And she would love—fiercely and unabashedly—and be loved so tenderly that her heart would break and reform in the shelter of it.
It was worth mourning—that beautiful life she could have had. In the confines of the Akeso, it had been easier to accept her fate. But now she had seen too much, had caught a glimpse of what life could be. She had known friendship, belonging.Coven.She wished she had told them that they were her coven, her sisters. Her spell ore bangle sparkled with their essence at the aching truth of it. At one time, she had nothing to lose. Now she hadeverything.
She let her magic radiate around her, preferring to be consumed by violet rather than black. The heat was unbearable, but her spell fought against it. It lit her up like a beacon, her own vigil as if to say, ‘I was here, I lived.’ Using the last reserves of her strength, she willed it to rage, fueling it with all her sorrows, regrets, and fury.
It felt like both seconds and millennia had passed. Trista’s magic faltered, her control over it wavering in her exhausted state. Her knees hit the grass, and she wondered how much longer it would be until death claimed her.
A disembodied whisper of a threat rasped in her ear. “You should have stayed put. But this will have to do.” Thel. She looked for him amidst her magic and the inferno, but nothing was there.
But a large form stalked in front of the flames as if it were looking for entry. She would die before she was taken away again. Reaching deep, she pulled up her magic at its roots, willing it to burn even as she knew she had nothing left to use.
The being moved through the wall of fire toward her, taking shape as it fought through the flames.I will not die on my knees.It took all her effort to struggle to her feet, and even though her limbs felt heavy and not her own, she lifted the dagger.
The form took shape as it entered her small circle, filled only with her own magic, which weakened against the blaze that closed in on her.
“I will not be powerless,” she declared. A final stand. Her lips curled into a faint smile—the kind one only gives to Death.
Burnt hands lowered a hood and she blinked at the vision. Smoke streamed in thick spirals from his leathers, obscuring his features. Except his eyes. Dark gold alighted on her with all the intensity of a god challenging Fate.
Ares.
He was a god on fire. And he had come for her.
Her arm dropped heavily to her side, the dagger almost slipping from her grasp. “What are you—”
But before she could fully take in The God of War, cold steel pushed against her throat and an even colder presence pressed into her back.
Ares stopped his advance, every muscle flexing as he calculated the threat.
“Ares, God of War and Bloodshed, the firstborn son of the Olympian King,Witchbane.” Thel’s ancient voice came from behind her.
The fire died around them as if sucked into the earth, not even burnt grass as evidence that it had been there. The coolness of the air was almost too much as it chilled her sensitive skin.
Several mages stepped up behind Ares, two roughly grabbing his arms. He elbowed one hard in the face, and his nose instantly gushed blood.
Thel’s blade dug into her pulse point until she was certain he would draw blood, and Ares stilled even as another mage grabbed his arm. It was Kace, looking at her with an expression that could only be hatred.
Behind Ares and the mages that struggled to hold him, bodies were piled high. He had fought all the way to her.
Thel spoke as if to an old acquaintance. “It is interesting that you killed the three witch mothers because of their threat to Olympus. And yet you’ve come to rescue a covenless witch. The same witch who tried protecting your name and purpose against even my harsher means of questioning. Why is she so important to you?”
“It’s me you want,” Ares said coolly, “and I’m right here. Let her go, and let’s settle this like the gods we are.”
“If I had been there the day you killed Nyx, and said the same to you, would it have stopped you?”
Understanding gleamed in the war god’s eyes.
“Answer the question,” the shadow god growled through clenched teeth, “how important is she to you?”
She felt something icy and creeping wrap around her legs, then her middle as if searching hands. Whatever it was, she knew Ares saw it by the rage that sparked in his gaze.
“The witch is known to me.”
She was too aware of every cold and hard muscle of the dark god standing against her.
“Do you hear that, witchling?”
The weight that had wrapped itself around her waist crept up. It was a shadowy wave of pressure that soon covered her mouth and then her nose, cutting off her oxygen. Her eyes widened in panic.