When witch Bella's visions of blood and horror reveal a dark secret in her coven's past, she is torn between saving those who have scorned her and sacrificing the enticing werewolf who accepts her.
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As a descendent of the cursed Black family, Be...
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She peels off his flesh and steps out of the torn remains of his body. Her skin is stained red with his blood. At her feet, High Elder Black's bones have crumbled into dust. The flames rise in the surrounding forest - the darkened trees alight with fire. The screams grow in fury, rising as high as the ancient oak trees and spiralling like the smoke journeying to the stars. Her fingers stroke the sacred text, but she hisses when the grimoire scolds her. His dark, hungry magic and their tainted blood soiling her gift. She steps off the altar, her skin as pale as the moonlight above, her hair as silver as the stars. She wears the night like a cloak across her bare skin, with only the blood of the deceiver to warm her broken heart.
Her bare feet sink into the dirt, and around her, the screams of pain rise and swell like the ocean. Her creatures, made in her lover's image, writhe as the skin tears from their bones, as thick fur sprouts in the place of pink flesh. She has saved their lives by giving them a new one, but they don't understand that yet. All they feel is the pain. She's spared their souls and in doing so has split them in two. When they shake off their shock, their newness on this earth, the rage returns. And now they hunt those who would slaughter them.
She revels in Black's followers' terror, their fear as her creatures take their vengeance. She gave them everything, and they took everything from her. Her one light in the place of eternal darkness.
The fire scorches the earth, as vibrant and vital as her rage. The smoke cloying in her throat, the burning embers in the air all around. Amongst the chaos, she finds his broken body on the ground. She bends down, her fingers knotting through his silken pelt. The silver fur catches the light, even though most is soaked in blood. His body is cool. His heart is still. Her lover is dead.
She cries. Tears like pearls soak into his fur.
And then she stands and watches their children rise, watches them feast on the traitors. And she takes one final thing from them, from their children, from their future. But as she raises her arms, and cried the incantation to strip these hypocrites of her gift, the world shakes. The world lurches. Someone, somewhere, is banging.
"Get the fuck out of there now!"
Another bang. The whole room shakes.
"Calm down, just give her a minute..." Mum's voice.
My body aches, and I take a moment to realise I'm lying on the cold ground. I groan as the banging beckons me back and the vision of blood and violence subsides. The throbbing in my temple makes my hand go to my head and I struggle to pull myself off... the bathroom floor?
My hand comes away wet, and I look down, still in a daze, as I stare at the blood shining on my palm. Breathing is uncomfortable. The itchy lace dress has me tugging at the tight collar around my neck and as I glance down, it hits me like a lightning strike.
Today is my wedding day.
"Get out. Get out now! Or I swear to the goddess you will never leave that room again!" Dad continues to yell as his fist slams into the wooden door. I can hear the desperate pleas of Mum and Lark.
