Page 5 of Doyle

CHAPTER TWO

MICHAEL

I peeredout of my cage, unsure of what was happening. There was movement in the coven.

Witches and warlocks were snapping at each other, grabbing tools, and shoving them into bags.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten about me. I wanted to scream at someone, but the last time I spoke without permission...there had been dire consequences.

I pictured myself alone in this empty, creepy house, rotting away in this cage while the rest of the world moved on, my skeleton only discovered by some hunter who stumbled in here by accident. I shuddered.

"Hey," I said, grabbing at the leg of the nearest warlock.

He looked haggard but still managed to stare at my dirty hand in disgust.

This particular coven viewed captive shifters like me as no better than animals, only useful as long as we could serve as their familiars.

"What's happening?" I asked as he pulled his leg from my fingers.

He looked at me like I was a foreign specimen at a zoo, then left without answering. Frustration welled in my chest.

I looked over at the other two cages in the basement.

They were empty now, save for scraps of cloth and bits of hair, but I could still picture the haunted faces of the original inhabitants.

The fact that I never saw them again led me to conclude that the coven used them in some kind of foul curse or spell until nothing remained of them.

These black witches and warlocks siphoned our life forces whenever they cast a spell.

The only reason I was still alive was because the leader of this coven considered me her special project.

I shuddered, thinking about Liliana Payne, her long black-tipped nails touching my face. Liliana, touching my hair like I was her favorite pet.

"You’re special, Michael. I can’t bring myself to get rid of you just yet," she would say each time I begged her to kill me.

The memory of her voice, dripping with mock affection, sent a chill down my spine. She relished in my despair, feeding off it as much as she fed off my life force.

Her eyes, cold and calculating, would light up with a twisted kind of joy whenever I showed the slightest hint of resistance.

She thrived on it, and I had learned to mask my emotions, to hide the fury and fear that raged within me. But every now andthen, I would slip, and she would be there, ready to exploit my weakness.

I glanced at the scraps of cloth and bits of hair once more. The faces of those who had once occupied those cages haunted me.

They had been reduced to nothing more than magical fodder.

I was determined not to share their fate. I couldn’t let Liliana break me, no matter how hard she tried.

I would endure her cruel games and twisted experiments, biding my time until I could find a way to escape this nightmare.

The house above was a hive of frantic activity, the coven preparing for something big. I had to believe that my chance would come.

My ears perked up, trying to catch snippets of the conversation.

Words like “raid” and “escape” floated down to me, sending a shiver of both hope and dread through my body.

Were they preparing for an attack? Or were they abandoning ship, leaving me behind to rot?

Desperation clawed at my insides. I couldn’t afford to be left behind. This was it, I realized. My only chance for escape.

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