Page 27 of Cruel Alpha Beast
“The shifter and the shiftless turned the witch into a tree on the outskirts,” he continues half-heartedly. “There was fire involved somewhere in there. I don’t really remember much else, Sawyer. Just that your great-grandfather told me the witch tries to come back every once in a blue moon. But the last time he remembered that happening would be more than a hundred years ago. No one here would have been alive to remember it. Provided any bit of it is true.”
I mull over my father’s story for a moment, wondering what version of this story those twins Lacey introduced me to will discover. I mean, it must be different. Probably much more sympathetic to the witch than my father’s retelling.
“It’s just a story, though,” he reminds me. “Nothing more than the ramblings of an old man with nothing better to do. He might have even made it up for all I know.”
I nod, but I don’t share the clear skepticism my father has for all of this.
“Now, that’s the last I want to hear or talk about any of this,” he says, the annoyance plain on his face. “If I were stillin charge, I’d tear down this rug myself, but I’ll leave that up to you.”
I have no intentions of doing such a thing, though. And when I stare at the artwork, all I can do is think of the crude drawing Lacey did the day before, of a burning willow tree and a trail of blood rushing down from its roots.
Tacking onto that, all of the other visions she’s had, I don’t think I could doubt any of this shit if I tried.
The loyal son in me, who looked up to his dad all of his life, wants me to grab his shoulders and implore him that maybe my great-grandfather was right, but I know how he’ll react. He’ll roll his eyes and scoff even more, and much worse, he might lose some respect for me. I can’t have that. Not when I need support the most.
Chapter 11 - Lacey
That night, I dream of lighting candles along with the coven, and dancing in the clearing as they perform a ritual for who knows what. I can smell the sage mingling in the air. I can taste dark red wine on my lips. I can feel the witches' magic swirling around me like a warm blanket on a winter night.
But then the moonlight casting over us fades to black. I no longer hear drums and music around me. I no longer sense my sisters at my elbows. Everything goes cold around me untilsheappears.
A beautiful woman, timeless in her appearance, approaches from the trees. She’s stark naked, aside from her carefully placed dark hair. Her skin is glowing brighter and brighter with every step she takes. But then the glow turns red, orange, and yellow. It flickers and crackles, and soon, I’m overheating.
The woman is catching on fire, but it doesn’t do a thing to break her stride. She carries on closer, reaching a hand out toward me. I want to run as the flames get hotter against my face, but I can’t move my own legs. It’s like she doesn’t want me to leave her alone here.
“Lacey,” she says, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “You have to listen to me. There’s not much time.”
This doesn’t feel right. Not a single part of it.
I need to get out of here. I need to wake up.
“You are in danger, my child,” the flaming woman continues. “The longer you stay away from the coven, the more the danger will grow.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Retribution is coming,” she says. “And it will burn the valley to the ground.”
She comes closer, the flames unbearably hot on my person. Her hand, still reaching for me, is mere centimeters away from my forearm, but before she can touch me, my eyes snap open, and I awaken in my dark bedroom.
Launching forward, I gulp in the cool air. A fan whirrs nearby, oscillating to cover the whole room. My skin is hot and sweaty, and my heart beats faster than a cheetah can run.
What a horrible dream, I think to myself. But what could it possibly mean?
A loud snore comes from beside me, startling me almost as much as that nightmare I just woke up from. Sawyer rolls over onto his side, still fast asleep. I could easily wake him up, if only to make it so I wouldn’t feel alone in this room. But honestly, what could he do to help me out with this nightmare? What could he possibly say to calm me down?
No, this is not a matter for the man who decided to be my husband. This is a matter for Danielle and Monroe.
I carefully creep out of bed, grabbing my phone from my bedside table before tiptoeing across the carpeted floor. I open the door as quietly as I can, then slip into the hallway and down the stairs.
I turn a light on in the living room and sink down onto the deep-seated couch. I do a couple of the techniques Monroe taught me to regulate my breathing years ago, then I call Danielle’s number and wait. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and just when I’m about to give up and go back to bed, hoping the nightmare doesn’t come back again, she finally picks up.
“Lacey?” she asks in a groggy voice.
“Hey,” I reply. “I’m so sorry to call you so late at night, but…”
“Did you have another vision?” Danielle asks.
“Not exactly,” I say to her. “I’d rather tell you in person. Can you meet me on the outskirts of town?”
