Page 56 of Alpha Exile

And if we find her trail as well and are able to track her down and kill her, all the better.

This time I lead us back towards the first tunnel, the one we followed her through that ended in the bridge over the crevasse. Instead of taking us that way, though, I lead us in another, branching direction in the hope of circling towards the caverns from behind.

More than once, the tunnels around us narrow, cross over dangerous cracks, or hit cave-ins. I shift back to my human form and let the witch-bomb flow from my fingertips, keeping it careful and controlled so it melts only enough stone to make a path.

At more than one branching path, I consult some inner part of me, an instinct that tastes like rage and anger melted together with agony and despair. And I let that instinct guide me, choose which way to go.

My father was lost in these mountains once, and he thought he wouldn't make it home to his pack. He did, and found my mother—a woman whose blood flows through me. Some inner part of me must be guiding me correctly, because after two long hours of travel, we find ourselves at the edge of a winding staircase that loops down a sheer rock wall directly towards the still, glowing pool of water, surrounded by bright decorative tile.

The air is so full of magic that the hairs on my arm stand up. Inhaling deeply, I feel magic coat my nostrils, travel to the back of my throat and coat my tongue.

"This must be it," Bastian says, wonder in his voice. "You found it somehow."

"Call it instinct."

Or my mother's ghost guiding me. Either way, here we are, standing opposite the pool, on the other end of the bridge we came to before.

I want nothing more than to race down the treacherous-looking stairs in front of us, but I pause, because I know now Roarke isn't at the end of this path.

"Bastian, are there any ghosts of dead necromancers warning you this time around?"

He shakes his head. "None."

I glance back at the others. "Anyone have a premonition between their shoulder blades? Sense an earthquake coming? Feel like we're in mortal danger?"

"None of that, unlike before." Lance shoots me a puzzled look. "I didn't ask while we were following you through, because I wasn't sure if I wanted the answer, but... what guided you in this direction?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I think it was instinct that led me, but maybe it was some kind of weaving witch spell. This place is probably full of old wards and spells—one of them may be what killed all those ghosts Bastian saw. But the coven lived here for decades, and they kept Delphine down here as well. They had to have a way to pass through safely. Some part of me must have sensed it."

Finn shakes his head in wonder and comments wryly, "As thankful as I am for those senses, I'm glad you didn't tell us coming in that you were going based on pure instinct. I'm not sure I would've followed you if you had."

But they did follow me, and I'm grateful for that. I'm also grateful that they follow me down the stairs, which loop back and forth steeply, their treads narrow and uneven. I hold my witch flame out in front of me to light the way, its flickering warm light casting strange shadows on the stone.

We fall into an expectant silence as we descend the stairs.

Though I expect Delphine to be long gone by now, I unsheathe Gregor's dagger as we near the bottom of the steps.

Up close, the cavern we've come to is wide and sprawling, an unnaturally high ceiling curving above us like a dome. Decorative tiles with blue and green swirls of water and foliage spread out across the wall and the floor. There's an even, blue-white glow that emits from the wide, still pool in the center of the room, making my witch flame redundant.

In the center of the eerily still pool is a small fountain. Fed by a statue of a woman with knitting needles in her slim fingers, the fountain doesn't make a single ripple in the surface of the pool. The thin stream of water that pours from her knitting needles simply fades beneath the surface of the pool and disappears.

I can't make heads or tails of the fountain, no matter how much I stare at it. I'm tempted to get closer, but the thought of wading into the pool sets my teeth on edge.

There's something vaguely menacing and overwhelmingly powerful about this strange water source, kept deep in the heart of a mountain full of magic, surrounded by tunnels that twist and seek to keep intruders out.

"Here, I've got this." Lance unslings the small pack from his back and draws out a travel water bottle, which he upends before handing over to me. "If we're here for some of this water, we might as well get it and head out."

"Does it feel strange to you?" Looking over at Bastian, I find his eyes gazing into the pool, wide and uncertain. "It shouldn't make sense, but somehow it feeds itself."

"There's a well of magic in the center of it." Finn's voice startles me; he's moved up beside me to stand at the water's edge, and is reaching out towards the fountain as if to touch it. "In fact, I'm not even sure thisisjust water. I think it's magic as well. It might even be mostly magic."

I shiver a little, imagining the things that could be done with a power source like that if Finn is right. A hybrid like Delphine, already powerful and without a moral center, could wreak misery with that much magic.

Which calls into question, why was she merely using it to steal my mates? What about having the five of them, with powerful ancient souls in their body, met her goals? And why do it now, when she could've stolen them before we were ever even mated?

Unless, I reflect, the mating ceremony was part of her plans. Maybe she needed the mating threads I created in order to steal them. After all, a shiftless werewolf like her wouldn't have the ability to forge her own mating bond.

Now that she has Roarke, she won't stop with just him. She'll want more—power, mates, all of it. My stomach churns at the thought.

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