Page 40 of King of Moon and Claws

On it.

Serife and Elora linked hands as the link spread outward, back to the field where the battle was still ongoing. She projected Bastian’s voice like a giant, invisible megaphone.

Go ahead, Bastian, she said, voice still sweet and honey-like. I’m booming it out to them. The vampires, I mean.

They watched through the scrying bowl as Bastian raced through the rain, abandoning Iagan’s distorted, beastly body in the forest.

The battle waged, the vampires tearing flesh from the necks of Bastian’s brethren and draining them of their life source to add salt to the wound. Elora fought feelings of disgust as Bastian’s voice reverberated through her mind, hearing exactly what the vampires could as they mutilated their enemies.

Your leader is dead. Vasilis, stop. Iagan was using you. He did not care for your well-being and would have let you all die on this field.

Elora's heart sank as she watched the fight rage on, the vampires lost in their passionate violence. Bastian tried to implore them even more, his voice growing more and more impatient and anguished.

This is all futile! Vasilis set you up, intending for you to die! This was a suicide mission!

Elora leaned forward into the scrying bowl, scouring the scene for the man who had tortured her obscenely for nearly months. She thought if they could get to him, they could get the fighting to stop.

But Bastian was way ahead of her.

They are not going to stop, Elora. I can’t get to Vasilis fast enough to convince him. You have to use your mind control to stop them. This is going to save lives.

Elora gripped the sides of the bowl while Serife stroked her lower back. That was the last thing she wanted to do, and she had made an earnest promise to herself that no matter what she would not give into becoming a war witch.

Even if her king, the man whose affection she felt all around her, was bluntly asking.

Bastian, I can’t do that! I don’t want to become a war witch! That is not why I am here!

Elora waited for Bastian’s nasty response, but instead, he spoke evenly with a soothing, gravelly effect. She knew then that the Catmint was starting to wear off.

You are not a war witch, Elora. You will never be. We are doing this to save the lives of both the vampires and the wolves. You are nothing like those witches you read about, I promise.

Bastian was still making his way through the forest. Elora gripped the scrying bowl so hard that she thought she might fracture it.

“I can’t do that, Serife,” she said, eyes swelling with tears. “I don’t want to be like that.”

Serife leaned forward, looking into the bowl with her. She brushed a strand of hair from Elora’s eyes, then sighed.

“When we are presented with limited options, we do not have to sacrifice our moral code. Our options are vast, Elora. Remember, you are a powerful witch. You are very rarely going to possess one option for victory.”

Her voice was hypnotizing, wiping the clutter from Elora’s mind to make space for alternative solutions.

She sat up, taking Serif by the shoulder.

“I have an idea.”

Elora spoke telepathically to Bastian as he made his way to the battlefield and informed him of her plan. He agreed without hesitation.

Go for it, my love. I believe in you.

Elora closed her eyes and summoned all of the energy her body could handle. She expanded the link again with the aid of Serife, then gave Bastian a signal to play his part.

Hot springs, she whispered to him

Bastian had made it to the edge of the castle. He stopped to gather himself, a soaking wet, majestic, handsome beast in the rain. Elora helped him project out again to his army, cutting through the mayhem with his authoritative voice.

Your king orders you to fall back.

It was clear to Elora as she gazed into the bowl that the wolves had heard him, staring up blankly into the sky. That was when her plan came into play, a distraction rather than an unethical control.

---