Page 55 of Promised in Blood

“Cadence, are you okay?” Ophelia asks.

Cadence wipes tears from her cheeks and steps into Ophelia’s warm embrace, resting her head on her shoulder. She sniffs. “It was horrible, Ophelia. She was…” She sucks in a harsh, rasping breath, and her grief mingles with Ophelia’s and pervades every inch of the heavily decorated space.

“I’m so sorry,” Ophelia murmurs, stroking her friend’s auburn hair.

Cadence steps back, scrubbing at her cheeks once more. “Why Meg, though? She was so nice. Not even that powerful. Why…?” Her question is swallowed by her grief, but I have no need for my mind-reading skills to know what she is thinking. It is the question every survivor asks themselves: Why not me?

“I suspect we will never know the true reason for this senseless act. For now, let us chalk it up to a random act of savagery,” I say, drawing the witch’s attention.

She blinks at me. “But why come to Silver Vale? Why…” She breaks off, a sob stealing the rest of her sentence.

Cadence is too astute to believe that someone randomly chose Silver Vale and that the same someone was powerful enough to breach Enora’s protective spells.

I cross the room so I am standing close enough that her grief seeps into my own pores. But her pervading emotion is fear. Fear that it might happen again and that next time she will be the victim of such a savage assault. “It appears that someone tried to frame me for Meg’s death, Cadence. As of yet, we do not know why. And until we do, we must ask you to keep the details of her demise between only the people in this room. To reveal the truth would only cause panic and hysteria, and that will neither help the situation nor anyone involved in it.”

She licks a tear from her lip and regards me with suspicion.

“Or, if you would prefer, I can make you forget. If you choose that option, you will be made to believe the same as everyone else—that Meg has returned to her family in Vermont.”

She swallows hard but maintains the same level of steady eye contact. I am unsure whether to be impressed by her nerve or annoyed by her insolence, but when she speaks, the latter nearly wins out. “Why wouldn’t you just do that anyway?”

I rock my head from side to side. Ophelia’s eyes burn a hole in the side of my face, encouraging me, none too gently, to stretch my patience for her friend a little further. “Because both Ophelia and Professor Green assure me that you are a capable, sensible witch who can be trusted. But if that is not the case…” I level her with the stare that has made kings, emperors, and ruthless dictators alike fall to their knees before me.

Her pupils blow wide, yet she still does not look away. “I don’t want to forget,” she whispers.

I search her face for signs of deceit and find none. My instincts are rarely wrong, and they are telling me that she is every bit as trustworthy as Ophelia and Enora believe her to be. “Good girl.”

Ophelia scowls at me, and her unguarded reaction reminds me to be more cautious with my choice of words. I am unaccustomed to dealing with jealous lovers as I have never tolerated such behavior from those I took to my bed. It is a surprise for me to realize that I am not annoyed by her display of such a primitive emotion. Rather, I am quite pleased.

“Cadence.” Enora wraps her arm around the young witch’s shoulder. “You should go join the others in the den. They are all upset at Meg’s sudden departure. I know I ask a lot of you, but it will lessen their suspicion if you speak to them of her leaving.” She places her hands on either side of Cadence’s face and talks her through the story she has told all the other witches.

After hugging Ophelia once more—and with a determination that I admire—Cadence rolls back her shoulders and heads out of the room to play her part in the charade.

As soon as she is gone, Osiris speaks. “So, what do we do now? President Ollenshaw has been alerted to Meg’s death. He is in agreement that we should keep the truth of the situation from the students, but he has called a faculty meeting.” Osiris checks his watch. “It begins at eleven. That means we have less than an hour to decide what to tell them.”

“We tell them as much of the truth as we can afford to,” I reply. “The girl was found dead. An intruder of unknown origin and motive tore out her heart.”

“Does that not implicate you, old friend?” Osiris asks.

Malachi comes to stand beside me and pulls Ophelia into his arms, and she nestles against his chest. “I don’t understand. Why would that implicate you where the president is concerned?” he asks.

“Because after my wife and children were murdered, I tore out the heart of every witch I could find who played their part in the genocide. And there are few magical creatures at this university who have not been made aware of that fact.”

Osiris’s dark eyes narrow, flickering with amber because his wolf is near the surface. “I think there are a fair few who had no idea you had a family. I knew about your history with witches, but I always assumed your quest for vengeance was about your mother.”

I shake my head. “My wife and two daughters were elementai.” I still keep Lucian’s name out of it, unable able to admit to the boys that I have a son and that he is alive.

Osiris’s face remains clouded with suspicion. “You never told me.”

Axl folds his arms across his chest. “He never told us until a few weeks ago either.”

Osiris raises an eyebrow. “So many secrets, old friend.”

I twist my neck. “We all have our secrets, do we not?”Enora?I say that last word to only her, and she visibly bristles. “For now, we will keep our suspicions about the Skotádi from the rest of the faculty. It would only cause unnecessary hysteria, and there is no suggestion there is any threat to the humans at this stage. But I suggest we alert the society heads so they can take the appropriate steps to protect their students.”

“Dr. Ollenshaw would lose his mind and have the whole campus on magical lockdown at the mere hint of Skotádi,” Enora says, her voice full of disdain. She holds him in as low a regard as I.

“We definitely don’t tell Jerome,” Osiris agrees.

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