Charming the Alphas (Hex My Heart, #5) (5 page)

That made her laugh. Sticking it to the stuffy Royals made her feel powerful even without the magick she was born into and that made her really,
really
smile for the first time in a long while.

No one had expected the little quiet librarian to strike back. She pushed up in a rush of determination when a vibration came from the box. Damn.

Lucian and Zane would freak out if they knew what she’d been up to tonight. She hoped the message she’d left would stall them, but that damn warlock had to pipe up in the middle of it. Probably didn’t help. Going against her instincts, she hit the red button for the second time and ignored the device when it immediately started again.

Soon she would explain everything to them. Hopefully they’d understand.

A small ache bloomed in her chest. She hated the Royals for what they’d done to her. More so for what they forced her to do tonight. Lying and stealing went against every fiber of her being. She’d done both to the people she cared most about in this world—her sisters and her soon-to-be mates.

Despite everything, both men still wanted her and spent the best part of their time together, letting her know they loved her with or without her powers. They stressed that she didn’t need her witchy abilities to be their mate. It was a nice thought, but how could she commit to something so wholly consuming when a part of her was missing? Losing her powers stung but forcing a wedge, as invisible as it may be, between her and her shifters crippled her.

That was why her plan had to work. Marabelle tightened her grip around the satchel. No turning back, no dropping the ball. No one deserved the Royal’s cruelty. She could never stomach a bully and it was about damn time someone stopped their barbaric antiquated ways now. First, she needed to heal herself. Besides, what other choice did she have? If she wanted Lucian and Zane and any semblance of a happy life, she needed to find a way to restore her magick.

Another round of staccato pings went off and warned Marabelle the inevitable now moved into a reality. Her mates were looking for her.

Marabelle slipped the strap of her loot-laden, marine green canvas bag from her shoulder and pushed deeper into the dark cabin. With a familiar ease she maneuvered around the sparsely furnished living space. In a couple of steps she strode across the large living room floor and made her way to the river rock fireplace against the far wall. Muted moonlight highlighted the deep earth tones and distressed leather of the small grouping of couches and chairs that separated the dining room from the living room. Her parents didn’t own much when they were alive. They had cherished the small things and memories more. The proof of their happy life sat scattered along the occasional table and filled every inch of the fireplace mantel.

Her phone went off again and her shoulders bunched. She let the call end before turning the phone off completely.

Instead of keeping her promise to meet them at their place for a sexy weekend with the huge snowstorm on the way, she saw her only opportunity and took it, thinking they’d be out on pack business anyway.

The library at the High Council fell quiet during the winter months after hours. As the winter solstice approached, the whole community gathered for a celebration, leaving her alone. She’d played with the idea of withdrawing and slinking into the background of existence for weeks. Every time she did, the fierce fire of revenge burned a little hotter until it seeped into every drop of her blood.

She scowled. Weeks of searching finally resulted in uncovering the hidden vault filled with the knowledge she needed. Spells locked away from the masses. Spells and incantations that would reverse whatever the High Council had used to take her power. No telling how many times they’d used their power on other witches. Skirting a small end table, Marabelle switched on a lamp and glanced at her watch in the low light. Ten minutes, if she was lucky, before her men pounded on her door. With her cabin tucked up next to the pack’s property, they’d sense her nearness and could make the distance between their places before she completed the second part of her plan. As trained enforcers for the Sweet Briar Hollow pack, not much slipped past the heightened senses of her two shifters. She didn’t have long.

Now came the hard part.

She gathered her hair into a loose bun and settled on the floor next to the large coffee table. With a couple of pushes Marabelle had the heavy oak table next to the fireplace. With a flick of her wrist she flipped open her canvas bag. Nerves made her movements jerky as she slipped the thick book of spells free and placed it face up on the table. Bold golden calligraphy stood out in stark contrast against the deep scarlet-dyed leather covering.

Weathering ruffled the edges and gave the tome an aged look that definitely fit the era she placed it in perfectly. With care and affection for the written treasure left by her ancestors, Marabelle slipped on her glasses and cracked open the book she suspected hadn’t seen the light of day for over three hundred years and was greeted by tarnished, yellow parchment paper filled with black swirls of elegant ink.

In her hasty exit back at the palace, she’d scanned the entire collection of ancient works until she’d spied the one book that held hope for her and didn’t look back.

Down the spine read in a flourish of Latin:
Facere Quod Perierat
“That Which Was Lost.”

She sent up a silent thank you for all those torturous hours of Latin her mother had forced her to take with the dreadful Ms. Hallie MacLawry as a teenager.

With a couple of pops the clasps holding the massive book closed opened. Page after page of endless amounts of information jumped out at her. With every turn of a page, each new ancient spell sent a flutter of excitement through her heart. Most of the spells she’d never heard of and others dared say shouldn’t be used anymore.

She slowed. Could it be? Tears welled and she brushed them aside. Despite the adrenaline kicking her into high gear, she managed to get a hold of her runaway thoughts. She rubbed her eyes and regained her composure before glancing at her watch.

Too long.
Hades on fire.

She’d wasted too much time marveling over the book. Damn. With rushed movements, she scanned the ingredients needed for the potion. Marvels of marvels, she’d managed to grab everything needed along with a few extra ingredients.

Howls broke through her concentration to wind through the forest and spurred a flush of relief and guilt to wash over her.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she slipped her hand back into the satchel and withdrew a small vial from a hidden compartment. If anything, the dragon’s blood held her entire future. Careful not to drop the delicate glass bottle, Marabelle placed it on the table followed by her mortar bowl and all the herbs she’d collected.

Crystallized stones of Frankincense. Check.

A drop of rose extract and fresh marigold petals from her sister’s secret stash. Check.

Loose dirt from a fresh grave. Check.

That one creeped her out and bordered on gray magick, the fine line that separated white magick from black magick.

One by one she gathered the clear plastic bags and emptied the contents into her stone bowl.

She shooed away the guilt seeping into her thoughts at taking some of her sister’s stash and other items. There would be time for that later. No doubt her sister would discover the missing ingredients she’d snatched, but in light of everything else she’d done tonight, it really didn’t compare.

With her grounding wand, Marabelle mixed the ingredients into a fine powder. Only one more step. Shards of light played off the sharp edges of the glass vial. Two drops should do the trick. With the tip of her
athame
, Marabelle cracked the seal and peeled back the lid embedded in the top of the vial and dripped the contents into her mixture. Silver threads of energy spiraled up only to settle into a slow swirling mass of liquid. That didn’t seem right. Maybe she needed more.

Mixing potions were her thing, but mixing ancient concoctions fell into a whole other category.

Heavy footfalls crunched the snow.

She dropped the rest of the crimson liquid and gave it a quick stir with her blade. It would have to be enough.

A motor broke through the quiet night. Marabelle emptied the burgundy liquid into a small silver ceremonial cup before reciting the Latin phrases:

Goddesses hear my plea,

From death and blood,

Tears and pain,

Return thy powers gifted me,

Heal the wound, seal the veil,

Bring back this night which is lost to me,

So mote it be.

Her throat worked the thick, almost chunky liquid down, leaving a trail of fire in its wake until a heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach in a weird combination of dread, anticipation and jittery nerves. All three hit bottom and weighed more than a ton of bricks.

“Yeah, okay. Not so bad.” Her jaw tightened as liquid pooled in her mouth. Marabelle swallowed again and smacked her tongue along the roof of her mouth. “Gritty with a sandpaper-y kinda feel, but manageable.”

Bile washed up the back of her throat and burned a new trail on its way back down. She’d gotten the message the first time. Why the repeat?

Heat surfaced and flamed along her nerves until every inch of her skin hummed with pain.

Not good. Oh Hades on fire! Maybe she shouldn’t have added the extra drops of dragon’s blood after all. Night fused into a big blanket of darkness, blocking out her vision.

Pounding brought her head around, but the sudden movement knocked her off balance. The room spun and the solid edge of the table closed in. Hands braced in front of her, she fell forward. Bottles crashed. Pain flared to life, but nothing compared to the power that consumed her insides. Braced on the corner of the table, she rested her head and breathed once through her nose and out her mouth. Then again.

Goddesses, I hope Lucian and Zane hurry.

Pressure welled in her chest. Dots filled her vision, but no matter how fast she blinked nothing helped. Wood cracked and a rush of winter air engulfed her before two sets of strong arms tightened their hold around her. Peace settled around her. The urge to wrap her arms around her men, to beg for their forgiveness, their love nearly overwhelmed the pain. Instead, she fell limp in their arms.

Deep muffled voices echoed in the distance. Sharp ragged blades tore into her flesh and consumed the last drop of her energy. Then nothing. Her body grew numb as ice edged out the heat inch by inch, leaving her cold. Everything faded until nothing pierced the darkness that clawed at her. It pulled her deeper. Did this mean she was dying? Was she already dead? Maybe death had just recruited a new soul.

Their pine and fresh snow scent wound around her and calmed the crazy erratic beat of her heart. She didn’t want to leave them.

S
he needed to reevaluate her life choices. Waking up paralyzed and trapped in her own mind probably meant she strayed off course somewhere in the last week, day, hour, who knew? Somewhere, somehow she’d missed the signs between planning her heist by night and playing the obedient little librarian by day.

Muffled male voices argued above her, the syllables meshed. Forcing her mind clear of all the muddled mess, Marabelle mentally heaved aside mounds of fog until words made sense.

“Ye’re nae hearing me, wolf. Yer mate is not dead. Entirely anyway.” She didn’t recognize the man’s rough voice, but did pick up on the rushed agitation in his tone. And the slight brogue.

“There’s a helluva a lot of room for interpretation in those two words, dragon.” Lucian bit out the last word with a razor sharp warning.

Not dying and not dead
. Good to know. In contrast to the good news, her heart doubled its size and pressed against her diaphragm to create an unbearable pressure that cut into her air supply. Dots danced behind her eyelids, quivers of energy arrowed through every muscle like double-edged spearheads, slicing a path through muscle and nerve ending. Any longer and there might not be much of her left to argue over.

Small tremors quaked from her center until what felt like every cell in her body vibrated with power. Flashes of blood and spellwork flitted across her mind, the next more gruesome than the last. Each mirage brought a taste of old magick and left a bittersweet taste in the back of her mouth. A sense of antiquated times that had come and gone settled over her. She couldn’t see any faces, only darkened walls or maybe woods. Only an open fire pit provided a source of light as the flames licked along the sky from in front of her. More than knowing, she sensed it was the centerpiece that separated her from three other ladies, all with their heads thrown back and ancient words falling from their mouths.

“She needs a healer versed in the ancient ways. Much longer not even she will be able to help her.”

Marabelle broke the trance over her mind. Dead languages and spellwork faded into a low hum. Numbness seeped into her body—fingers, toes, eyes—nothing responded.

Voice low with raw emotion, Lucian gave no room for argument. “Her sisters can help.” He spoke over the male from above her while his hand rested against the exposed skin of her midriff and helped calm her.

“Och, not likely. We just came from there and if I know anything of the warlocks, this witch fears it’s that those who hunt her will go looking there first.”

Touché.

“Point taken.” Zane answered this time. Desperate to touch him, she strained her muscles but got no reaction from her body.

Lucian picked up right after him. “We don’t have much time, so what do you suggest?”

“Come with us. Let our healer help.”

“Wasn’t aware there were any still practicing.” One of her men picked her up from wherever she’d keeled over from the rush of the potion and pressed her close to his body. Lucian, judging by the way she molded to his solid chest and his long hair brushed against her forehead. Had he sensed her need for him? Dying to be close, she accepted the gift of her men.

“There’s a lot about the DraegonStones ye dunnae know. Ye’ll have to ride with us,” another male spoke up. His voice deeper by a fraction than the first male. It carried over the room from behind her and from how Lucian’s fingers dug into her, the thought of riding a dragon made him somewhat tense.