It’s simple, but rocks me to my core. It’s as blinding as the sun that’d burn me.

Morgan begins by announcing her presence to the coven. A few ask questions and, while reasonable, they piss me off, and I throw quips into Harlow’s head.

Eventually, Morgan starts her witchy process and leads Harlow into the centre of the circle. She starts explaining to the coven how they’ll collectively get Harlow’s memories back, something I never realized could be the coven’s focus. For Harlow, I want this to work, for her to know the people who truly loved her rather than the deception she was raised with.

I don’t like this, I tell her, because it sounds precarious at best. It sounds like something that’ll make Harlow dream of possibilities to get them yanked away from her. Hellion... She hasn’t looked my way, and if I were to ever feel nerves, it’d be now.

Answering my silent demands, Harlow stares at me, her purple eyes saying what she can’t mentally.

Too bad for her, I don’t give two fucks about her empathy towards the coven.

If you’re harmed at all, I’ll rip them apart. That’s a promise, not a threat, so tell them to consider how much voodoo shit they’re about to do. Your well-being isn’t up for debate. The memories, your past, nothing matters more than your present.

Then they start, every coven member shutting their eyes. Low mumbles I don’t make out come from each individual.

For long minutes, nothing happens.

Through the bond, Harlow’s hope wanes, and for every bit it ticks down, I’m feeling a fraction more murderous.

Morgan murmurs a final command.

Pain ricochets through the bond from Harlow to me, assaulting my own head as surely as hers is. She slams to her knees and bows over, her scream tearing my every nerve.

Harlow!

I push off the tree, intending to get to her. Fuck the High Priestess. Fuck every witch and warlock who’ll raise their magick against me. They can chain me to a tree for all I care after I save Harlow.

Two steps from the treeline, an invisible force slams me back.

No! With a growl, I throw myself at it again, forced to witness the air shimmer white.

“Let me through! Witch, look at me!”

The High Priestess doesn’t.

I need to get to Harlow. Need it more than blood. More than anything.

A crack beside me has me momentarily distracted, Freya landing on the grass.

“Remove this!” I flash my fangs. First Witch or not, I’ll rip her fucking throat out if she doesn’t help.

“Morgan put it up to keep you both safe.”

“ Safe? She’s not safe. Let me get to her!”

Freya shakes her head, grimacing as Harlow screams again, her cry echoing through the deepest parts of me. The parts that are burning in their own personal hell.

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

“Because they’re about to see a lot that’ll raise questions, and the High Priestess will need guidance towards the right path.”

The right path. The right fucking path. She’s speaking about witchy bullshit while my mate is in fucking pain?

I run into the barrier again and again. I’ll never stop fighting until I get to her.

When she screams again, my insides shred apart.