Smoke billows from a cabin straight ahead. The porch is rickety, boards missing, though it boasts a single aged rocking chair. I cannot see through the boarded-up windows, but the aroma of food cooking drifts out to where I kneel beside Merrick, shielded by brush.
“Can you hear anything?” I question.
He shakes his head. “There are strong wards in place around the cabin.”
“Wards? Magic?”
Merrick nods and turns to me, hope burning brightly in his eyes. “I believe we have found our witch.”
I smile and then stand.
“Where are you going?”
“To speak to her.”
Merrick grips my arm. “We don’t know that she is not a threat, Kiya. You are not going in there until I deduce that singular fact.”
“She doesn’t know me,” I remind him. “But she cursed you. Let me talk to her.”
The door creaks open, so Merrick tugs me back down as a dark-haired woman steps out. Her pale skin is barely illuminated by a lantern in her hand. As she holds up the light, I am able to make out her features.
She’s young, maybe around my age, her lips pink and full, eyes a haunting green. “I know you are out there, Alpha,” she says and then reaches behind her and removes a talisman from the door. “Come in, or risk being captured. They are coming.”
Merrick hesitates a moment, finally pulling me to my feet and dragging me toward the porch. The woman is not even the least surprised when she sees us, which begs one massive question: How the hell did she know we were here when even Merrick couldn’t sense her?
As soon as we’re inside the warm cabin, the woman replaces the talisman and shuts the door. She doesn’t even bother flipping the lock, though she closes her eyes, holds her free palm toward it, and begins to chant in faint whispers.
I watch, fascinated, until she’s done. Then, I study the room. A single bed rests in the corner, two chairs and a rickety table in the center. The kitchen is little more than a dutch oven hoisted over a fireplace, though her wooden countertops are pristine.
“Alpha,” she greets.
I turn back toward her.
“You are not who I seek,” Merrick replies.
My heart falls.
“No, I imagine I’m not.” She moves past us and sets her lantern on the counter as she continues kneading a pile of pale dough.
“Who are you?” I question, stepping up closer.
She tilts her head to the side and studies me. “Beta Kiya, I presume?”
“How do you know her name, witch?” Merrick demands, pulling me behind him. “Your mother never met her.”
“Actually, she did. You were a child then, your mother ill.”
My mind races back to those months when my mother lay near death. To the healers I paraded through with coin saved from sewing injuries, hemming clothing, or—on rare occasions—stealing. While that time is mainly a blur, I can recall the faces of each and every healer who tried to help.
Some were clearly only there to take my money, but others—they were genuine. There was only one healer who bothered to ask my name. Only one who seemed interested in me.
“I remember her,” I say. “Or at least, I think so. She’d been kind and the only healer to actually ask my name.”
The woman smiles. “Yes. My mother was quite fond of you. She’d been in the city, looking for supplies, and you stumbled into her path. She described you as strong, intelligent, and far too cunning for your own good.” She slaps the dough. “According to her, you’d just lifted a handful of silver from a man who was far too drunk to realize you’d dipped into his pocket.”
I shoot a sheepish look at Merrick, who is watching the interaction with an unreadable expression.
“That still doesn’t explain how you knew who she was,” Merrick says.
The woman is completely unworried, despite his clear anger. Which either makes her immensely powerful or incredibly stupid. “My mother was a witch, as you well know. She was also a seer, though her abilities were not always reliable.”
Merrick steps forward, so I wrap a hand around his wrist. “If she was a seer, why the fuck didn’t she kill my father the moment she knew what he would do to her?”
The woman’s eyes blaze with fire. “As I said, her magic was not reliable. He made her uncomfortable, but she had no way of knowing he would hurt her,” she replies. “Though she still avoided your bastard father as often as she could until the day he attacked her.”
Merrick stills. “She fucking cursed me,” he growls. “For his transgressions.”
Her expression softens. “What she did to you was a regret she lived with. It was magic cast out of rage. My mother was never the same after that happened.”
“Never the same—” I start. “How old are you?”
“One hundred and fifteen,” the woman replies. “I was weeks away from my sixteenth birthday when his father attacked my mother, and we were forced to retreat to this place. My mother died three months ago.”
“She’s dead?” I choke out.
“Yes. As she was dying, she told me the Cursed Alpha would be arriving with his beta, a woman by the name of Kiya. She told me that you are both Shadow Bound in your own ways. You, Alpha, are bound to the shadows of a burden that should never have been yours to carry. And you, Beta, are bound to the darkness of a past that will soon turn present.”
A past that will soon turn present.
“The king? Is that what she was referring to?”
The woman covers her dough with a cloth then wipes both floured hands onto her apron. “I have no idea. Unfortunately, I do not have the gift of sight. My magic is strong only with wards and protection runes.”
“But you can break the curse.” I step forward. “The one your mother regretted placing on Merrick.”
“I can,” she replies, “but only under the correct conditions.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Merrick demands.
“It means that the magic my mother used on you requires a sacrifice in order to break, just as it required one to cast the spell in the first place.”
“There was no sacrifice,” Merrick growls back. “I was there.”
“But there was,” she replies. “Your father was the sacrifice.”
Beside me, Merrick goes completely rigid. “I killed my father.” With words chosen carefully, his gaze remains locked on the woman. “The day after your mother cursed me.”
“Something she saw coming,” the woman replies. “Or did you not wonder why she chose you over your brothers? Over your mother.” Her brow arches. “Your mother would have been my first choice. Forcing her to slaughter the very man whom she was willing to sacrifice her own children for?” The woman clicks her tongue. “Perfect vengeance if you ask me.”
Merrick moves so quickly that I cannot even fully process it until he drops to his knees and growls. The woman’s hand is raised as she glares down at him.
“Let him go,” I order her, ripping my dagger free.
“Not until he learns his place,” she spits out. “I tolerate you in my home because my mother foresaw your arrival. She claims you will rescue me from this place, but I need no rescue. I have no want for a life outside of these four walls.” She kneels, and I move closer to Merrick, more than ready to slit her throat to save him. “From everything I’ve seen, the worst monsters are the ones you see coming, the ones who make your skin crawl, and yet you choose to ignore the threat.”
Standing, she releases him from whatever spell he’d been under.
Merrick stands, face red with anger. “Use your magic on me like that again and I’ll rip your fucking throat out the first chance I get.”
“In which case, you will remain a beast.” Returning to the kitchen, she removes the towel covering her dough and places it into the pot hanging over the fire. The woman moves nonchalantly through the house as though we are guests and not ready to kill her should the need arise.
“How do you break the curse?”
“We need the bones of the father, the tears of the mother, and the blood of the spell caster. Once we have those, we can break it on the same grounds as the curse was originally set. Though, as I said, a sacrifice will be required to fully break the curse,” she adds, turning toward me.
“What kind of sacrifice?”
“It will become known in time,” she says.
I turn to Merrick, who looks about ready to kill her where she stands. So, I choose to let her keep her mysteries and instead question, “Bones of the father?”
“Yes,” the woman replies.
“Tears of the mother? You expect Merrick’s mother to cry over this?” I nearly snort at the idea of Lark being that emotional about anything. Pissed? Sure. But to cry?
“Yes. They must be genuine as well.” The woman brushes her hands on her apron. “My name is Savvee, by the way. As soon as this bread is done, we can pack and—”
Something hits the door with a heavy thud. I whirl, blade in hand, just as Merrick turns and stalks toward the door. “Do not open it,” she warns.
Together, the three of us move closer. The woman peels the curtain back, allowing us to get a clear picture of the men who have gathered outside. Three sickly green men covered in open sores stand just out front. One lifts a rock and throws it toward us. It slams into the door, and they laugh.
Merrick growls.
“Blasted bastards,” Savvee mutters. “Do not go outside,” she tells us. “As I said, I knew they were coming. This is a nightly routine for them. They’ll get bored and leave.”
“They know you’re in here?” I question. “And yet, they don’t harm you?”
“They suspect I’m in here,” she replies. “The place is warded so the cursed cannot see inside. To them, my home looks like little more than a rundown shack. Though, since they cannot pass the threshold of the porch without suffering immensely, they’ve come to the conclusion that a witch resides within.”
“Come out, little witchy!” one calls then laughs.
“I can kill them,” Merrick offers. “Easily.”
“I’ve no doubt you can,” she replies. “Though in doing so, you will only make it more difficult to lift the curse.” Savvee returns to the kitchen. Then she pulls out a canvas bag and starts shoving vials into it.
“How so?” I shift my full attention to her.
“Hmm?” Her gaze meets mine and is full of confusion, as though I’m supposed to know the answer.
Dread coils in my belly at the meaning of her words. “How would killing them make it more difficult to lift the curse?”
The woman looks from Merrick to me then back to him. “Did you not tell her?”
He swallows hard.
“Tell me what?”
Merrick doesn’t speak, his gaze firm on me.
“Someone better start talking. Now.” Crossing my arms, I look between them.
“Your move, Alpha,” Savvee says.
Merrick sighs and turns to me. “It is important you know that I never believed lifting the curse was possible. I had come to terms with my future, as had my family.”
“What the hell is she talking about, Merrick?”
Another thud against the door.
He mutters something under his breath. “The witch warned me that, with each death carried out by my hands—or, rather, by my beast—the curse was strengthened. While she never told me there was a way to break it, she did make that point. Innocent blood forced the curse upon my head; innocent blood would solidify it.”