Page 48 of The Fated and the Damned
A cultist sprinted towards me, their spear aimed at my heart as they rammed it down. I deflected just in time, plunging my sword into their throat with gritted teeth. The man’s glazed eyes bulged, the stitches at his lips opening as he tried to scream, only managing garbles and chokes before he was dead moments later. Blood spurted over my face as they fell and I shoved their body off me, swivelling on my knee to slash the stomach of another, then ducking my head and removing the legs of another man swiping at my neck.
Carnage and utter chaos. The seeds of Sylvie were indeed spreading, but I would give no mercy. I was slick with blood and I wore the cloak proudly.
My eyes snapped to our surroundings and I saw Kitarni battling with a group of cultists nearby. She was quick—what she lacked in sheer strength she more than made up for with fluid movements and flashes of fire as she scorched skin and hacked at anyone who got close to her. When the numbers kept coming, she let her beast come to the surface, snarling and snapping as that lethal red mist encircled her palms.
She closed her eyes and I sucked in a breath as, seconds later, her enemies were incinerated—there one moment and gone the next. She used that magic again and again, the cultists surging from the woods in droves eviscerated until they stopped coming altogether.
When she opened her eyes, I jolted, something altogether uncomfortable and unfamiliar surging through me. Not at the battle nor our enemies, but at the woman I loved.
Gone were the hazel eyes I could lose myself in. Instead, she looked at the world with eyes of depthless black. The hairs on my arms raised and something slithered down my spine, like an otherworldly presence was in proximity. Inher.
Well, this was a new development.
I approached her cautiously, ignoring everything around me. “Kitarni?”
She turned, cocking her head, those black eyes gauging my worth. The beast inside her seemed to purr, then she wound her arms around my neck. “Dante,” she said in a voice that was not her own. “I destroyed them. For us. For you.”
“Yes, little hellcat,” I said quietly. “They’re gone. You can put your magic away now.”
She smiled, showing all her teeth, and I had to suppress a shiver from that eerie look.
“I destroyed them,” she repeated. “I’m going to destroy them all.”
Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she wilted in my arms.
TWENTY-TWO
Kitarni
ThebreadcrunchedasDante and I broke apart the huge wedding loaf decorated with branches, flowers, and fruits. We plastered smiles on our faces as the crowd cheered and clapped around us. It was hard to believe only a few hours ago we’d been under attack. The witches had stopped the fire’s spread, but the lavender fields and most of the surrounding crops had been heavily damaged. We won’t even speak of my gown.
After a hasty bath getting all manner of gore out of my hair and off my skin, Eszter had another gown brought in, because of course she was prepared. I now stood dressed in a navy ensemble with silver threads weaved through it that looked like starbursts and sheer, flowy sleeves. A belt with a snarling silver wolf cinched in my waist, reminding all that I would do anything to protect my pack.
If only I’d been able to save the ones we’d lost.
Another mark against Sylvie’s name, and boy was she racking up the score. The forces she’d sent were too few to threaten the city walls, but the hit on our food sources was another thing entirely. Not to mention the timing. How petty of her to target us on our wedding day—a time of heralding in a new reign. I’d make damn sure she was punished for it.
Still, knowing she’d allowed caravans to enter our lands unhindered left an uncomfortable feeling in my gut, heavy and weighted like a stone I could not dislodge.
Why not attack the visiting nobles and pick off our allies? Why wait until we were all together?
I chewed on that fact, playing the gracious host as I smiled, laughed, and exchanged pleasantries with our guests. The large hall looked beautiful today, transformed into something bright and green as branches and flowers twined around arches and up walls. The greenery represented the renewal of nature and fertility, and I was glad for the distraction it had provided my coven. Many witches had been eager to help with their earth magic and I’d be lying if I didn’t recognise the warm and fuzzy feeling that gave me. Oh, how things had changed now that I was High Witch. No longer the fire girl who didn’t conform.
Apparently I was shifting into something much more dangerous. After the fight and the blood lust had died down, Dante had told me about my eyes shifting and the murderous little beast that seemed to take over. I remembered everything that had happened, but the eyes were certainly a new development.
It probably should have scared me, but instead I found myself delighting in the change. I felt fearsome and now my enemies would see it too. The beast was growing stronger, more eager, as if by embracing its power, it had more room to move and more teeth to show.
I gulped down my wine and looked around the chamber at my guests. Connecting with my coven was something I’d happily do, but socialising with high society? It felt like treading water. Most of the nobles present were little more than grovelling court mongers hoping for scraps to feed their status and power.
Apparently, some of the water witches felt the same, because a group left the hall all at once, giggling and talking in hushed voices. I watched them enviously, wishing I could join them for some fresh air. Unfortunately for me, I had prey to hunt, and not the kind my dark little predator could relish in.
My gaze travelled the room to land on Viktória, the High Witch of the water coven, travelled from Budapest. She was perhaps a few years older than me, with plain features and bound blonde hair. The way she held herself, the grace in which she moved and the cutting gaze of her grey eyes made me immediately mark her presence. And there was something familiar about her, but for the life of me I couldn’t place what.
Beside her stood Aliz, High Witch of the fire coven in Transylvania. From what I’d heard, she was as fierce as her element. Her russet-brown skin glowed under the light of the sconces, seeming to consume the energy. Black hair hung in a long braid down her back and I guessed her to be in her late forties, but she had aged beautifully. Many eyes followed her movements.
These two women were my marks for tonight. They would decide Mistvellen’s fate, just as the lords Dante was courting would. Pretty words and promises in exchange for an army in return. If Sylvie had done one thing in our favour, though, it was unleashing her cultists on the witches. Nothing angered us more than the loss of our own. I would use that anger and exploit it.
Viktória met my gaze and crossed the floor, her sweeping gown making her appear as if she was floating. “Lady Sándor.” She bowed low, her grey-blue eyes glittering, her smile sharp, but polite. “It is an honour to meet you. I’ve heard so much about the famed blood witch, descendant of the Dark Queen herself.”
