The Witches Dragon Bond Book 2

The warm afternoon sun bathed the courtyard in gold, filtering through the ivy-laced stone walls that had stood for centuries. Birds sang lazily from the castle towers, and the scent of fresh earth and blooming jasmine drifted through the air. In the center of the courtyard, Elara played absentmindedly with her magic, rolling a small orb of fire between her fingers. It flickered and danced, pulsing in tune with her heartbeat. Normally, she loved these quiet moments—when she could feel the raw power beneath her skin, testing the limits of her control. Today, however, something felt wrong. The fire in her palm wavered. Nearby, her twin brother Eugene sat on a stone bench, deeply engrossed in an old tome from the palace archives. Unlike Elara, he had no magic to wield, no fire to summon, no storm to command. But he had something else—an uncanny sense of when things were about to go very, very wrong. He stiffened. “Elara,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around the edges of the book. At a small table beneath the shade of a willow tree, Jasmine and Mary sat enjoying afternoon tea, their conversation a soft hum of familiarity. They had been more than caretakers to the twins over the years; they had been protectors, mentors, and—when Eric could not be—family. Mary was laughing at something Jasmine had said when she suddenly stopped, cup halfway to her lips. A chill ran through her, an ancient warning. Jasmine was already standing. Elara’s fire flared in alarm. And then, the world shuddered. The birds went silent. The warmth of the sun dimmed as if the sky itself recoiled. The very air thickened, pressing against them like unseen hands. Something was coming. The fire in Elara’s palm died. Eugene looked up at the same time she did, their movements eerily synchronized. His face was tight with unease. And then, the air ripped apart. A jagged portal of swirling blackness tore open before them, shadows spilling forth like living tendrils. The darkness spread, consuming the ground beneath it, a gaping wound in the fabric of their world. And through it, she stepped. Evelynn. Elara’s breath caught in her throat. Her mother. The woman who had vanished before she had ever truly known her. The woman they had only seen in portraits, heard about in stories whispered late into the night. But this was not the woman from those stories. She looked untouched by time—no wrinkles, no wear, no signs of age. But her once fiery red hair was now a stark, unnatural white, save for a single streak of crimson near the front. Her emerald eyes, once described as warm, were sharp and glacial. Her expression unreadable, yet hauntingly familiar. She stepped forward, her movements as fluid as ever, as if she had never left. And behind her, it followed. A figure emerged from the abyss—a man carved from darkness itself. He was tall, elegant, his presence unnatural in its perfection. His black hair framed a face too beautiful to be human, his golden eyes gleaming with something old, something patient. Elara couldn’t place why but she felt drawn to him. His hand rested lightly on Evelynn’s shoulder—a possessive, unyielding touch. Jasmine and Mary were already moving. Their instincts were sharp, honed from years of war and loss. They surged forward, weapons drawn, ready to defend the twins at all costs. But Evelynn barely looked at them before lifting her hand and flicking her wrist. A freezing force slammed into Jasmine and Mary mid-step, locking them in place. Their bodies stiffened, unable to move, their eyes wide with shock. Evelynn let out a soft, lilting laugh. She tilted her head, eyes alight with amusement. “Oh, Eric used this same trick the night we met,” she mused, tracing invisible shapes in the air with her fingers. “You both remember don’t you?” Elara’s fury surged. Magic flared around her, wild and untamed. A gust of wind howled through the courtyard, fanning the embers beneath her skin. Eugene took a step forward, jaw tight, body rigid. But Evelynn ignored them for a moment longer, her gaze flickering over Jasmine and Mary before turning to the twins. She smiled, slow and sharp. “No ‘hello, Mother’?” Elara gritted her teeth. Evelynn sighed, almost disappointed. “Has your father missed me?” She took a step forward, gaze still locked on her daughter. “How has he fared without me? Has he aged well? Has he wept?” Her voice was mockingly sweet, but beneath it lurked something dangerous. Eugene’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t belong here.” Evelynn’s eyes flicked to him, expression unreadable. Then, she exhaled, shaking her head. “My son,” she murmured. “So small-minded. I am the queen. And I have come,” she continued, glancing back at the shadowed man behind her, “to claim what is mine.” Elara’s fire pulsed again, flickering in the tense silence. The darkness behind Evelynn chuckled, low and rich. The sound of it churned inside Elara a feeling she didn’t understand. Eugene met his sister’s gaze, his eyes filled with unspoken words. Evelynn’s lips curled, her voice softer now, but no less menacing. “I do hope Eric is ready to see me again.” The courtyard felt impossibly small, the weight of her presence suffocating. And then, she took another step forward. The nightmare had begun. Flashback For seventeen years, Evelynn had lived in darkness. She had fought. She had clawed. She had screamed until her throat bled. But the darkness had always won. The entity had not broken her in a day. No, it had been patient. It had whispered to her, tempted her, played its games with her mind. And when she had refused, it had turned to torment. The first time it had chained her in shadow, it had left her there for weeks—alone, starving, drowning in endless silence. The first time it had stolen her magic, it had returned it in shards, breaking it apart piece by piece until she could barely feel it anymore. The first time it had touched her mind, it had filled it with visions—visions of Eric moving on, of her children growing up without her, of the world forgetting her. And still, she had resisted. For years. Until the moment she had finally broken. Not because of pain. Not because of the torture. But because it had shown her Elara. It had whispered of the prophecy, of what her daughter would become. And then, it had given Evelynn a choice. Submit… or watch Elara fall. And in the end, Evelynn had surrendered. Not because she was weak. But because she could not allow her daughter to suffer the same fate. Evelynn watched her daughter now, her expression unreadable. Elara looked so much like her. The same fire, the same stubbornness. The darkness at Evelynn’s back shifted, its golden eyes gleaming. Soon. Yes. Very soon. She had come back for her kingdom. She had come back for her daughter. And this time, there would be no war. Only surrender.