Page 107 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

“Use our power,” Freya called, “fight it!”

I called on the magic that thrummed in veins and willed it to attack the outside magic like an immune system. Our power burned through the spell in an instant, and I pulled the Sol Sword from its sheath. Lightning crackled on the blade but so did brilliant, orange flames.

Without stopping to admire what our magic created, I swiped the weapon at any dark witches who crept close and used it to cut through their flying elements. It was as easy as slicing butter, and I reveled in the apprehension on their faces.

I was not the guileless cowboy they remembered.

I was a warlock.

As I batted the dark witches away, Cadence tripped and trapped them with thick vines and roots. Ryder leaped out of the way of the dark witches’ daggers, and familiar magic radiated from his form—Freya had cast a protective spell over him.

Freya fought like a spring storm.

Wind and lightning encircled her and struck any dark witch who ventured too close. As I witnessed Freya wield it, I recognized how incredible my natural element was.

Something struck my side.

As I crumpled to the ground, Freya screamed, and Cady’s magic swelled. I clutched the burning wound but forced my fingers apart to study it. An icicle was embedded in my flesh. Cursing under my breath, I pried it out and willed my magic to heal me before I passed out from blood loss. The wound itched and burned but knitted back together.

Despite the pain in my side, I forced myself to stand and gasped. A red-haired dark witch lay before me, covered in vines from her toes to her neck. As the vines tightened and tightened around her pale, delicate throat, her face turned purple. Beside me, Cady’s eyes glowed with power, and she twisted the hand she pointed at the witch into a fist. The vines choked the witch’s croaks.

“Cady,” I said, “Cadence, stop.”

Cady unclenched her fist, and her vines loosened. The dark witch gulped huge breaths of air and spat curses, but I ignored her and pulled my sister closer.

“I’m okay,” I promised.

In front of us, the dark witch shook off her vines and launched a slew of icicles at us. I incinerated them with a blast of Freya’s fire and prowled closer toward the witch who clearly had a death wish.

Magic amplified Freya’s voice. “Enough!”

Freya’s command settled over us, and everyone paused.

“We are not here to fight you,” Freya promised. Ryder growled, but she ignored him. “No, we are here because we have a common enemy.”

A nearby dark witch—blonde and petite and alarmingly familiar—snarled. “That doesn’t really matter after you murdered our sisters last spring.”

She multiplied into three forms before our very eyes.

“Not this witch again,” I muttered.

Their Coven Mother—Mara—came to the forefront. Her gray hair shined in the watery sunlight, and a smile tugged the corners of her unlined, blood-red lips.

“Let’s hear what they have to say,” she ordered.

As soon as she finished her sentence, murmurs of disagreement broke out among her coven, which Mara silenced with a glare.

Freya dropped her stormy shield and spoke. “Nearly four months ago, you and your coven wished to storm the High Witch’s court. I’m here to learn how.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Freya

Months ago, I would’ve found my own words repulsive, but that was before the High Witch had manipulated me into her schemes. It was before she had nearly killed my familiar and my young coven member.

Now, Cordelia would understand the wrath of a Redfern witch. If that lesson required me to turn to the dark witches to teach it, I would do it.

I would do anything.

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