The Prince of Witches

**Marcelo**

She was calmer now, her breathing steady as she slept on the bed, her frame curled beneath the blanket I’d draped over her. So fragile, so sensitive, so incredible.

My step-sister, this hybrid girl who’d stumbled into my life with tears and a shattered heart. I’d never truly believed she was involved in Mother’s murder, but doubt had crept in when I learned she’d been with Dimitri. That’s why I’d shadowed her, disguised among the gypsies, those wanderers who’d given me cover as I watched her from afar.

Her fire, her vulnerability, had convinced me she wasn’t a threat, not to me, not to the witches. But I’d needed to understand what the Tasmanian Devils were doing here, tangled with Wladimir’s schemes, and she was the key.

I knew they hadn’t killed my mother. The evidence Jean paraded before the council was too convenient, too neatly tied to his narrative. My suspicion had always pointed to him, with his insatiable love for power, orchestrating it all.

Letting others think I blamed the Lycans was a useful mask, keeping my true thoughts hidden while I dug deeper.

Now meeting with Diana, Jean’s game was clear now: painting Diana as a damsel in danger among the witches, a ploy to conceal his real intent. When he’d refused Wladimir the daylight spell, the vampire king would retaliate. And in that moment, the latent power of her clan, bound in her blood from birth, would break free, flowing to her only living kin: her father.

Jean would grow stronger, unassailable as king, and no one would dare challenge him. It was a cruel, brilliant plan, and knowing what Diana had endured, made it sadder still to have to tell her the truth.

I stood, my staff glowing faintly in the corner. First, I got another thing to do.

That son of a bitch, James, her so-called mate, had hurt her again, twisting the knife after all she’d been through. I’d go find him, drag him back here, and beat his face until he understood what he’d done to my Âme. My fists clenched, purple eyes narrowing, but then a whisper stopped me cold.

“Marcelo,” she murmured, her voice soft, stirring from sleep.

“Yes?” I turned, my heart softening at the sight of her.

“Don’t hit him, please,” she said, her tone pleading. “Lie down here for a bit.”

Oh mon dieu. She was already connecting with me, feeling me through some instinct she didn’t yet grasp. I hadn’t even explained what we were.

I sighed, setting my anger aside, and crossed to the bed, lying down beside her. She shifted, wrapping her arms around me in a hug that caught me off guard, her warmth seeping into me. I’d have to explain this carefully, our bond wasn’t like the wolves’ mating, rigid and exclusive. For witches, it was broader, more open; we could love many, relate to many, but an Âme Soeur was a soul’s anchor, a support through life’s chaos. I didn’t see her with desire, but as a piece of my soul, precious and vital.

I rested a hand on her back, her head tucked against my chest, and let my mind wander. She was fascinating, this hybrid who’d drawn me, Dário, and Dimitri into her orbit. We were the heirs, me to the witches, Dário to his allies, Dimitri to the vampires, natural successors to a rotting old guard obsessed with power: my mother, Jean, Wladimir. Diana could be the bridge, the peace-bringer for a new generation.

If she chose to, she could unite us, turn enemies into allies, reshape this supernatural world into something better. I smiled faintly, stroking her hair, feeling her steady my restless spirit. She’d passed out from pain, but now she calmed me too, and I knew I’d protect her, guide her, and maybe together, we’d undo the sins of our fathers.

…

**James**

I stumbled into the shelter King Dário had arranged, the address Vicky had given us a lifeline I barely deserved. The place was a modest house on the edge of Satu Mare, tucked away from prying eyes, and my comrades were already sprawled across the floor, sleeping, finally. Two or three days here, and we’d recover enough to leave Romania behind.

But my mind wasn’t on rest. It was on her. I needed to make sure Vicky got out of this hellhole too, away from the Vampire King’s reach, away from that smug prince I’d seen sniffing around her.

I wanted to kill him, rip his throat out for touching her, for being the one I was almost certain she’d betrayed me with. I regretted not doing it when I’d had the chance, back in that hotel room when rage had blinded me.

And I deserved it. After what I’d done today, I deserved it even more. I’d stormed out of her room, her tears still wet on my conscience, and drowned myself in whiskey and a stranger’s bed. Retaliation, petty and impulsive, like some insecure teenager lashing out. I felt like trash, everything I’d prided myself on never being. The James who’d led the Tasmanian Devils, who’d earned respect among the Lycans, was gone, replaced by this broken shell who couldn’t look Vicky in the eye, couldn’t even face his own reflection.

I wanted to go back in time, undo the letter, the dungeon, the divorce, but there was no magic for that, no fix for the mess I’d made.

The door creaked open, and Caspian stepped in, his broad frame filling the space. He took one look at me and handed me a shot from a flask he’d been carrying.

“Do you understand each other?” he asked.

“No,” I muttered, tossing back the shot, the burn barely registering. “I only made everything worse.”

“Shit,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re coming back with us the day after tomorrow. With her or not, you’re going to get your head together and pray that one day you’ll understand each other. I don’t recognize you.”

“Me neither,” I admitted, my voice raw. “I’ve hit rock bottom.”

“Great!” Caspian clapped me on the shoulder, a hard, grounding grip. “Then start climbing back up. You weren’t accepted among the Lycans because you didn’t honor our people, your rank, and your family. Fix this.”

“I need to think about how to talk to her,” I said, staring at the empty glass, the weight of it sinking in.

“What did you do this time?”

“I retaliated,” I confessed, my jaw tightening. “Like an impulsive, insecure teenager. I betrayed my partner by having sex with someone else.”

“What the fuck!” Caspian’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face before it hardened into something sterner.

“I know,” I said, dropping my head into my hands, the shame choking me. “I know.”

He sighed, heavy and exasperated.

“I’ll apologize tomorrow,” I added, forcing the words out.

“Good luck.”

**Vicky**

I jolted awake in the middle of the night, the unfamiliar weight of someone beside me sparking a flare of panic. Marcelo lay there, his chestnut hair tousled against the pillow, his presence calm even in sleep. My God, I was always getting into trouble. First James, then Dimitri, now this prince of witches sprawled next to me like we were old friends.

He was smart, I could tell. Sharp-witted and powerful, the faint hum of magic radiating from him even now. Handsome too, with those striking purple eyes and that easy French charm, but it was his heart that struck me most—a goodness I hadn’t expected, warm beneath his royal poise. I tried to slip out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake him, but his lips curved into a smile.

“I liked the part about the handsome guy,” he murmured, his voice teasing, soft with sleep.

“Shit,” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck. “You can’t keep getting into my head like that! It’s rude. I’m going to have to watch myself.”

“No need,” he said, opening his eyes now, that purple gaze glinting with amusement. “You’re funny, and you have positive thoughts.”

“Seriously,” I groaned, sitting up fully, “I need some privacy.”

“Âme,” he said, propping himself on an elbow, his tone gentler, “you can hear me too, you just have to want to.”

“I? Why? How?”

“Well, we have a soul connection,” he explained, his voice steady. “Something like an open channel because we’re on the same vibration. We don’t need to physically talk to each other—we feel each other.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. “I think I feel that way with Sage too.”

“Sage?” Marcelo tilted his head, curiosity sharpening his gaze.

“A Wiccan I met in the pack.”

“How interesting,” he mused, sitting up now. “Did you have a coven? An initiation there?”

“Yes? No,” I fumbled, shaking my head. “Not exactly. I had a crystal that Sage said found me.”

“Let me think about what kind it is,” he said, his brow furrowing in thought. “Where did she find you?”

“At the lake,” I answered, memory tugging me back. “After my first shift. It was a full moon night.”

“A white room?” he asked, his voice sharpening with recognition.

“Yes,” I nodded, surprised he’d guessed it.

“I’m going to give you a moonstone,” Marcelo said, reaching for his bag and pulling out a small, milky stone that shimmered faintly. “As a wolf, you’ll feel a strong connection with it. It’ll expand your clairvoyance.”

I took it, the cool weight of it grounding me, but my thoughts veered elsewhere. “Marcelo,” I said, hesitating, “can I call Dimitri? I was supposed to give him news. He helped me get here, hide, and he’s going to help me get out. He also told me about his father’s intentions—he disobeyed Nosferatu for me…”

“Dimitri?” Marcelo’s tone shifted, a wry edge creeping in. “He disobeyed his father because he wants his place, don’t fool yourself. I know you two are…”

“Friends,” I cut in, firm but defensive, feeling the flush rise again.

“Call him whatever you want,” he said, leaning back with a faint smirk, “but we never trust vampires, okay? You can call. I’ll just stay here—I’ll listen to your call.”

“It’s okay with me,” I agreed, pulling out the phone he’d given me earlier. I called, but he didn't answer, so I sent a message:

Diana/Vicky: I’m fine, thanks for everything.

I hit send, expecting a delay, but the reply came almost instantly—not from Dimitri, but from Valeska. My breath caught as I read it:

Valeska: He was taken, Vicky. Be careful.

My mind spun, panic clawing up my throat. I turned the phone toward Marcelo, my hand trembling, and his purple eyes narrowed as he scanned the screen. Tears welled up before I could stop them, spilling over as the weight of it crashed down.

Marcelo moved without hesitation, pulling me into his arms, his chest solid and warm against my shaking frame. I sobbed into his shirt, and it was amazing how quickly he calmed me—the storm in my head quieting, my breathing slowing, his presence a balm I hadn’t expected. It was almost the same effect James used to have, that steady anchor in chaos, and the parallel jolted me.

What was Marcelo to me now? A brother? Our parents had been married, tying us by blood and fate, but this felt deeper, more than just family. His hand stroked my back, gentle but sure, and I clung to him, the moonstone pressing into my palm.

“He was taken,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I dragged him into this…”

“Âme,” Marcelo murmured, his voice soft but firm, “this isn’t your fault. Dimitri made his choices—vampires always play their own games. We’ll figure this out.”

I pulled back slightly, wiping my face, my mind a tangle of grief and questions. “You’re… like a brother, right?” I asked, tentative, needing to define this pull between us. “Because of Jean and your mother?”

He smiled, a faint, knowing curve of his lips. “More than that, Âme. We’re soul-connected.”