Page 14 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
"Was it?" Valerian circles me again, but this time there's nothing seductive about it. "Or perhaps you're a spy. An agent sent by wolf-allies to infiltrate our Court."
"That's ridiculous." My frustration bubbles over. "I'm running from a witch coven, not working for wolves. I hate wolves."
"Hmm." Valerian stops, staring into my eyes. "Perhaps you do. But intention matters little. The mark changes things."
"Significantly," Esme agrees. "We cannot risk a vampire-wolf conflict over a disfigured witch."
I flinch at the revulsion in her tone, even if I'm used to it. It never stings any less.
"I'm not asking you to fight wolves," I protest. "Just witches."
"Who may well have wolven allies," Dominic counters. "These alliances shift constantly. We will not be drawn into conflict on multiple fronts for someone who may be claimed by our enemies."
"I'm not claimed by anyone!"
Well, that isn't entirely true. But no one they don't already know about.
"Your face says otherwise," Valerian states coldly. "Our answer is no, Regina Cook. Find protection elsewhere."
Just like that, my last decent option vanishes. "You can't just?—"
"I believe we just did." Valerian gestures, and two guards materialize beside me. "Show our guest out. The meeting is concluded."
"Perhaps the wolves themselves might help you," Esme suggests with cruel mockery. "Since you already bear their brand."
The mere suggestion sends ice through my veins. “I'd rather die,” I grit out.
"That may yet be your choice," Dominic says dispassionately. "But you will make it elsewhere. Goodbye."
The guards grip my arms firmly. I don't resist as they escort me through the winding hallways. Fighting vampires on their territory is suicide, especially with my magic depleted.
They release me unceremoniously at the front gate, which creaks shut behind me with damning finality. I stand there for a moment, staring up at the gothic monstrosity that represents another door closed, another option gone.
The night air feels colder now, or maybe that's just the chill of growing desperation. I check my phone again. Kyle's messages continue, counting down the hours. There's a voicemail from Cadence I'm not ready to listen to.
Fifteen hours left before Kyle comes for me.
The walk back to the hostel feels ten times longer than the walk to the vampire mansion. Every shadow seems to hide a threat. Every passing car might contain Ryan or other coven members. Without my glamour—which I've let drop completely to conserve what little energy remains—I keep my head down and let my hair covering the worst of my scars.
A drunk man on the street corner takes one look at my face and crosses to the other side. A woman walking her dog at night stares for a second, blanching, then quickly averts her eyes.
This is what Kyle "saved" me from, supposedly. Public revulsion. Stares and whispers. Before the glamour spell he taught me, I rarely left the coven house. Another form of control I was too blind to see.
By the time I reach the hostel, I'm bone-weary and fighting tears of frustration. The night clerk—different from this morning—barely glances up as I pass.
I trudge up the stairs to my room, each step a monumental effort. When I finally close the door behind me, I slide down against it until I'm sitting on the floor, head in my hands.
One by one, my options are disappearing. Vampire protection? Gone. Other covens? Too risky with Kyle's deadline so close. Independent magic? Impossible without breaking the coven bond first.
Which leaves Cadence.
My wild, beautiful sister who wraps herself in neon colors and loud laughter to hide her own wounds. Who warned me about Kyle from the start with uncanny accuracy.
But going to her means putting her in danger when Kyle inevitably tracks me down. Even if I’m rested and replenished, capable of putting up a fight, it won’t be safe for her.
There has to be another way. Some option I haven't considered.
I drag myself to the bed and collapse, not bothering to undress or even remove my shoes. The room swims around me, exhaustion and magical depletion taking their toll. The ceiling crystal pulses weakly in the darkness, its meager energy a cruel reminder of what I've lost.
