Chapter7
1193 Words
Devlin's POV
Darkness.
My unfriendly friend.
It has a funny way of making me feel helpless yet powerful. Hopeless yet burning. It wraps me in solitude, yet whispers promises of death. Of destruction.
Tonight there’s no promise, though. We both know why we’re here; it is here to conceal, and I am here to witness and bask in the loss of Selene Caelum. I lean back in the chair, adjusting myself into the best position to hear and smell the night unfold.
The witches continue to chant, their voices an unsteady whisper of the old tongue. It’s like music, fluctuating in tempo. Low. Rising. Falling. I cannot see them, but the atmosphere charges, layer by layer, until the pressure climbs into my bones.
Burning. Like fire.
The sound clings to the air, sticky and heavy, pressing into my lungs until every breath tastes of spellwork. It brushes over my skin, some notes caressing and soothing, others… just being jerks. Pricking me.
I love rituals.
They’re a reminder of the transcendence of life. A little proof that maybe, just maybe, the moon isn’t just a rock. I look at the moonstones, and I swear I see symbols twirling in the spotlight. It’s like I could reach out and touch them.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Goosebumps.
Chills.
And that stupidly intoxicating whiff of burnt vanilla.
Selene.
I can tell where she is. She’s still by the wall where she stood when we walked in. Probably Vey is still with her. I wish it were me; her fear would have been more poignant, more fulfilling, standing next to her. And it would have been the best opportunity to share the whispers from the dark with her. What a tantalizing opportunity I didn’t have.
I sigh and open my eyes, useless as they are, hoping they fall on the only person worth seeing—Selene Caelum.
“Graaa-vehth Morr-kaeee Vooor-a-then…”
I roll my eyes. Why witches have to elongate the old tongue and make it musical, I will never understand. Why can’t they just say, “Graveth Morrkae Vorathen!” Simple. Straight to the point.
Someone snaps their fingers, a jolting noise in the eerie atmosphere. The tip of a witch’s hand lights up. She scans the entrance, and her light lands on Selene. It illuminates her features, the welts that disappear to her back, her lips that bit me, and her hair that I packed with my hair tie.
It’s mesmerizing.
Graveth Morrkae Vorathen.
The words repeat at the back of my mind. I watch the witch lead her to the biggest symbol on the floor, directly beneath the moon.
Graveth Morrkae Vorathen.
The words repeat again. Nagging. Calling my attention. There’s something about the way Selene blends beneath the light of the moon that’s captivating.
My heart bleeds.
Graveth Morrkae Vorathen.
Selene is laid in the center of the symbol. A different chant starts, more intense, like they’re calling the moon to answer.
The goosebumps are ruder now. Demanding. Violent. Six witches strategically position themselves around her, holding hands.
Selene’s eyes aren’t visible to me, even with the generosity of the moonlight. But I feel them. Running around her eye sockets. She’s terrified.
I lean forward. I don’t like it.
No… no… nooo.
I like it. I like that she’s terrified. Selene’s agony is music to my soul.
“Don’t project your feelings onto me, Draven,” I scold my wolf through our link. He ignores me. The ominous feeling that’s scaring me mirrors his.
No, that’s not true. It’s the fear that Draven feels that’s enveloping me. He’s never been able to make sense when Selene is concerned.
I lean back in my seat, rubbing my face.
Graveth Morrkae Vorathen.
The witches bring out a pouch from their side and pour a generous amount onto their hand. They hold it to the moon, chanting like they’re offering a sacrifice to…
Graveth Morrkae Vorathen.
I gasp. They blow the substance from their hand… It’s silver dust.
Graveth Morrkae Vorathen—bring the sacrifice forward.
It dawns on me. I scan the room, taking note of the symbols and what the darkness and the moonlight in the center can afford me.
This isn’t how a werewolf is made human. They were severing her link with her wolf. They were killing the wolf. Sacrificing it to the moon.
For what?
Why?
I look at the Luna. Was this how she got away with killing wolves? Sacrificing them to the moon?
The moon answers, pale and merciless, its light bent through the stones until the carved symbols Selene lies on are suspended in the air, giving the illusion it has swallowed them.
I look at the wolves witnessing this and hate that I didn’t sketch their faces to memory. They all deserve to die.
I hate the dark. Tonight it isn’t friendly. It took both my hope and my power.
Moon, f**k… I’m rambling.
No… just f**k… no moon. The moon doesn’t deserve anything.
Fuck… fuckity… f**k.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, and....burnt vanilla.
I close my eyes, lean into the scent, and let it wrap me. It’s the thickest I’ve ever felt it, clawing at my senses.
I open my eyes. And there, just there, caught between the moon and Selene’s body, is a wolf.
Her wolf.
Selene's wolf.
Suspended. Ethereal.
Breathtaking.
Golden. Whitish.
Too beautiful for this cursed night.
I stare at it and feel it stare back. Time stops. The chants blur. The moment stills...frozen.
Just me, Draven, and the wolf.
Draven growls inside me, a dangerous yearning spilling through our bond.
I try to fight it. To say no. But in matters of the heart, Draven, I realize, won’t be shut down.
He breathes a single word to me. The word vibrating in my chest.
No way. I disagree with my wolf; he's officially losing his mind. Yet, I can't really move. I feel the chill in my spine, hotness in my breath, and I know it's not because of the chant.
The wolf shifts, its golden eyes burning into mine, overpowering with the knowledge of a truth I will never accept.
Selene is only mine in the sense that her pain belongs to me.
Nothing less.
Nothing more.
A moonstone surges and sparks, shifting my attention, a display of fireworks. The moon's way of mocking me. My eyes return to the wolf, our eyes click for the briefest of moments, and I'm lost.
A golden, molten whip-like light seeps from the wolf fur and winds itself on my right arm. I feel it in my heart as the whip tightens its coil on my arm.
My breath catches.
The bond.
The mating bond. On a winter solstice.
Does that mean...
"True mates," Draven whispers.
Moon for-f*****g- bid.
I look at Selene's wolf and the gold crawling between us, and the mark on my arm, and I know with a certainty t
hat makes my head spin...
Selene Caelum will never be my mate in any space, time, or dimension.
And I just knew the thing to do, to strip her of that choice.
- Writer
