Page 3 of Last Gift: Supernatural Battle

“That’s a better fit,” Wild said, finding my hand under the blanket.

We were still naked, and it struck me that I’d been naked so many times around the quad, that conversations undertaken in this manner weren’t unusual. If a woman couldn’t go through the storm, she went around it, and that was how I viewed this band of males. Best to get the conversation done and over while naked, and then I’d be dressed sooner. Every friendship had a compromise.

“Do I call myself those things?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know if I can pull off calling myself Possessor of All Affinities.” What kind of jackass announced themselves as the Mother’s Chosen or Magus Elite?

Probably Frond. Maybe Bedwyr.

Sven shook his head. “No, not you. None of it can come from you. I’ll set more whispers, and I’ll loop Varden in before the accession. All you need to do is play the part. Be yourself.”

I fixed him with a dry look. “None of those things are me.”

“Every damn one of those things is you,” he said in such a serious manner that I didn’t scoff. “Just be you.”

“A half demon.”

He grimaced. “As much as you shouldn’t feel ashamed of that, we need to keep your heritage under wraps at all costs.”

Nothing I didn’t know. “I hate double standards.”

Huxley pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses. “You saved the coven a week ago. And me. You took on the leader of the demon army in one-on-one battle and figured out how to kill her. Then you were struck with lightning, gained an affinity through Wild’s penis, and forced an entire army back to their realm. Pretty sure you don’t owe this coven an explanation. They can take you as you are or fuck off.”

I appreciated that coming from Huxley. He and Corentin were two coven members who’d contended with being different in the Buried Knolls. Not something easily done in an isolated and tight-knit community. They’d developed thick skins in the process.

I didn’t often let people’s comments bother me, but I hadn’t processed my demon heritage yet, so the uncertainty and insecurity tied to what I was remained an opening in my armor. One that I had to eventually close. If that was possible.

“I’ll just be myself,” I said, trying the comment out for size.

Sven grimaced. “Try saying that again without looking constipated.”

I smiled brightly. “I’ll just be myself!”

The three quad members stared at me, and I felt Wild’s internal grimace.

I dropped my smile faster than a burning bag of shit. “We’re fucked.”

2

Ever walk into a room and the conversation cuts off like the two people were just talking about you? Multiply that by three hundred and twenty coven members and you’d get the current vibe. A sweeping hush fell as I entered the chamber where magus gathered for meals and coven meetings.

My mother and grandmother had raised me in their ilk, but damn if the abrupt change in volume didn’t get to me.

At my side, Wild uttered, “Chin up.”

I listened. Sven said I needed to be one badass bitch. That was how I’d chosen to interpret his words anyway. I steeled myself and clung to Huxley’s words. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation for what I was. They could take me as I was—and what I had to offer—or fuck off.

To my right, a stage remained from the three-hundred-year anniversary. The council stood on it in a line. Frond at one end, and Varden at the other. Sage, Delta, and Winona were in the middle of the twelve members. The thirteenth member walked beside me.

One week ago, they were a council of seven Fertim members and six Vero members. Yet, now I was here. The council was no longer necessary with a leader, and they had to feel the curiousness of that. To be held in the highest status as the governing body in the coven, to then wake up a normal coven member. Would that rankle?

I cast my gaze over their row. In some, I saw relief. In some, I saw uncertainty. In some, a stiffness implied they didn’t like what was happening. Frond was downright hostile. Then again, he’d been that way since I refused to acknowledge his status at the anniversary celebration. I had no time for the lapdog of Wild’s parents.

I stopped before the stage. “Greetings to the council.”

Winona’s focus tore from my long-sleeved white gown to settle on my face. She stepped forward. “Tempest Bronte Corentine, you have been chosen by the relics of our beloved Ryzika, this coven’s last leader.”

Varden stepped forward next. “The Mother’s lightning chose you. Your possession of grimoire and divination, of battle and apothecary, denotes you as the most elite of maguskind.”

Sven had clearly spoken with him as I’d prepared. I tried not to show any discomfort at his words.

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