Page 21 of King of Moon and Claws

“Not the shaman?”

Bastian shook his head.

“No, we have to talk to the witch ambassador.”

Elora’s eyebrows remained in an intrigued pose. Bastian went on, feeling slightly bothered at having to bring in someone he considered so… well, snobby.

“A woman named Serife Hawick is the witch ambassador to the Threwold Kingdom. She works with me when issues with her kind collide with our own. She would be the person to speak to on these matters.”

Elora’s countenance looked brighter, but there was still something suspicious lying beneath it. He snuck into her closer.

“As I said, I am sorry for my anger. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that fashion.”

“I accept your apology, Bastian. We should speak to this ambassador soon if you don’t mind.”

There was an awkward silence between them that was shattered by a knock on the door. It was a member of the medical staff informing them Nerys was conscious.

“That is wonderful news, thank you. I will be out soon to pay her a visit.”

Elora stayed on the bed, watching him as he stood at the threshold. He felt deeply disappointed in himself.

“I will see the witch ambassador and have her meet with us as soon as I can," he said.

“Thank you, Bastian, I appreciate that.”

He left without saying another word, his heart and mind in turmoil.

His kingdom and his mate were both on the line. But there was some truth in her statement whether he wanted to believe it. Maybe she was not only the key to all of his hopes and dreams, but the key to the victory against the vampires of Wildwoods.

They wouldn’t know until they consulted with the witch ambassador. He rushed down the hallway and into his study. The vampire attacks were only going to grow more sophisticated as time went on.

He had to be ready.

THIRTEEN

ELORA

Serife Hawick was brought into the castle the very next day. Elora supposed that when the king called, even if you were a witch and not of their ilk, you answered. They were set to meet in the lounge, the same place where Elora had first met the shaman. Bastian was back into his cordial, kingly mode, civil but stiff.

Elora chose to push their little tiff aside for the time being and focus on her conversation with Serife. The moment Elora and the king walked into the room, Elora was taken by the witch's appearance. It was in many ways stereotypical but also utterly captivating.

She had her back to them, staring out the open window. Her sable hair was a tangled tumble, naturally curly, with straggly dead ends flowing past her waistline. She must have sensed Elora and the king’s presence, because she turned rather dramatically, her aged velvet cloak slashing through the air.

Elora was stunned by her youth, gasping internally. She had expected a woman of at least twice her age to reveal herself, a haggard old witch. Serife was quite beautiful. Her right eye displayed a grayish-green brilliance while the left shone a muted amethyst.

“Bastian,” she said with a smirk. “Who have you bought for me now?”

The wolf king stood next to Elora, eyes forward and countenance grave. He held his hand out, palm upward, as he spoke about Elora, the witch following his movements.

“Serife, this is Elora Dahill. I rescued her after being taken by the vampire lord, Vasilis Caleah.”

Serife snorted at the mention of the vampire’s name. Elora smiled in response as did the witch who had a vibe about her that Elora recognized.

Like she was speaking a language that only her kind could interpret.

“Yes, indeed,” the king said, remaining neutral. “I will let you share the tale.”

Bastian took a step away, both figuratively and literally, and took a seat in his throne-like batwing chair. Elora remained standing, her fingers subconsciously wringing together.

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