Page 6 of Sophie’s Ruin (Crimson and Shadows #2)

SOPHIE

Ilanded on my hands and knees, my stomach churning. Waylon crumpled to the ground next to me, quickly rolling to the side to vomit in the grass. Celeste was the only one still standing, but even she bent at the waist and braced her hands on her knees, breathing hard.

“What did you do?” I rasped, in between waves of nausea, my eyes trained on the ground below me.

My vision swam, blurring the individual blades of grass and insects crawling between them.

I knew we weren’t in the study anymore as I inhaled the fresh air, willing the queasiness in my stomach to subside.

Once it had, I swiftly rose to my feet, looking frantically around.

Disbelief surged through me as my heart dropped like a stone to the pit of my stomach—I was in the Black Forest. A wall of trees encircled the clearing where I stood.

Celeste’s weathered cottage sat under a beam of silvery moonlight a few feet behind me.

“What did you do?!” I whirled on the witch, my eyes wide.

“I brought us here using my magic,” she answered, straightening from her waist.

A gust of cool wind whipped through the clearing, stirring her long white hair, and billowing her cloak.

“Take me back!” I snarled, getting in her face.

Her features were impassive as she stared back at me, her luminous blue eyes so bright they seemed to glow.

“I will not,” she declared calmly. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Bringing us here nearly depleted my magic.

Bringing even one person with you is difficult.

I didn’t realize that he latched on to you until it was too late.

” She nodded at Waylon, who’d stopped vomiting but still looked sickly pale, slowly rising from the ground on shaking legs.

I knew what the witch had said should rattle me—she had the ability to move through space in the blink of an eye, faster even than a vampire. My skin still tingled from the effects of her magic. Did all White Witches possess that ability? Did I?

I couldn’t bring myself to care at the moment.

All I cared about was getting back to the mansion, to Henry.

He was fighting for his life right now. My mind quickly conjured up an image of the battle that was undoubtedly unfolding in the study.

He needed me. I needed him, too. The look he’d given me before Celeste had brought me here could not have been the last time I’d seen his face.

With a snarl of determination, I spun away from the witch, facing the direction of where New Haven lay miles away. All my muscles tensed as I prepared to cross that distance with supernatural speed.

“Don’t be foolish,” Celeste warned from behind me.

“You’re the foolish one—they’ll track my scent,” I threw over my shoulder as I stepped back with my right foot before bending my knees and leaning forward.

“No, they won’t,” Celeste said calmly. She was too calm, and that got my attention.

Confused, I straightened from my pre-sprint position and turned back around to look at her.

“There is a powerful protection spell on the area around the cottage that masks smells and sounds. It also veils my house, making it invisible to the naked eye. Only someone who has been here before would be able to find us.”

Henry, the thought immediately popped into my head. He’s been here before. He’ll find us…if he survives.

Despair rose and spread, coating my insides with ice. I winced in pain as shards of it pierced my heart.

“I have to go back,” I said, but my voice shook.

I’d wanted to sound firm, but the words had come out as a plea, as if I were asking for Celeste’s permission. I didn’t need it, of course, but what I did need was for her to stop me from making the wrong move. Deep down, I knew I shouldn’t return to the mansion.

“Henry was trying to protect you,” the witch said, looking into my eyes as if to make sure her words were sinking in. “Do not go back and undo what he did.”

“But who is going to protect him?” I argued as tears threatened.

“Isabelle is with him,” Celeste pointed out. “Besides, it’s not him they want, it’s you. You and the Tear. Together, you two are the ultimate weapon.”

“She’s right,” Waylon chimed in from my right. He’d gotten some color back in his face but sweat still dotted his brow. “Sophie, do you have the amulet?” He was looking at me as if I was his only hope. And I supposed, at the moment, I was.

“I do have it,” I admitted, taking a step back to put some distance between us. The look in his eyes was almost maniacal, and I didn’t trust him not to lunge at me again.

“Then use it,” Waylon said vehemently, stepping toward me. “Put an end to all this. You’re the only one who can.”

“No.” I scowled at him as my hand spasmed by my right thigh, where the Tear seemed to burn through the fabric of my pants.

Waylon noticed the barely-there twitch of my fingers, and his gaze dropped to my thigh, the maniacal gleam in his eyes burning brighter.

“I will find another way to put an end to this,” I said quickly, taking another step back.

Waylon cared about me, always had, but did he care enough to spare my life if the alternative was saving his people? A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have faulted him for sacrificing one for the benefit of many. I’d been a different person then.

Waylon’s frenzied gaze lifted from my thigh, fastening on mine.

Don’t make me take it from you, his eyes pleaded.

My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it, trying to suppress my nature and not flash my fangs.

I didn’t want to provoke Waylon, because if I did and he lashed out, the wild side of me would break free and hurt him…

savagely. The predator within was prowling just below the surface of my skin, waiting for what would happen next.

I was brimming with primal violence on the brink of being unleashed.

Suddenly, the predator stopped prowling and sniffed the air.

My nostrils flared as I smelled it. Blood.

Heart pounding, I turned toward the dark woods surrounding the clearing and held my breath.

I peered into the tall and twisted shapes making up the tree line as I waited, praying to see an outline of the familiar silhouette, a shadow of the powerful body I’d only begun to explore, but that was as dear to me as my own.

When the scent of the one who was bleeding intensified, carried to me by the breeze, relief sparked in my chest, but it was mixed with heart-wrenching disappointment.

The scent wasn’t the one I’d hoped for. It wasn’t him.

I’d known it all along. When I’d first smelled the blood, I knew it wasn’t the sweet essence of him, but I’d still allowed myself to hope, if only for a moment.

A dark shape separated from the trees, and I narrowed my eyes, zeroing in on the one who’d stepped out of the woods.

I smelled Isabelle, I was sure of it, but she wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t walking.

She was being carried by a hooded figure.

The scent of the one carrying her was familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place it.

Muscles tensing, I moved my right foot back, preparing to run to Isabelle.

I didn’t know if the one carrying her was friend or foe, and I wasn’t going to wait any longer to find out.

“Wait,” Celeste stopped me with a hand on my arm.

I glanced at her before refocusing on the hooded figure.

A man, judging by his gait and musky scent.

His face was cast in shadows as he made his way toward us until he was close enough for me to peer under the hood.

My eyes widened in shock as I took in the shaggy blond hair and light stubble.

Pale-blue eyes locked on mine, but they didn’t dance anymore like they’d used to.

“Wren,” I breathed, staggering back a step.

The young man quickly closed the distance between us with Isabelle limp and boneless in his arms. When he approached, the coppery smell of her blood enveloped me as I quickly scanned her injuries.

Countless cuts and lacerations covered her body, and a ragged wound gaped on the side of her neck as if someone had tried to rip out her throat.

A shudder rolled through me at the grisly sight.

“I found her not far from here. She’s in really bad shape,” Wren told Celeste.

“Were you followed?” I asked, not looking at him. I couldn’t force my gaze away from Isabelle’s mutilated body.

“No,” Wren replied. “No one will be able to track us here.”

I finally tore my eyes away from Isabelle and looked at him.

“I carry a hex bag in my pocket to cover up my scent and protect me when I’m moving about the Black Forest,” he explained when I arched a brow.

“I need one of those,” Waylon said, drawing my attention to him. “I can use it to return to New Haven. I have to warn the others about what the clans are planning.”

“You can’t return,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded foreign to my ears. It was cold and detached. “The clans will catch you and use you to find me.”

“I won’t tell them anything. I’d rather lose my life than—”

“You won’t get a choice,” I cut him off. “Some of the vampires can compel. Bend your will to theirs. They will get the information out of you.”

In fact, the clan leaders could simply compel the guards to hide the truth about what had truly happened on the border, but I doubted they would choose such a humane approach.

Waylon paled, swallowing hard.

“I have to warn the others,” he insisted. “The clans want to hide the truth about the Dark Witches, to keep up this farce that we need their protection. The guards from the border are the only ones who know what really happened. The clan leaders will come for them–”

“I know,” I said low, my voice hollow.

Waylon’s face became leached of all color. I knew what I was asking of him was too much—an impossible decision. But I couldn’t let him return to New Haven and undo what Henry had done to protect me and the amulet.

The air became thick with misery and anguish as Waylon and I stared at each other in silence.

A few minutes ago, I’d wondered what he was prepared to do for his people.

Now, I was wondering how far I was willing to go to not let him leave this clearing.

Judging by his expression, he was wondering the same thing.

His gaze flicked over me, sharp and assessing.

A muscle flexed along his jaw as he calculated his odds.

They weren’t good. Waylon was a skilled fighter, but even he couldn’t go up against a vampire, especially one anticipating an attack.

Another second passed in tense silence as Waylon and I stood squared off against each other.

Finally, his eyes shuttered and he released a jagged breath, giving in.

My coiled muscles relaxed just a fraction because I wouldn’t have to hurt my long-time friend.

If I could still call him that after tonight.

Isabelle whimpered softly in Wren’s arms, snapping my attention to her. I knew the weak sound couldn’t possibly be a true representation of the agony raging inside her.

“Is there anything you can do for her?” Wren asked urgently, turning to Celeste.

My brows lifted at the genuine look of concern on his face.

“No.” The witch gave a small shake of her head. “She needs blood.”

Wren’s boyish features hardened with determination.

“Out of my way,” he said firmly, his eyes trained on the cottage behind us.

Waylon and I stepped farther apart from each other to give Wren a wider berth to pass between us. Our eyes locked for a second, but Waylon quickly averted his gaze as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. No matter. His palpable hatred toward me was the least of my concerns.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, turning after Wren.

“Saving her life,” he threw over his shoulder as he strode toward the cottage.

The low-rise steps of the porch creaked as he quickly climbed them, stopping before the worn front door.

He glanced at me and jerked his chin in a silent request to open it for him.

Once I had, he carried Isabelle inside and laid her on the threadbare rug in the middle of the living room.

Her blood quickly soaked the thin and tattered fabric, staining the wooden floor underneath.

I halted on the other side of the threshold as I watched Wren shrug off his cloak and drop to his knees by Isabelle’s side. He retrieved a pocketknife and sliced open his wrist before promptly bringing it to her mouth, his blood mixing with the dried blood around her lips.

“Drink,” he pleaded low. Isabelle lay unmoving on the floor, her mangled body bathed in the glow of the oil lamps. “Damn it, Isabelle, drink!” Wren shouted as if the raised volume of his voice would make her obey his command.

Nothing happened for several long minutes as I listened to the sluggish beating of Isabelle’s heart. It was growing weaker, fainter by the second, slowing down until I held my breath, fearing the next beat would never come.

Suddenly, Isabelle’s chest rose sharply, and her eyes flew open, pitch-black and unseeing.

Her hands snapped up, grabbing Wren’s wrist, and she began drinking deeply, savagely.

A harsh grunt left Wren as he clenched his teeth, breathing through the pain while Isabelle fed as if her life depended on it. And in that moment, it did.

“Don’t let her take too much,” I said to Wren before I turned around and stepped outside, closing the door softly behind me.