chapter 6

CHAPTER 18

Dean's P.O.V

I wanted it to act cool, but i never learned how to chill, when I have always been cold inside.

Fire scorches across my back as I twist away from the witch's claws. Her venom is particularly potent, slowing my reactions and dimming my vision.

"On your right!" Joe leaps for her, sword swinging, but she disappears in a black plume and cackles with glee.

"You taste like power, winter king." Her voice whistles through the trees. "Old, strong roots. Cold wind and the delicious bite of fresh snow."

I stumble forward, staying upright as I follow my mate's scent. Her fear is acrid in my nostrils. The vile witch took her as she slept, slipping her past my defenses with powerful dark magic straight from the Spires. I only realized Marina was gone when the other changeling began to yell.

Joe keeps close to my back, just like old times. We're at war again, but now the stakes are even higher. I can't lose Alison, I needed to save her.

"So sweet to try and save your poor, poor wife." The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere.

"If you've harmed her, I will—"

"No." A shadow whips to my right. "I won't harm that one. That wouldn't do. Don't you know what she is?"

I sense the attack coming and spin, lashing out with my blade. Contact, but my sword glances off her obsidian skin, the blow jarring up my arm.

"She's a normal girl, foul witch," Joe growls and throws out his hand, sending a wild blue fireball crashing into her.

But she's an old heathen. Fire cannot harm her. She opens her mouth wide and inhales, swallowing the flames before disappearing again.

Her cackle sounds from behind the next tree. I rush forward and stab the spot, finding only air. Another slash of fire opens across my back, and I whirl as the dark creature dances back, her feet not touching the ground. Joe rushes her, swinging for her face, but she vanishes before he lands the blow.

"A normal girl?" The cackle grows to a cacophony that echoes around us. "Fools."

There's only one way to destroy an Obsidian witch, and it almost killed me the last time. But to save my mate, I will fight until my last breath. This sacrifice will be worth it.

"Draw her ahead of us." I back up to stand next to Gareth. Blood drips down a nasty gash on his face. If he's not careful, he'll have another wound to match the jagged scar on his right cheek.

"This one gives even better than the last one we killed." He spits blood. "It will take all you have. Can you do it?"

"I have to. Be ready."

He grimaces. "You shouldn't—"

"Secrets make enemies, my lords." Her voice whispers right beside me, but when I strike out, nothing is there.

Joe limps ahead of me, his sword down. He's exposed. The witch won't be able to resist. Dirty fighters, they take their prey however they can get it.

Her sharp claws click, each tap like a crack of lightning. Joe drops his sword and trips, falling onto his knees.

The darkness grows around him.

I close my eyes and breathe in the strange warm air, the hint of brimstone, the flowery scent that pervades these woods. But when I open my eyes, I breathe out winter, snow, and ice. The ground freezes beneath me, shooting out in a ring of frost as I focus on the darkness that circles my second in command.

"Sleep now, warrior. Sleep and know I will take you with me. Back to my cave. You will join my beautiful bones. Your flesh will wilt until I'm ready to feast." She comes into view, standing behind him, her claws drawn back.

I focus on her as everything inside me unbinds itself, the magic flowing through me in a rush that almost knocks me off my feet. We only have one shot at this, one chance to destroy her before she kills all of us.

She slashes downward, her black claws glinting, and I push my magic to her, unleashing the icy bite of the winter realm in all its beautiful terror.

The witch screeches, but the ice does its work, freezing her stone skin and locking her into a prison of frost. I keep my magic flowing as she fights against the winter's hold. Beads of sweat coat my body, and my wounds bleed like a mortal's. I can't heal myself, not when all my magic is spent to cage the witch. Her struggles slow, her body freezing into a mass of rage and fear. When the ice is thick around her, I hold my magic steady, pulling it deep from within and focusing all of it on her. Just like any stone, freezing makes obsidian brittle, prone to crack and shatter. Her skin provides the perfect armor ... until it's chilled by the heart of the winter realm.

Joe grabs his sword and rises. "Almost there." Pulling back, he aims to shatter her.

"I relent!" she screams through frozen lips. "I relent and shall not harm any of your party!"

Joe pauses and glances at me. I'm fading, my magic stores burning away. My radius of ice blasts outward, coating every tree and flower in sight with frost. I must freeze all the way through to her rotted heart before he can strike. I'm almost there, my ice diving into every dark nook and putrid cranny of her being.

"A boon in exchange for my life." Her voice is a wail, her black form frozen in a sea of white ice. "Please, my lords. A boon for your wife! Spare my life."

"Leander?" Joe still holds his sword high, ready to splinter her into nothing more than shards of black glass. It's the only way to kill her.

If he doesn't strike now, we won't have another chance. I can't let her go, not when my mate's life is on the line.

"A boon for your wife! I swear on the mother!" Thunder cracks through the trees.

A promise like that cannot be broken, not in this world or any other.

"My lord?" Joe vibrates with aggression, ready to strike the final blow.

"No." I release my magic. Or at least I try to. When I've drained it like this, it holds onto me like a tether, tugging me away from myself and into the otherworld. I fight its pull, but the effort takes me to my knees. This is the danger, the thorn on the rose of magic.

I glare at the witch. "One wrong move, foul one, and I swear to the Ancestors I'll find some other way to end your miserable life."

"I gave my word." She shakes off the outer layer of ice but doesn't dare move too much. "My word is just as good as yours."

I gulp in breaths and try to calm the fury of my heart. My eyes close. The magic calls to me, promises me rest, promises to reveal secrets that only the greatest magic-wielders have ever discovered. It's a lie, I tell myself. Magic is wily and cruel at its heart, but it speaks to me so sweetly that I almost falter.

"Steady, Dean. Your mate. Remember your wife." Joe's voice comes to me as if from a long distance.

"I am your mate, your true one," the magic dances around me. "Come and I will teach you forgotten ways. Things no other immortal knows. You will truly be a king then, never to be defeated."

Its whisper is like the kiss of silk. I want to know the deepest ways of magic. Maybe I could go with it, just for a moment. Just for a glimpse of what lies in the otherworld.

"Yes." The voice turns into a dainty fairy made of blue embers. "Only for a moment. Take my hand and you will know the treasured secrets that can save your kingdom."

I raise my hand, though it seems to carry an almost unbearable weight.

"Dean." Another voice, this one soft and sweet.

"Who—"

"Shh, take my hand." The fairy reaches for me.

"Leander, please." A gentle touch across my forehead, and the sweet voice comes again, "I need you."

"Don't listen," the fairy hisses.

"Dean. It's me, Ramona, Alison. Please wake up."

"Alison." I step back from the fairy. "My wife needs me."

"Your wife," the fairy snarls and snakes into a looping swirl of pure magic. "Your downfall. The downfall of your world."

"What? What do you mean?"

The magic laughs and fades, the blue embers disappearing. "You will only know if you come to the otherworld. If you let go and take my hand."

"I can't let her go."

"Then you shall learn what I mean soon enough." The magic evaporates, and I open my eyes.

"Dean." Alison strokes my cheek.

The mate bond roars back to life inside me, and I sit up and pull her into my arms.

I cup her face with my palm and kiss her.

She squeaks with surprise, but I can't go another second without this connection. I'm too rough, too fierce, but I can't stop this. She grips my tunic and holds on as I run my fingers into her hair. Her lips—at first hard and closed—soften as I tease them with my tongue. Her eyes flutter closed, and I caress the seam of her mouth, urging her to open for me.

When she does, a low purr rumbles through my chest, and I delve my tongue into her slowly, touching and tasting the sweetness of my wife. Where she is hesitant, I am hungry, starved for her touch. I take her mouth like I want to take her body, feeling every bit of her, making her mine and leaving my mark.

She melts in my arms, pressing against me as I stroke her tongue and squeeze her silky strands between my fingers. My cock is so hard it almost hurts, and the need to claim her fully beats like war drums in my veins. When I slant my mouth over hers even more, she moans in her throat. I'm balancing on a razor's edge, and that sensual sound threatens to send me careening headlong into mating her.

"My lord?" Joe clears his throat.

I can't relinquish her, not now. Not when she's in my arms, her soul grazing the edges of mine. I clutch her to me, the primal instinct to shield her from any other male taking over. She's not marked, not fully mine. That means she isn't safe. Some other male could try and take her. I growl and my fangs begin to lengthen.

Alison pulls away, her eyes widening. She tries to scramble off my lap, but I hold her still.

"Dean!" She can't escape my grasp.

Claim her, mark her, take her. The primal fae roars inside me, demanding I take what is rightfully mine.

"You're scaring her, Joe." Joe's voice is gentle. "Old friend, please."

"She's mine." The words are guttural. I can't let her go even though she's trying to push me away.

"I know." Joe steps closer. "But you're suffering from magic withdrawal and blood loss. You aren't thinking straight. You need to release her."

I look into her eyes, and it's like a kick in the gut. Fear. Her sweet scent of arousal has changed to one of terror. And I'm the one who is scaring her.

Even though my instincts rage, I release her and set her on her feet. She backs away to Gareth, who is wise enough not to touch her.

"He needs help." Joe hurries over to me and examines my wounds.

"I'm fine." I feel the urge to shove him away, to barrel right past him and to the one who can ease the ache inside me.

"Dean." He takes a deep breath. "Look at her. She's not used to any of this. It's all terrifying to her. And you're not helping right now."

"She's my wife," I argue, but my fangs retract, and my mind begins to clear. I hadn't hurt her, had I? Guilt burrows under my skin as I look at her, her teeth chattering as she hugs herself. What have I done?

"I'm going to do my best to heal some of these." He points to the cuts along my back and arm.

"Oh, Ancestors, no," I groan. Gareth is great with a destruction spell, if a bit wild, but his healing can go either way. I once saw him try to repair Grayhail's broken leg. When Gareth was done, Gray had two broken legs.

"I have to try. You aren't healing."

"No." I lean away from him.

"Hold tight." A blast of green shoots around me, the magic teasing along the edge of my depleted stores. My wounds burn, and I fear he's ripped them open even more. Another blast of green, and more stinging pain have me gritting my teeth.

"Not so bad." Gareth sits back and inspects me. "Still need some time for them to heal all the way, but at least the bleeding's stopped."

The fog lifts all the way, my senses snapping back into place. "Taylor." I look up at her, anguish in my heart. "I'm so sorry, little one."

She nibbles her bottom lip and shakes her head a little.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

"You have fangs." Her voice trembles.

Gareth gasps, and I can only stare at her.

"You speak fae?" Gareth barks.

"I do now. The witch—she wanted to talk to me, and she couldn't do it in changeling, so she—"

"Gave her that knowledge for free," the witch grumbles. "Thought I'd eat her before she could put the language to use, though."

I rise to my knees, and Gareth helps me to my feet. The poison is fading, my body growing stronger with each breath.

"Fangs," Taylor says again, and stares at my mouth. That look sends tendrils of heat licking along my skin. She has no idea what a delicious lure she is.

"And you ... you changed." Her brows knit together. "Like you were—"

"Feral." I move toward her, and the relief I feel when she doesn't back away is a salve on my wounds more powerful than magic. "When a fae has lived for several ages, the feral part of us grows stronger."

"Feral?" She asks. "Like a cat?"

"A cat? More like a primal creature that relies on instinct and basic needs."

"So, a cat." She nods.

"The only cats I know of are the shifting panthers of the Twisted Pines, and I suppose they are somewhat feral, but are more known for cheating at cards than anything else." I stand in front of her and press a hand to her cheek where a scratch veers toward her ear. "I'm so sorry you saw me like that, little one. Are you hurt?"

I hold my breath, fearing she will say I hurt her in some way.

"No. The witch just talked to me, really. I mean, she pulled me out of my bed and had me walk through the woods. But, considering all that's happened in the past few days, chatting with her was probably the least dangerous thing I've done." She glances behind her at the witch who's still encased in my ice up to her waist. "But don't get me wrong. She's creepy as all hell."

"I could've eaten you, girl." The witch sniffs. "Could've feasted on your bones and fresh meat. I didn't, yet you call me names."

I step between Alison and the witch. "Threaten my wife again, black one, and I will finish you."

"Not a threat. Just saying what I could have done, but didn't do." She spits on the ground, and the spot sizzles. "Not creepy. Magnanimous!"

"You promised me a boon for your life. Are you prepared to give it?" I move closer to her, my strength returning and relief that Taylor is unharmed buoying me.

"Compelled." She spits again. "Compelled by the king beyond the mountain. But I drew blood." She grins, her sharp black teeth like a wild animal's. "I drew royal blood. An old heathen witch does not break. I will not break, and I did what I was compelled to do. I no longer feel it. But I do feel the tether of our agreement." She grumbles and tries to pull one leg free to no avail. "Cold."

I point at the frost around her. "I'll free you only after you've granted the boon."

"I promised the boon for your mate. Not you." She taps the side of her nose. "But I can grant you one as well, if you'd like to bargain for one."

"I don't bargain." No fae will volunteer to make promises, and if one does, it never bodes well.

"I could tell you such things, winter king." Her tone turns dreamy. "About yourself, your mate, the king beyond the mountain. Valuable information. Priceless."

"Then tell me."

She tsks. "Not for free. Nothing is free."

"I don't bargain."

"Pfft." She sweeps her white hair from her black shoulder. "Perhaps not today, winter king. But you will. By the end, you will beg me for a bargain." Her pointy teeth clack against each other again. "Maybe I'll give you one, maybe I won't."

My hand itches toward my blade, but I don't draw it. "Get on with the boon."

"It's for your mate only. Not you. You must go."

"I'm not leaving her alone with you, witch."

"Selene. Selene is its name." She wrenches one leg from the ice, but the other remains stuck.

"I'm not leaving, and I'm beginning to rethink this boon."

"You can't kill me now. We both know it." She bares her teeth. "No more winter in you. Not enough."

I regret sparing her. "Maybe I can't shatter you, but I can make you hurt. And I've recently come up with a theory." My voice drops to lethal levels. "The only known way to kill you is to shatter you with cold. But perhaps we're missing something. Maybe I simply need to experiment. Shove a sword down your throat, take a diamond axe to your head, roast you over a fire until the obsidian gets hot enough to melt. There must be some way to—"

"I gave my word and you dare threaten me? Dare question my oath simply because I am Obsidian?" A phantom wind stirs the witch's white hair, and she narrows her black eyes. The tension rises around us like floodwaters, and I raise my sword.

"Selene." Alison hurriedly steps to my side. "I apologize for calling you creepy."

The witch's white eyebrows twitch, and I get a glimpse of what she could have been had she not fallen into the twisted evil of the Spires. Witches like her were once fae, but they followed the call of the dark and wound up changed by the mysterious forces that inhabit the Wasted Lands.

"Apologize to me?" Selene peers at Alison as if she's confusing and entrancing all at once. "No one has ever apologized to Selene." She taps her chin. "Begged? Yes. Demanded? Yes. Cursed? Certainly." She cackles. "But apologized? No." She points one long finger at Alison. "You are a special one, and not only because you were foretold."

I want to ask her what she means, but I can't. Making another deal with a loathsome creature like her would end badly.