Page 97 of The Alpha's Seer

Lexie takes a deep breath and stares at her hands. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she confides.

I glare at her. “You’re the strongest witch I know.”

Lexie looks at me from the corner of her eye and shakes her head slowly. “No. There is one who is stronger, but she’s been missing for a long time.”

I frown and rack my brain.

What witch?

I look at Cox, and his eyes widen.

“Loralie?”

Lexie grimaces but nods. “Yes.”

“Loralie the witch? I thought she died,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

“We hoped she did, you mean,” Cox counters.

Loralie was a witch who no one liked because of her use of dark magic and refusal to help others. My father and the other Alphas had practically exiled her, so when she went missing, no one cared. No one looked for her.

My stomach churns. “Do you think this is her work?”

Lexie nods again, and fear grips my heart. The thought of Blair in there with Loralie and those other sick fucks makes me want to smash the mountain to pieces. Because if Lexie can’t do anything, we’re fucked.

Completely fucked.

Chapter Forty-One

BLAIR

Faolan.

The name means nothing to me. Not that I’d expected it to, but I still feel disappointed that there is no recognition. Nothing. I’ve never heard that name. Not once.

Faolan continues to stare at me, and it’s unnerving, especially when he tries to grin. My stomach revolts, and I repress my disgust.

“I’m disappointed, Blair. You’ve had no visions, and you haven’t worked out who I am.”

I say nothing. What can I say? I don’t know who he is or why I’m here. I can’t help not having visions—I’m hardly in control of them.

“What? Nothing to say? No questions?” Faolan continues to goad me, but I refuse to give any reaction. “I’m going to have to spell it out for you, aren’t I?” He shakes his head and exhales before he sits cross-legged on the floor, his one good eye peering at me.

The stench of charred meat makes me retch, especially when I realize it’s his flesh I can smell.

Surely not. How long ago was he burned?I grimace, trying to shield my nose from the stench.

Like he’s reading my mind, he waves a hand at his skin. “I have to smell that every day. Every fucking day, can you imagine?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, not caring what he has to go through. I’d watch him burn alive if I could.

“Guesswho did this to me.” He leans forward, and I shrink back, not wanting him any closer. “Guess, Blair.”

I’m exhausted and in pain. I don’t have the energy for his guessing games, and I tell him as much. “I don’t know. I’m not playing games with you.”

“Why not?” He has the audacity to look affronted.

He knows why not. He can see my swollen eye and my shattered cheek. He sees the way I wince when I inhale thanks to my cracked ribs. I’m freezing, tired, and scared. The list is endless, and he knows it.