Page 26 of Hell Hath No Fury
But she was also a ruthless warrior. She was infamous in the Witch Wars, one of the most feared and merciless generals. She was not afraid to strike against those who would harm her. She’d ordered the banishment of one of her own daughters. She routinely put the coven’s best interests over mine.
My mother was a lot of things, a wonderful witch and leader … which meant she did not believe in scams and cliches such as ‘love will conquer all.’
This bullshit letter only left me more confused and pissed off than I was before. And she’d spelled it so I couldn’t even tear itup. Frustrated, I tossed it next to the envelope on my bed and reached for the one thing that wouldn’t confuse or piss me off.
A bottle of whisky.
CHAPTER THREE
Through some cruel twist of fate, and maybe even by design—I wouldn’t put it past my mother to schedule her death to make it so I learned as many ‘lessons’ from it as she deemed appropriate—we had our monthly Summit focusing not on our magical lives but our image in the mortal world.
We were the Daughters of Lilith MC. One of the most notorious female-only outlaw motorcycle clubs in the country. At first the male clubs laughed at us. Then they’d tried to destroy us. Now they did business with us.
Begrudgingly.
There was and always would be an undertone of resentment toward us for infringing on a territory and identity that they held dear. They would try to destroy us again, eventually, as men throughout the ages had done. And once again, they’d lose.
There would never be another point in time when men could punish or burn women for holding more power than them.
“We need someone to go meet with The Sons of Templar MC,” Ridley said as we all sat down at our circular table, designed with phases of the moon carved into it.
Purposefully, there was no head of the table. We were all equals when we sat here, though my mother’s seat was carved with an ancient sigil. Ridley sat in that seat. She looked ridiculous, her brassy hair parted into braids that only made her look more juvenile when I guessed she was going for edgy. Freckles dusted over her pale face, her features far too delicate for the wolf I knew she was inside.
I toyed with my athame, with me at all times but never to be used to draw blood. Whoever made that rule had never encountered Ridley.
Several of the witches at the table perked up at her request. Most of them younger, more naïve and much enamored with the only club in the country that treated us as equals. It just so happened that each of the members were rather attractive too.
I leaned back in my chair, waiting for Ridley to make one of the junior witch’s days and move on to more important tasks.
We had various shipments to get out. Meetings to have with those in charge of various criminal organizations across the country. Messages to be sent.
I was facilitating an important agreement regarding the transportation of a shipment of priceless jewels stolen from one museum for another. Stolen antiquities were an important industry to us because more often than not, when objects of great power were transported by mortals, they were often defiled by their ignorance.
I had information about a priceless figurine of our Hecate, one of our most treasured ancestors. A likeness of her carved in onyx, as this was rumored to be, was priceless and contained untold power.
“Bellona.”
I blinked at the sound of my name in Ridley’s haughty, grating voice.
Everyone at the table was looking at me expectantly, with hesitation, trepidation. I was a ticking time bomb, and everyone was treating me as such.
I focused on Ridley’s ruddy brown eyes.
“You’re going to be the one meeting with the Sons of Templar,” she informed me , the curl of her lip and the way her eyes narrowed telling me she stated this with great satisfaction.
She looked like a fucking Disney villain.
“Excuse me?” I forced my voice to stay even.
Hazel, one of the younger and more delicate witches who sat across from me, shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
She was an empath and had only a tenuous grasp over the ability as it had only recently manifested on her eighteenth birthday. A very unusual thing.
She had avoided me since my mother’s death … for good reason. She could feel all of my emotions. She looked like she wanted to tear her hair out.
Her and I both.
But it was those stupid fucking braids I wanted to rip from Ridley’s scalp more.
