“It’s for the trial.” Ansel c*cked his head to the side, and I tried to calm the rage that was burning in my belly.
“It’s a totem, and the coven can’t have it either.” I said louder than I’d meant to. Rhett shifted his weight on the bed and started to speak, but Ansel cut him off.
“Why do you have a totem?” His voice was thick, and his eyes narrowed. My skin crawled, and my body begged to cower beneath him.
The room grew still, and it took all my willpower to keep my eyes on him. I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I forced myself to look at the tip of his nose.
“It’s my ancestors’ totem; it isn’t stolen.” I clarified, remembering when Rhett had first seen it.
The urge to stare at his feet went away, and I tilted my chin up.
“Your ancestor was a shaman?’’ Ansel’s face softened, and he
