Page 52 of Prey of the Lycan Queen (Unwanted #2)
Chapter Fifty-One
Fear clogs my throat, sticky and bitter, as Slavic’s guards drag us from the stony confines of our cells. My body throbs with every step, and my feet drag, unable to keep up. But I can’t give in. I can’t afford to, especially now Regan is almost here.
The grand hall of the underground bunker stretches out before us, a cavernous area filled with a menacing aura. King Slavic awaits our arrival with a sickening glint in his eyes. He thinks he has won, that he can use my power to resurrect his dead son, but he’s wrong.
As I am dropped at his feet, I glance at the faces of my coven. Half are missing. My breath catches. Did they escape? Were they...? No. I can’t entertain that thought. I can’t let the darkness seep into my hope. Yet, I don’t see Kelly anywhere.
Slavic’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, demanding answers about the missing witches. His rage is like a living force in the room, tightening the air around us, and my heart beats frantically against my ribs.
I catch whispers from the guards. Regan has gotten past barriers Slavic put in place. He has infiltrated the mountain, taken down the eastern side, and is now where we just came from.
“We’ve locked down this entire side. What do you want us to do?” a guard stutters, looking at Slavic for answers.
“Fucking stop him, stall him, anything until I bring my son back!” he roars at his guard. A few scamper off, and a breath of relief eases out of me, knowing he is still alive.
“Make sure the other exits are open. Set the explosives off on the eastern and northern side,” Slavic snaps. That relief is short-lived, as Slavic orders the mountain to be blown up. My heart plunges into my stomach.
My gaze drags to Zeke and Lyon, strung up by their wrists, their bodies marred by the torture they’ve endured. Slavic means to use them as leverage. He thinks he can make me do his bidding. A sick knot forms in my stomach, but I suppress the urge to vomit.
As Slavic’s dead son’s body is brought in, I peer around at what remains of my coven.
“Hurry,” Slavic orders with a kick to my side.
I stumble forward and nearly land on his dead son.
Glaring at him, he sneers. “Don’t tempt me, or I will have Lyon killed this time,” Gritting my teeth at his words, I start the chant, my voice ringing out in the eerie silence.
King Slavic’s eyes are on me, intense and probing. His impatience is a thick cloud in the room. And then, I change the words, deviating from the familiar chant.
“That’s not the spell you used last time!” he bellows. I meet his glare, holding my ground, but there’s panic beneath his anger.
“It’s a stronger spell. The other didn’t work,” I say calmly. My words hang in the tense silence, a promise of power, of resurrection. Or so he thinks.
He turns to one of his guards. “Well, look it up!” he orders the man who holds my coven’s grimoire, but they won’t find this one. This one I know from Granny; she created it herself.
Cold determination fuels me as I begin the incantation while Slavic’s guard sifts through pages.
“ In sanguine vinculo, malum purifico ,” I chant, my voice steady.
My coven, held captive, looks at me with wide, knowing eyes.
They can see it in my gaze, feel it in my words as they ripple around the room.
I’m setting the stage for war, and the underground of this mountain is about to be our battlefield.
“How does this spell work? Is it the same as the blood bond?” Slavic demands, his voice grating on my nerves as his men search the grimoire for my words.
A deceptive smile tugs my lips, my heart pounding a fierce rhythm against my ribs. “Oh, it’s much better,” I say, my voice dripping with malice. “It cleanses, restores, rejuvenates, recalibrates the negative energy.”
“Is it...black magic? Will he be the same?” he questions, his brow furrowed.
“He’ll be better, purer.”
“So he won’t be darker like with the blood bond?” he questions.
Laughter bubbles up from deep within me, a biting tune in the chilling silence.
“No, it’s something else, something purer, something your son is not,” I retort.
There’s a cruel satisfaction in seeing his face fall.
In the confusion and uncertainty that flicker in his cold eyes, he looks at his guard holding the spell book.
The man shrugs and quickly turns another page.
With a swift flick of my fingers and a ferocious scream, I finish the incantation. “IGNIS!” The body before us catches fire, flames engulfing it in searing defiance.
“It cleanses us of evil, and your son was one of the worst!” I scream at Slavic, my words ringing out in the room.
“No!” Slavic’s scream turns to a roar. So I shift, and my body morphs, contorting painfully as I transition into my lycan form.
Chaos erupts. Guards rush toward me, their swords gleaming under the harsh light. But I’m faster, stronger. With my coven watching, I tear through them, my claws making quick work of their feeble attempts at subduing me.
Meanwhile, the members of my coven spring into action, turning on the guards that hold them and causing chaos before racing to free Zeke and Lyon, their faces etched with determination. They fight with a ferocity that leaves me feeling a bizarre mix of pride and fear.
Fear that they will be hurt, rendering them powerless once we leave here. The air crackles with raw power as I fling magic at Slavic. All around me, the once stifling underground turns into a battlefield. Metal chains clang and snap, and my mates hit the ground.