Page 116 of Son of a Witch

My beast refused to give up control of my body. Something pierced my neck with a twang. A blade? Spear? I roared and slapped my hand on my neck, examining the intrusion. No, too small for that. Fuck. I plucked out a dart and it clattered on the ground. Tranquilizer hit my bloodstream with a burning sting. My beast cried out as our connection faltered.

Woozy from the narcotic, my steps faltered, and I stumbled into a row of shelves, knocking them over, almost crushing Luna if it wasn’t for Talon swooping in with his wings to rescue her. Moving only pumped the damn drug faster through my veins. Growing drowsier by the second, I slumped to my knees with a pitiful growl.

“Raze, get out of here,” Blaze ordered from my periphery, Cole and Gable escaping through a portal.

Too late. I was already gone unless they carried me out of here. Unlikely, given we were surrounded and trapped.

“Fuck!” Blaze vanished through the portal and it slurped closed.

My crew abandoned me to the enemy.

Two vampires apprehended me by the arms and dragged me along the ground to the feet of a much larger gantii. Horned protrusions jutted from his forehead. A general.

“We meet again, Yarna.” Yarna. The vampire word for Lycan. “I’ve dreamed of this day. Prayed for it. The vampire gods have blessed me,” came the icy voice I knew too well. One that haunted my dreams. It belonged to the vampire that almost crushed my windpipe and throat when he lifted me into the air.

Fucking Styx. I was a dead Lycan.

The last thought before I lost myself to darkness was this was why I never should have trusted a snake. Slippery bastard double-crossed me.

CHAPTER38

Astra

“Look at all this stuff.”I ran my fingers through the box of mermaid pearls, the cool, silky shells twisting my thoughts from good girl on the straight and narrow to bad girl stuffing a few in special places for Tor. “It must be worth a fortune.”

Every possible item Tor sold in contraband. Dragon’s scales, goblins hands—apparently lucky for some—phoenix feathers, Lycan teeth, griffin’s pelts.

While Knoxe went with Selena, Loco, and Tor to escort the prisoners back to the prison, Pascal and I stayed back to guard the location. Before they left, four of us checked out the place for any men lying in wait, but we found none. That was how we found this site. A basement below the property.

“Poachers and traders.” Pascal’s hands squeezed a unicorn’s horn. Shadows cross his face. Dark, vengeful melodies stirred in him, reverberating through me. I rarely saw him angry.

“Keep searching,” I told him, giving his back a short rub before going from box, to jar, to crate. “There might be Fae blood for Tor.”

“I don’t think we should be here, Songbird. We should get back to the team.”

Was he mad? This was a trove. We could steal a stash for ourselves and bury it in the team’s hiding hole behind the prison. Return for it when released. Sell it for a pretty penny. Set ourselves up for life.

I went up to him and lay a hand on his chest, soothing the gloomy melody within him. “I’m not leaving until I search everything.”

Pascal gripped my arm tightly in warning. “Songbird, I don’t think we should touch anything. We can’t take it back to the prison. The warden’s watching us.”

Fact. The unfairness of it all burned under my skin like a chili bomb went off.

“I can’t leave without hunting for Fae blood.” It possessed magical properties like healing, and I would search all night if I had to locate it for Tor. “We won’t get another chance like this. Once the traders catch wind that we’ve captured their associates, they’ll pack up and move this stockpile to another location. Gone forever.”

Capitalizewas the word of the day. Theft. Save Tor. Break the shackles of guilt from Pascal and Knoxe. Bolster my team to maximum capacity and corral every last fugitive to earn the bounty for our freedom.

Pascal bracketed my cheek in his warm palm. “Songbird, I want to do this the legitimate way. Buy the Fae blood fair and square. It doesn’t feel right to steal it from traders who’ve probably slaughtered the gantii for profit.”

Damn him and his rules. Urgency to help Tor waged with my conscience and I rubbed my forehead, weighing the arguments on why I should do this and why not. First, I addressed the moral considerations. Exploiting gantii for my gain made me no better than the traders. Guilt sickened my stomach.

Inmates were exploited in the Guardians to perform the Guild’s dirty work for exorbitant wealth, sent on dangerous missions from which they might never return. Housed in perilous prisons, where they were stalked, intimidated, raped, and assaulted. Paying off our sentence by completing risky missions was penance enough.

Shame formed a ball in my chest that spread out and took root. Disgusted with myself, I shoved aside the jar of herbs, the tips of my fingers remaining on the glass.

Just do it. For Tor,the little dark voice inside me whispered coaxing words.These gantii are dead anyway.

True. I traced the glass jar. No. Taking their parts made me just as repulsive as the traders and collectors.

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