Chapter 80
Chapter 80
“Night is when fear comes at its fullest, when we have no way to fight it. It will do everything it can to seep inside you. Sometimes it may succeed.”
Samantha Shannon
By the time I left Rae that night, I was pretty sure my supernatural healing abilities were working overtime. I was practically limping as I set out to find Ambrose.
I didn’t bother checking the bedroom. He was almost never there, even when I was. He’d slink into bed in the middle of the night, and leave before the sun had finished slipping over the horizon.
I knew it wasn’t his fault and there was good reason his days were so long and busy…even if I’d begun to hate waking up to an empty bed, the crinkled sheets still warm from the heat of his body.
I first tried his study, which is where he preferred to take his meetings with Akeem, but the room was vacant.
Next, the dining room – also empty of all but a few of the cooks tidying up from a late dinner. After grabbing a few snacks, enough for both me and Rae to munch on, I decided to try the library.
Sure enough, I found Ambrose hunched over a dusty tome thicker than my arm, his forehead creased with frown lines.
He didn’t even seem to notice my presence as I walked in, which wasn’t a good sign.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I said, and finally, he glanced up at me.
He was still frowning from whatever he’d read, but his multi-colored eyes softened when he caught sight of me.
“I’m surprised you’re not stuck in a meeting with Akeem,” I said, sliding onto his lap effortlessly. “What are you reading?” I squinted at the text, but as I’d expected, the words were scrawled in a language I couldn’t read.
As were many of the books in this place.
Ambrose’s lips ghosted the shell of my ear. “It’s about premonitory dreams.”
“Like dreams that tell the future?”
“Yes, little wolf.”
I peeled my head back to look at him, his face only inches from mine. “Don’t tell me that seeing – or dreaming – the future is another one of your powers.” Even after our discussion some nights ago, there were parts of Ambrose’s abilities that I struggled to understand.
I was starting to feel like I needed a cheat sheet.
However, he shook his head. “Typically no.”
Any other time, I might’ve shrugged off his interest in the subject as being academic, but the concerned crease of his forehead…he was troubled.
And if Ambrose was troubled, that wasn’t a good sign.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why the sudden interest in future-telling dreams?”
There was a beat of silence between us, like he was debating whether to tell me.
“Ambrose,” I said flatly, “You told me no more secrets.”
He sighed. “Last night, I had a troubling dream. I’ve had my fair share of nightmares over the centuries, but this one was unlike the others.” His eyes cut to the large tome still perched in his right hand. “There’s a good chance that it’s nothing, but…”
“If it’s weighing on you this heavy, I doubt it’s nothing. What did you dream about?”
His eyes darkened. “Amara.”
Ice prickled over my skin. “The witch who tried to steal your power as a boy?”
He nodded. “It’s not the first time she’s starred in my nightmares, but this one…it was different.”
“Different how?”
“My nightmares have always been memories,” he explained, “When I dream of her, I see the moments she tried to manipulate me, the night she tried to kill me. But last night was no memory – or at least not one of mine. I dreamt of witches conjuring Amara from the dead.”
My breath hitched. “But that’s not possible, right? Amara has been dead for thousands of years, and you can’t just resurrect someone like that…right?” As limited as my knowledge of witchcraft may have been, I’d never heard of witches resurrecting a person from the dead. Especially not an evil coven leader whose bones should be nothing but dust in the ground by now.
But I’m sure they don’t see her as evil, my mind supplied. If anything, Amara is probably the victim in their history books.
“It shouldn’t be possible,” Ambrose assured me, and then paused before adding, “To bring a soul back to life, especially one as long gone and as powerful as hers, would require immeasurable amounts of magic and a few components that are nearly impossible to find in their own rite.”
“What kind of components?”
“A willing human sacrifice done by a witch who’s lost their power…assuming whoever is performing the resurrection could generate enough power in the first place.”
*A witch who’s lost their power.*
My mind flashed to Joseph, and my gut rolled. I couldn’t speak for the rest of the equation, but Joseph certainly fit the bill for that part.
*But he wouldn’t perform a sacrifice to bring back a deadly witch. He hated his former coven.*
As if he’d read my mind, Ambrose said, “You’re thinking of your friend’s mate, aren’t you? The witch without his power?”
I nodded.
“I thought of him too,” he replied, narrowing his eyes.
It felt like the temperature of the room had drastically dropped, and I made a weak attempt to play Devil’s Advocate. “Maybe it’s just a dream,” I said, “Joseph was a witch without power, but as little as I know him, I can’t imagine him helping the witches do anything, let alone a human sacrifice. He hates his former coven. They stole his magic the same way they tried to steal yours. Besides, you said it yourself. Even if the components lined up correctly, a ritual like that requires immeasurable magic.”
He leveled me with a stare that did nothing to ease the chill in my bones. “It only takes one power-hungry wolf to rock the balance, little wolf. Right now, I am their greatest threat, and I cannot underestimate the measures they would take to destroy everything I have.”
His thumb skimmed the apple of my cheek.
Deep down, I knew he was right.
The witches had cursed my brother to draw me out in an attempt to hurt him. Who was to say this wasn’t their next move?
I swallowed. “If you this is to be taken seriously, then there’s something you should probably know.”
The arch of his eyebrow was the only push I needed to continue. “Last night, Rae had a weird feeling about Joseph through the bond. She’s not sure what it was, but his emotions made it seem like he was scared for his life. I’m not sure if it’s connected, but –”
“I have no doubt it’s connected,” he cut me off, his voice as icy as the room.
“It could still be a coincidence,” I offered lamely.
“You’ll learn, little wolf, there are no such things as coincidences when it comes to witches.”