The witches smelled like herbs and ozone and something else, something that made every wolf in the vicinity bare their teeth on instinct.
Magic. Old magic. The kind that remembered when witches and wolves went to war and turned entire forests into graveyards.
Seraphine seemed unbothered by the hostility radiating from every corner of the fortress. She swept through the halls like she owned them, her coven following in a tight formation that was definitely defensive.
“Your great-great-grandfather tried to kill my mentor,” she commented casually as they passed a portrait of a particularly murderous-looking Veyrath. “Stabbed her through the heart with a silver blade during a peace negotiation.”
“She survived?” Selene asked.
“Oh no, she died screaming.” Seraphine’s smile was sharp. “But n
