Page 61 of A Roar for Magic

“But, of course, precious Rook and Sabine had to get sick that day.” Spittle flew from his lips. “Stayed home with their mother while my brother flew alone. Only the alpha died.” His bitter laugh echoed off the cabin walls. “And did they give me whatI deserved then? No! They handed it to Wallace instead. ‘Until Rook comes of age,’ they said.”

Horror and fury warred in Clover’s chest as the truth sank in. “You murdered your own brother? Rook’s father?”

“I should have been alpha!” Justus roared, his tiger form rippling beneath his skin. “Then Rook had the audacity to focus on the company, leaving Wallace in charge even longer. Making me wait. Making me watch while everything I deserved stayed just out of reach.”

“You’re insane.” Disgust coated her tongue, bitter as ash. “You killed your own brother and tried to murder your nephew and niece—children—all because you couldn’t handle not being in charge?”

“I deserve to lead!” Justus roared, tiger form rippling beneath his skin. “And now I’ll take what’s mine. The shadow witch will break your mind, bend you to my will. Imagine Rook’s face when his precious mate becomes his destruction.”

“Begin the ritual.” The witch’s command sliced through the air.

Dark magic thickened around them, dropping the temperature until frost crystallized on the cabin windows. The shadows deepened, writhing like living things, hungry for her light. Clover shivered as the witch’s power pressed down, an oppressive weight threatening to crush her very soul.

“Her will is strong,” the witch mused, circling her bound form. His black robes whispered across the floor, leaving trails of greasy darkness. “But everyone breaks eventually.”

Dark energy poured from his hands in viscous streams, seeping into Clover’s skin like ice water in her veins. She bit back a scream as foreign magic invaded her body, violating her most private thoughts and memories. The witch’s presence scraped against her mind like broken glass, searching for weaknesses to exploit.

“Sweet little witch,” Justus taunted, watching her struggle with obvious pleasure. “Did you really think you could fight me? I’ve been dealing with dark magic for decades. Look how easily you were captured, how helpless you are now.”

“Shut up.” The words came out through gritted teeth as another wave of dark magic battered her defenses.

The witch’s power surged deeper, raking through her memories of Rook. Their first meeting in her shop. His rare, genuine smiles. The way his tiger energy wrapped around her, warm and protective. The magic tried to twist these precious moments, corrupt them into weapons to use against him.

“I can feel how much you love him,” the witch’s voice slithered through her mind. “It will make his death by your hands so much more delicious.”

Clover’s stomach heaved. “I’d rather die.”

“That can be arranged,” Justus promised. “After you’ve served your purpose.”

Another assault hammered against her shields. Pain exploded behind her eyes as evil searched for cracks in her defenses. She tasted blood and realized she’d bitten through her lip.

“Your resistance is admirable,” the witch observed, “but futile. Feel how your barriers weaken? Soon you’ll be nothing but a puppet, forced to watch as your body betrays everything you hold dear.”

Tears leaked from Clover’s eyes as memories surfaced against her will—her mother’s death, old heartbreaks, every moment of doubt and fear she’d ever experienced. The witch pulled them forward one by one, using them to chip away at her strength.

“Look how she trembles,” Justus mocked. “Some mate you turned out to be. Can’t even protect yourself, let alone my nephew.”

THIRTY-NINE

The words struck deeper than they should. Clover had always worried she wasn’t enough for Rook—not strong enough, not powerful enough, not worthy of an alpha’s love. The dark magic seized these insecurities, trying to twist them into chains to bind her will.

“That’s it,” the witch purred. “Let the doubt in. Let it consume you.”

“No.” Clover gathered what magic she could reach, weaving it into a desperate shield around her core self. She focused on what she knew to be true—Rook’s unwavering faith in her. The strength they found together. The future they could build if she held on.

The witch snarled, redoubling his efforts. Corrupt power hammered against her mind, searching for weakness. Each blow sent spikes of agony through her skull, but she channeled the pain into determination. If this was her last stand, she’d make it count.

“I can end this quickly,” the witch offered as she writhed in agony. “Submit now, and the pain stops. Fight, and I’ll draw it out until your mind shatters.”

Through the haze of torment, Clover caught glimpses of what he planned—using her to destroy not just Rook, but everything she loved. Her shops burned to ash. Her friends turned against each other. Mystic Hollow torn apart while she watched, helpless in her own body.

“I’ll die first.” The words came out raw but certain.

“Noble sentiment.” Justus laughed. “But you won’t have that choice.”

The witch’s magic pressed harder, worming through gaps in her weakening shields. Foreign power sliced through her thoughts, trying to reshape her will, turn her love for Rook into mindless obedience to Justus.

A familiar caw pierced the darkness. Poe. Her heart leaped even as dread filled her chest. Rook would come for her—she knew this bone-deep. But what if that’s exactly what they wanted? What if this whole torture session was just bait to draw him into a trap?

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