Page 3 of Destined to the Lycan (The Shadow Realms #3)

In fact, delaying only enabled the disease to progress further. Every minute wasted could be another nail in my coffin.

Groaning inwardly, I exited my workshop and headed back to my carriage. As excited as I felt about experimenting with new candle recipes, I wouldn’t live long enough to see how well people would receive them if I keeled over.

For a split second, I debated whether to simply ride on horseback or once again use my carriage. In the end, I settled for the latter. It shamed me to admit that the fact the carriage would go slower played a big part in that choice.

The one-hour journey to the Weaver’s home both took forever and flew by too quickly.

It gave me far too much time to imagine the worst possible scenarios as to what she might want as payment for her assistance.

How far was I willing to go? What would I deem too steep a price in exchange for saving my life?

The part of me that couldn’t wait to be there and to get this whole ordeal done and over with battled with the part that dreaded what was about to happen.

I almost hoped that the gates wouldn’t open.

The silhouette of the gates appeared in the distance, flanked by tall pillars atop which gargoyle-looking creatures stood watch.

From all accounts, one shouldn’t be fooled by their stony appearance.

They weren’t statues but powerful guardians that could tear any would-be trespassers to shreds if they didn’t heed their warning to turn back.

To my shock, long before I even came within range, the doors quietly parted open as if pushed by an invisible hand.

My heart leapt, my conflicted emotions going into overdrive as fear and hope warred within me in equal measure.

I softly gasped when the eyes of both creatures lit up with a yellow glow.

They didn’t emit a single sound but turned their heads to stare at me as I passed through the gate.

The only thing that kept me from peeing myself was the complete absence of any threatening demeanor on their part.

Eyes wide, I crossed the two-hundred-meter path up to the house, framed by the most exotic forest I ever beheld.

While I recognized some of the plants and trees, others were completely foreign to me.

One thing was for certain, very few people could boast having access to what had to be an immense fortune in greenery.

Even from here, I could feel the potent magic contained within them.

What I wouldn’t give for only a few leaves, petals, or sap from this treasure trove.

I frowned in confusion as I closed in on the humble, cliché witch hut that greeted me at the end of the path.

There was no way so powerful a being would live in such a house.

Surely, this was some sort of illusion. But the door opening with a will of its own before I even stopped my carriage knocked all those wandering thoughts right out of my mind.

I swallowed hard as another wave of worry twisted my insides.

But cowering stopped being an option the moment I crossed the gates.

Come what may, I was committed. I stepped down from my carriage, absent-mindedly patted my horse’s neck in a soothing fashion, and made my way towards the house.

Despite the soft light emanating from the open door, it still resembled a gaping maw eager to swallow me whole.

With an assurance I certainly didn’t feel, I stepped inside the house to find the Weaver sitting behind a table facing the entrance. If not for her somewhat otherworldly appearance and the undeniable power radiating from her, one might have believed her to be a receptionist manning the front desk.

She was beautiful, her age undefinable in light of the smoothness of her lightly tanned skin, and yet undoubtedly ancient.

Her pupils narrowed into vertical slits in the purple sea of her irises as she watched me approach.

She tilted her head to the side and distractedly ran a hand along the endless length of her silver white-hair plaited in a single braid that pooled to the floor.

“Greetings, Amara Sanni. I was expecting you,” the Weaver said in a throaty and slightly seductive voice that sent a shiver down my spine.

Too stunned that she already knew my full name, I stopped dead in my tracks and gaped at her while my mind struggled to catch up.

This fumbling behavior made no sense coming from me.

I wasn’t the type to just freeze or panic in the face of adversity.

Whatever inner turmoil I felt, I normally shoved it down and rose to the moment until the situation was resolved.

But then, I’d never stood in the presence of a goddess before.

A taunting smirk stretched her lips. With a conviction I couldn’t explain, I realized she knew exactly what thoughts were currently crossing my mind.

“Have a seat,” she said, waving slightly to my left.

Before I could ask where, a grinding sound from behind startled me.

My jaw dropped when I glanced over my shoulder to see a chair I hadn’t noticed by the door gliding over the wooden floor and stop in front of the table.

Although I’d seen mages and conjurers use telekinetic abilities, it had never been so effortless.

Swallowing hard, I complied.

“Thank you, Weaver,” I said, finding my voice at last. “And thank you for agreeing to see me. As you know my name, it appears that the rumors are true when they claim that you know everything.”

She snorted, an amused glimmer flicking through her purple eyes as her pupils dilated again into a rounder shape—which honestly made her come across as less intimidating.

“Everything, no. I wish that were the case. But most things, yes. For example, I do not know your ultimate fate, only potential outcomes,” she replied.

I instantly perked up. “Any positive ones?” I asked, slightly embarrassed by the excessive eagerness in my voice.

She pursed her lips and gave me an assessing look. “Yes,” the Weaver said at last.

“So you know the cause of my illness, or whatever it is?” I asked, leaning forward.

“It is not an illness but poison slowly killing you,” she stated matter-of-factly.

I recoiled. “Poison?! Which one? Where and how did I get infected?”

A speculative expression fleeted over her face before it returned to a neutral state. “That’s for you to figure out.”

I blinked and stared at her in confusion. “What? If you know what it is, why not just tell me?”

“I cannot solve things for you,” she replied carefully, her face taking on an air of intensity that almost had me squirming in my chair.

“You need a cure, and I can tell you where to find it. But securing it is your burden to bear. While I’m allowed to tell you that you’re poisoned, you must find the source and eliminate it. ”

I took a moment to digest her words. Whatever doubts might have lingered in my mind as to the fact that she was a goddess or one of the Ancients totally faded.

Only gods and demigods were bound by Covenants.

Some demons and familiars could also fall under such restrictions, but she was neither of those lesser beings.

“Very well,” I replied hesitantly, my mind still racing. “I have tried in vain to find the source of my illness. But what happens if I acquire the cure first without finding the source?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “You will be fine. If you manage to get the cure, then you will be immune forever.”

“Is it the same thing that killed my father?” I asked, tension seeping into my voice.

“Yes,” she replied factually.

My chest constricted as the unpleasant thought that had plagued me since the first symptoms manifested themselves reared its ugly head again.

“You said it is a poison killing me. So this is not genetics, right? It is not some hereditary illness passed down to me?”

“It is not.”

I clenched my teeth as anger surged through me. “That means someone is after us.”

“It is a fair assumption,” she responded in a noncommittal fashion.

That, too, angered me. I wanted to snap at her and demand that she give me proper answers.

She held the information I needed. I didn’t doubt for a moment that she knew the exact identity of the person who had taken my father’s life and who was now after me.

But who were they and why? Above all, why now?

As far as I knew, my uncle had no other children or significant other who lived here in the Americas.

No one contested his will or even expressed the slightest interest in moving here or claiming the house.

Therefore, it made no sense that this inheritance could be the motive for the attack.

But if it wasn’t, why wait until I came here instead of many years ago while I still lived in Harmstead?

I almost questioned her about all of this before catching myself. She couldn’t answer any of these questions. Pressing her about them would not only be pointless but also risk alienating her. As I desperately needed her assistance, I carefully worded my following requests.

“Will I find the culprit?”

“It is a potential path,” she conceded, a glimmer of approval flashing through her unusual eyes.

This only seemed to further support my suspicions that she could read my mind. As I was an emotional wreck right now, it wasn’t ideal. I could simply take comfort in the fact that she didn’t seem displeased with how I was handling things so far.

“And if I fail to catch them, how bad will things be for me?”

She hesitated for a long time. For a split second, I wondered if she had not heard the question. Then I realized her eyes had slightly gone out of focus. The Weaver was undoubtedly prodding the complex network of the future before answering.

“There are too many potential outcomes from one extreme to the next. The choices you make while you attempt to find the cure will help narrow down the likely outcomes,” she finally said in a non-committal fashion.