Page 66 of Claws for Celebration
"That's a lie," Moira said firmly, though she felt a treacherous whisper of relief at the suggestion that the ritual wouldn't cost her everything. "Nothing about dimensional magic is simple, and Malphas wouldn't need my help if freeing him was easy."
Trust in the knowledge passed down through generations of Shadowheart witches. Trust in the power that flows through your veins like liquid starlight. Trust in the destiny that calls you to greatness beyond these provincial concerns.
"The grimoire's final play," Lucien said, his voice dangerously calm. "Appealing to your pride, your intelligence, your desire to matter in the world."
"And it almost sounds reasonable," Moira admitted, closing the book with more force than necessary. "That's what makes it so insidious. The promises wrapped in just enough truth to make them believable."
Moira closed the grimoire and stood, feeling the weight of the fae pendant against her chest and the warmth of Lucien's touch on her shoulders. Around them, the bookstore hummed with protective energy from dozens of magical contributors, each blessing a reminder that she wasn't facing this challenge alone.
"I'm ready," she said, and she actually meant it. "Whatever Malphas throws at me, whatever temptations or threats he uses, I have something he'll never understand."
"What's that?"
"I have a home worth fighting for," she said, turning to face him with a smile that felt like sunlight. "And a mate who'll anchor me to everything that matters."
The kiss he gave her tasted like promises and courage tea, sweet and strong and absolutely certain. When they broke apart, his forehead resting against hers, Moira knew that whatever the day brought, they would face it together.
After all, some bonds were strong enough to hold against corrupted fae lords, dimensional magic, and even the end of the world.
She was about to find out if theirs was one of them.
39
LUCIEN
The ancient clearing thrummed with malevolent energy that made every instinct Lucien possessed scream warnings of immediate danger. Trees that had stood for centuries leaned away from the ritual site as if the very earth rejected what was taking place at its heart. The air itself felt thick and wrong, charged with power that tasted of corruption and endless hunger.
Moira stood at the center of the binding circle, her mahogany hair whipping around her face despite the absence of any natural wind. Golden magic poured from her hands in streams of liquid light, but Lucien could see the strain in every line of her body. The dimensional barriers were fighting her, resisting the banishment with a force that made the ground beneath their feet tremble.
"The binding is weakening," Elder Varric called from his position at the circle's edge, his voice barely audible over the growing supernatural maelstrom. "She's breaking through the containment."
Lucien's panther paced frantically beneath his skin, every protective instinct demanding he rush to Moira's side. But heheld his position just outside the ritual circle, knowing that interfering now could destabilize the entire working. His role was to anchor her through their mate bond, to provide stability while she channeled enough power to tear holes in reality itself.
"Come on, Moira," he murmured, pouring every ounce of his strength through their connection. "You've got this."
The moment the dimensional barriers cracked, everything changed.
Darkness erupted from the binding site like blood from a severed artery, spreading across the clearing in waves that made the assembled supernatural guardians step back in instinctive fear. But this wasn't empty shadow. This was something alive, aware, and absolutely furious after centuries of imprisonment.
When Malphas began to manifest, Lucien's first thought was that no amount of research could have prepared them for the reality of facing a corrupted fae lord. The entity that took shape in the swirling darkness was beautiful in the way that poisonous flowers were beautiful, deadly perfection wrapped in seductive appeal.
Tall and elegantly built, with features that belonged in classical sculpture, Malphas appeared as he must have before his corruption. Silver hair fell in waves to his shoulders, framing a face that spoke of ancient nobility and terrible intelligence. But his eyes gave away his true nature. They held the deep purple of storm clouds shot through with veins of pure shadow, and when they fixed on Moira, Lucien felt his mate bond shiver with recognition of a predator far more dangerous than anything they'd imagined.
"My dear child," Malphas said, his voice the cultured warmth of a favorite uncle mixed with undertones that made reality bend around the words. "At last, we meet properly."
Moira's magical output faltered for just a moment, but that moment was enough. The banishment ritual wavered, itscarefully constructed energy patterns beginning to fray at the edges.
"Don't listen to him," Lucien called out, desperation creeping into his voice as he felt their mate bond stretch thin under the pressure of competing magical influences. "Remember what we planned. Complete the working."
But Malphas smiled, and the expression was like watching sunrise over a battlefield. Beautiful and terrible in equal measure.
"Such harsh words from your devoted pet," the fae lord said with gentle mockery. "Does he truly believe that you need his permission to explore the magnificent destiny that awaits? You are Shadowheart blood, child. You were born for so much more than these provincial concerns."
"Moira," Lucien said again, but her attention was fixed on the partially manifested entity with the intensity of someone witnessing a miracle.
"You know who I am," Malphas continued, circling the edge of the binding circle with fluid grace that made Lucien's panther bristle with territorial rage. "Your ancestor and I were... intimately acquainted. She understood the true scope of what blood magic could accomplish when freed from mortal limitations."
"That's a lie," Moira said, but her voice carried uncertainty that made Lucien's chest clench with fear.
