Page 16 of Shackled to the World
“You are our pack grá.” Xander grabbed the back of her neck, his grip just short of brutal, and she used the pain of it to ground herself. She peered up into his teal eyes, heart in her throat, silently demanding that he not leave her. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to let them go to another woman and not lose her shit and destroy everyone who dared touch them.
“We are yours and only ever yours,” he growled. “Nothing anyone else can say or do would ever change that.”
He drew her closer until she was pressed against his chest, his sea breeze scent wrapping around her. The white tips of his hair bristled, and she’d swear she could hear his gryphon’s wings rustle around her protectively, staking his claim as well.
Mason’s upper and lower fangs peeked out of his mouth as he hesitantly rested a hand on her back. “You are our alpha now. Only you have the ability to command us.”
Annora tore herself away from the men, hating to have her weakness exposed. The witches wouldn’t hesitate to use them against her if the speculative look in their eyes was any indication.
Instead of commenting, Hetty pretended like nothing happened. “Each coven trains one or two main devotions. Selection is much like the university. The stronger your devotions, the more other covens seek you out.”
Which Annora took to mean if you had no power, you were nothing more than a pawn or a slave. If a witch failed to give birth to a powerful witch, they were the black sheep of the family and shuffled out of the spotlight.
As if reading her outrage, Mason leaned closer, until his fresh pine and earthy copper scent soothed her ravaged emotions.
He brushed his fingertips lightly down her back…and projected his thoughts directly into her head using the mating connection.Don’t waste your pity. The weaker the witch usually means the more vicious and bloodthirsty they are clawing their way to the top in hopes of proving their worth.
He said no more as the witch spoke.
“Each coven actively collects grimoires to store their unique spells.” Hetty studied her closely, as if she could discern her ancestry with just a look. “The older the book, the more magic has been absorbed into it over the centuries. Ancient books have one keeper per generation, almost always a female. The grimoire only appears when that witch is born. While some might be able to open and even read the spells, only the chosen’s blood is able to grant the spells their full power.”
Annora blinked at the witch, not sure she understood. “Explain.”
Suesette huffed in annoyance, but Hetty answered her question patiently. “A human would see the book and would likely not even be able to open it or read the spells. A shifter might be able to feel the magic in the book, read the spell, but it’s doubtful they would feel anything but a snap of static. While I could read the same spell and make a light drizzle, if you read the spell, you could create a monsoon that lasted for weeks.”
“Magic is stored in the blood,” Suesette muttered, clearly annoyed to be explaining something so basic to an outsider. “Stronger ancestry usually equals stronger magic.”
Hetty cast a reproving look at her sister, then glanced back at Annora. “Witches have certain markers in their blood that indicate what devotion will be the strongest for them. Most of the time it’s accurate.”
“But other times the person might hold the right markers, but they’re duds,” Suesette snarked, clearly believing Annora belonged in the last column.
Hetty’s lips tightened, the only evidence of annoyance she permitted herself. “The marker for the dark matter devotion has been missing for decades. The elders tried to breed more witches with the talent when they tested for powers, but—”
“Let me guess, they disappear?” Annora tangled her fingers together to keep from reaching for the door and marching out.
Hetty’s blue eyes sharpened, and magic rose in the air. “Explain.”
The compulsion to do just that surged through her, and Annora snorted, crossing her arms. “Try your magic on me again and I’ll take it as an invitation to retaliate in kind. Then we can see who’ll still be standing in the end.” Annora cocked her head and stared at them. “That’s really what you want to know, isn’t it? Who’s stronger?”
Hetty bowed her head. “My apologies. No insult was intended. We use magic like your shifters use their extra senses. It’s instinctive and automatic.”
Annora didn’t believe it for a second. What she would believe was that the sisters were so used to using magic to get their way it was second nature to both of them. Instead of ignoring the demand, she gave them the truth, hoping they would understand the foolishness of trying to resurrect this dark matter devotion nonsense.
Edgar glared at her, silently willing her to keep silent. And he was right. The more people who knew the truth about phantoms, the more dangerous it would be for them…and her.
But screw them!
If her father was coming for her anyway, it might be best to have an army on her side when the time came.
“While a few witches might have access to this dark matter, you’re not the only people. My guess is you can only access a fraction of it…like a single raindrop compared to the ocean. Actual dark matter is a completely different realm of existence, one the residents don’t like sharing. If they notice someone accessing it, they will investigate and remove any and every threat to their existence.”
“Who?” Hetty leaned forward, and even Suesette seemed to be holding her breath.
Before she could answer, Edgar latched onto her wrist. The gathering darkness whirling inside her exploded outward like a small tornado, her form dissolving into smoke. Even as she wrenched away from him, it was already too late.
He’d ghosted them.
* * *
