Page 107 of The Prince's Curse

But as she pushed the full cart to the checkout, she had the traitorous thought: I don’t want to be of use.

As if Lux and Armina could hear her stray thoughts, she clamped her lips shut and quickly unloaded all her items onto the conveyor belt. While the cashier in the shapeless blue vest scanned the items, her dark eyes kept flicking up to Stella, her brow furrowed. After weighing a bag of apples, she took out her phone.

Stella held back her annoyance; why couldn’t she just finish the damn groceries before checking her texts?

But the woman slid her phone to the little counter holding the credit card machine and continued to swipe.

In an open note was a simple message:

Are you okay? Just ask for a price check and I’ll call security.

Her heart pounded as she caught the woman’s eyes, and her hand drifted to her cheek.

Her eyes. With spots of blood marring the whites and the barely concealed gash on her forehead, she looked like she’d been through hell.

Stella forced a smile and handed the phone back, pointedly ignoring the woman’s message. After paying for her groceries, she waved off the offer of help from a bagger, then hurried out to load the car.

“Suck it up,” she told herself again.

Soon enough this would be over. And if she made her exit from Armina’s company…then so be it.

By the time she got back to the cabin, the sun was setting. She sat in the car, listening to the subtle hum as the engine died down and silence moved into the space. Her bag lay on the seat, containing her wallet and her tablet—the digital spellbook that documented centuries of Night Weaver knowledge.

“I could go,” she reminded herself. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. Mom had taught her some hard lessons over the years, but that was a good one. Never let anyone force you to do something, and if they try, make sure they know not to do it again.

She tucked the bag under the seat, then stuffed the keys into her pocket before heading inside. Crossing the threshold sent a tingle up her spine, thanks to Lux’s quick but powerful wards. Armina was sitting at the long dining table with a pad of paper in front of her, pages already filled with ink. Without a word, Stella put the stack of art notebooks in front of her, then opened the package of ink pens—her favorite kind—to put them at hand.

“I got the ones you like,” she said quietly.

Armina grabbed a pen, opened the notebook, and began furiously sketching. Her eyes were void black, and there was an eerie whispering on the air. She was in a trance of sorts, diving into the stragulam fati. The apprentices were forbidden to do it so casually, requiring rituals and grounding elements before even beginning to touch it, but Armina had been doing this for centuries.

For all her trepidation, Stella marveled at watching the older woman work. The air around her shimmered like a mirage, and she caught glimpses of shadow around her, things moving just at the edge of her vision. Armina’s power was unsettling, but there was no question that she was one of the most skilled witches in the world.

Dark lines slithered up her arms, as if she was drawing the shadows from around her, up into her body. Her lips moved silently, eyes fixed on some distant point. The atmosphere was charged, and Stella’s skin crawled with the sensation of magic in the air.

Armina’s head snapped back, then an inhuman growl rumbled in her throat. “You obey me,” she said in a deep, booming voice. The shadows whipped around her, and for a moment, she was obscured from view. “Lux. The hunter.”

“Jordan,” Lux said sharply. Slow, ominous footsteps crescendoed down the hall of the main floor. The tall, wiry dhampir male strode across the living room, stopping short of Armina. The dark markings on his wrists and neck were still fresh and swollen, his eyes sunken.

“Kneel,” Armina said, her lips curving in a smile as the man knelt. The show of power made Stella shudder internally. “I made you a deal, did I not?”

He nodded.

“When you prove that you’re ready, I will give you all the bloodshed you want,” Armina said, gently cupping the man’s face. He stared up at her with a look of adoration in those blank eyes. This was not the same man who had walked into their house in Charlotte almost two weeks ago and stalked through the halls like a creepy shadow.

“The Shieldsmen speak of the Siege of Silberspitze as if it ended some hundred and fifty years ago. But I have never stopped fighting the Auberon, and I will see their destruction,” she said. “Be brave, Jordan.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ms. Voss.”

Her long, ringed fingers spread over his face, and he went rigid. The very air seemed to split, and oily shadow poured from the seam and over Jordan’s lips, down his throat. He shook violently but never tried to break free, never tried to escape Armina’s grasp.

As that dark energy poured into him, Stella took a step back. Dark lines bulged beneath his skin, as if whatever Armina had just shoved into him was thrashing around inside.

Stella knew the feeling, though it had been much less violent for her. The only way to master the Weave was to take it in, to draw part of that sentient power into herself. It took months for it to quiet, creating a sort of magical instinct that guided her.

Armina kissed his forehead, then released him. He stood slowly, but as he did, Armina staggered. The intense smell of wood smoke surged through the air, tinged with something Stella didn’t recognize. It made her uneasy, like hearing scratching at the window past midnight.

Jordan reached for her, but Lux said, “No. Let me.” Shadow materialized like threads around her hands as Lux wove a quick spell to ground herself, then grabbed Armina.

---