Page 83 of Crescent Warrior

The voice was coming from the sickle. Leaning down, he reached out, his finger trembling as he prodded it gently. When the cold seared him, he yanked his hand away.

“You prayed to us for power, Miles. Do you no longer need it?”

Eyes wide with shock, he nodded his head. “I do. I need it. But who are you?”

“Does it matter?”

In the grand scheme of things, probably not. Power was power. It didn’t really make a difference where it came from, but Miles didn’t want to be indebted to someone he didn’t know anything about. “It matters to me.”

“We are the old gods. The forgotten. We heard your prayer and knew that we found the one strong enough to withstand our gift.”

“G-gift?” he whispered, his eyes studying the sickle. It was made of some sort of crystal, sharpened and honed to a dangerous edge. The blade looked to be almost two feet long, the curve perfect, and the base wrapped in leather.

“We will imbue you with our strength, child. You will be our champion.”

The whisper sent a shiver down his spine. His wolf was howling at him to run, but everything else inside of him wanted to stay and accept whatever it was they were offering.

He imagined it—himself as a champion—and he craved it. Lusted for it. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing at all. We ask only that you use the power we give you as you see fit. Do not let anyone take it from you.”

His eyes gleamed with greed as he inched his hands closer and closer to the handle of the sickle. “How will you make me stronger?”

“This weapon will be yours. It will give you the power of thousands. Hold it in your hands and nothing will ever stand before you that you cannot cut down.”

A laugh bubbled out of Miles’ lips as he reached down, gripping the leather base with both hands. The cold seeped into him, the pain almost unbearable, but within seconds, it receded, pushed to the back of his mind.

“Yes.” The whisper was now inside his head. Brows furrowed, he almost dropped the sickle, but the voice spoke again. “You will be the greatest champion that has ever walked on this Earth.”

A wild grin crossed Miles’ face, but the grin slowly faded as he felt something start to fill him. Fury and pain. Howling, he tried to drop the sickle, but he couldn’t. As if it was fused to his hands.

“What’s happening?” he screamed.

The eerie laughter was loud in his head, howling as his world went dark again.

Alex stared ahead of him, his jaw clenched as he strode forward with Michael, Knox, Carlo, and Adele. He knew that they didn’t trust him, but this was something. They were staying with them, watching Selene’s pack for a chance to get her and her family safely away from them.

“I received a letter,” Knox said quietly, lifting his head and inhaling as if to ensure no one followed them. “From the female that you call your mate.”

Alex turned to him immediately. “What did she say?”

Knox stopped, his eyes assessing. “She asked that we meet with them on neutral ground. Three Werewolves from each pack.”

Alex shook his head adamantly. “They’ll attack you. Damen alone could—”

“Do you think I’m afraid of death?” His words were calm; cold. “If I die, Carlo will take my place.”

Carlo’s eyes swung toward him, but Knox didn’t look away from Alex.

“I need you to understand that, because I’m going to ask you and Michael to come with me.”

Adele moved forward immediately, her expression mutinous. “No way, Knox. We don’t know them well enough—”

Knox simply turned his head to meet her gaze and she lowered her head, taking a step back.

“Carlo and Adele will be nearby in case we need support, but they won’t intrude on this meeting. They know better.”

He spared them one look and Carlo bowed his head the same way Adele had.

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