Chapter 26 The Hand That Bleeds
The coven doesn’t strike with fire.
They strike with certainty.
I feel it the moment I wake—the air too still, the bond unnaturally quiet, as if something has wrapped it in velvet and pressed down. Not severed. Not gone.
Muffled.
My heart stutters.
That’s never happened before.
I sit up slowly, scanning the warded room. Everything looks the same. The wards hum faintly. No alarms. No shouting. No blood.
Which means whatever this is… it’s already inside the lines.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the ache still threaded through my muscles. The moment my bare feet touch stone, pain spikes sharp and bright behind my eyes.
A whisper slides through my thoughts—silk-soft and merciless.
Good morning, little blade.
My breath catches.
You’ve been busy, the High Matron continues, her presence wrapping tighter, colder. Clever. Resourceful. So very visible.
I press my palm to the wall, grounding myself. “You’re not supposed to be able to reach me here.”
A soft laugh echoes in my skull.
You forget, she murmurs, I taught you how wards think. And more importantly—how they fail.
Ice floods my veins.
“What do you want?” I whisper.
There’s a pause. Not hesitation.
Enjoyment.
Balance, she says. And obedience.
The pressure increases, magic threading through my chest like a tightening snare. Not crushing. Not yet.
You’ve disrupted too much, the Matron continues. Redirected power. Exposed methods. Forced our hand.
My jaw tightens. “You did that yourself.”
Did we? she asks lightly. Or did you—by choosing him?
The bond twitches faintly, reacting despite the suppression.
Ah.
That’s what this is.
“You can’t touch him through me,” I say, though doubt claws at my spine.
No, the Matron agrees. But you can.
The realization lands like a blade between my ribs.
“No,” I breathe. “I won’t.”
You will, she corrects calmly. Because I am no longer asking.
The pressure snaps tight.
Magic floods my system—cold, invasive, precise. It doesn’t overwhelm. It guides. Threads of compulsion slip into place, exploiting old pathways carved by years of training, discipline, conditioning.
I gasp, dropping to my knees.
Listen carefully, the Matron says. This is not punishment. This is correction.
My vision blurs. “You said… you were done with me.”
I said you were expendable, she replies. Not useless.
The bond stirs again, stronger now—Alaric’s presence brushing against mine, alarmed.
Mira?
Relief crashes through me so hard it almost breaks me.
Stay with me, he commands through the bond. Something’s wrong.
I clutch at that connection like a lifeline. They’re here, I send back. In my head.
His fury hits instantly—hot, sharp, terrifying.
Where are you?
Before I can answer, the Matron tightens her grip.
No, she snaps. You do not call for him.
Pain explodes through my skull, white-hot and blinding. I scream, the sound torn from my throat as magic surges outward—not wild, not uncontrolled.
Directed.
My body moves without my permission.
I stagger to my feet, hands shaking, breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls.
“No—no—stop—” I choke.
You are still mine, the Matron says coldly. And you will remind the Alpha King what it costs to trust a witch.
The door opens.
Alaric steps inside.
Relief hits first.
Then horror.
Because the moment his eyes find mine, the bond screams.
He freezes mid-step. “Mira?”
I try to speak.
I try to warn him.
My mouth opens—and lies spill out instead, smooth and poisoned.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice steady, wrong. “I needed time.”
His brow furrows. “You’re hurt.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
Good, the Matron croons.
Alaric moves closer, every instinct pulling him toward me despite the warning rippling through the bond.
“I felt something snap,” he says. “I came as fast as I could.”
My chest tightens painfully.
This is it.
This is the moment the coven planned for.
I reach into my boot.
My fingers close around a vial that should not exist anymore.
My stomach drops.
You didn’t think we’d trust you with the only copy, the Matron says softly. This one is gentler. Slower. Enough to weaken him. Enough to force his hand.
“No,” I sob silently. Please.
You will save the pack, she insists. By proving what happens when wolves overreach.
Alaric’s eyes flick to my hand.
“What are you holding?” he asks slowly.
The bond thrashes, alarm screaming through every thread.
I lift the vial.
His pupils blow wide.
“Mira,” he says quietly. “Don’t.”
Tears blur my vision.
“I don’t want to,” I whisper—and for a heartbeat, the truth almost breaks through.
Almost.
The compulsion tightens like a fist around my heart.
Do it.
My hand moves.
The vial tips.
The liquid spills—not into his drink, not into his mouth—but onto my palm, burning cold as it seeps into my skin.
Alaric lunges. “What did you—”
Pain detonates through the bond as the poison activates, magic lashing outward violently. The connection between us flares too bright, too fast, and for a terrifying second I feel everything—
His strength buckling.
My magic unraveling.
The bond screaming as it’s poisoned from both sides.
Alaric staggers, catching himself on the table as a guttural sound tears from his chest.
I collapse with him, choking, my veins on fire.
“No—no—no—” I sob aloud now, the compulsion cracking under the weight of reality.
The Matron’s presence recoils, satisfied.
There, she says. Balance restored.
Guards burst into the room, drawn by the noise, the spike of magic, the sound of an Alpha King falling to one knee.
“Mira!” someone shouts.
Hands grab me, pulling me back as Alaric hits the floor fully this time, breath coming shallow and strained.
His eyes—gods, his eyes—lock onto mine.
Not with anger.
With devastation.
“You chose,” he rasps.
The words tear something vital out of my chest.
“I didn’t,” I cry. “I swear—I didn’t—”
But the poison is already working.
The bond twists, corrupted, dragging us both toward darkness.
As they haul me away, as healers swarm him, as the room dissolves into chaos, one truth burns hotter than any spell the coven ever carved into me:
I have become the very thing I swore I would never be.
Not a weapon.
Not a pawn.
A betrayal.
And as Alaric’s consciousness slips and the bond fractures under the strain, I realize with sickening clarity—
The coven didn’t need to kill the Alpha King.
They only needed me to break him.
And I don’t know if either of us will survive what I’ve done.