WILLOW
The Tribunal room waited for me, the throne atop the dais calling me forward. I would summon the Coven, knowing that those who
escaped could not resist the call of the Covenant. If they remained in Crystal Hollow, they would be forced to come and answer for their crimes.
They’d be forced to answer to me.
I stalked across the center circle, my irritation driving me forward. I was so tired of the divisive bullshit within the Coven. If what Charlotte had told me was true, we needed to find a way to come together. We were all part of the same plan, two sides of the same magic. But we couldn’t do that if we were so at odds with one another that we killed each other in darkness.
The thought that we were meant to oppose one another was a lost cause. Charlotte might have made a mistake in setting this all into motion, in opening the world up to a war that would tear it in two. Only time would tell. But we couldn’t go back and change when we’d taken those first steps. All we could do was accept it and follow through.
I’d nearly reached my throne, my body pulsing with agony as the adrenaline of the fight started to flitter out of my system. Everything throbbed, my head swimming with both rage and dizziness.
Michael stepped out from the Covenant’s private rooms that I had no interest in claiming for myself. The reminder of the ancestor who had nearly ruined everything was too much for me to bear as my private space.
I stopped in my tracks, staring at the archangel before me. For a moment, I wondered if I’d walked straight into another vision, the pain inducing the dreamlike state.
No.
This was no dream.
He didn’t move toward me, but I was not dumb enough to think I would be strong enough to fight the archangel alone. Michael was Gray’s twin, his equivalent by heavenly fire.
“Hello, Willow,” he said, the smooth accent of his voice polished. I hated the way his face was so similar to Gray’s, despised the way he could be so similar to the man who would never allow anything to hurt me, and yet so wrong all the same.
Spinning, I made my way back to the doors of the Tribunal room. Alarm bells rang in my head, the knowledge that this was no hallucination settling over me. I should have told Gray about his twin’s visit to my dreams, but I hadn’t been able to find the words in light of the conversation we’d had that morning.
There was enough heaviness between us. I hadn’t wanted to add to it.
I slammed into a male chest as I spun, familiar hands grabbing me around the waist and steadying me.
Iban stood behind me, his face somber as he held me still. My hands landed on his shoulders as I steadied myself, his fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
White hot pain erupted in my belly, searing me from the inside as he held my gaze. The apology in his eyes meant nothing as I stumbled back a step, staring down at the familiar white bone handle where it protruded from my stomach.
My confusion settled over me, not understanding how Iban had the knife Gray had locked away in his vault for safekeeping. The archangel at my back chuckled as if he could hear the spinning thoughts, and I realized that had been the night Michael visited my dream.
My eyes rolled back in my head, weak hands reaching for the blade. The magic of the Source cleaved me in half, pulling more of my magic into the knife and leaving me drained. I stumbled to the side, my fingers wrapping around the hilt as Iban caught my hands in his and turned me to face Michael. He pinned my arms at my sides, holding me prisoner when I could barely find the strength to stand.
I felt like a totally helpless human and knew I would never be right again so long as that blade remained planted within my body.
“I’m sorry,” Iban murmured, the words a bitter reminder of what I’d offered to Gray when I’d done the same to him. He’d worked with Michael somehow to plan this.
There was no doubt in my mind that it had always been his intent. He’d needed me to spell the knife, and manipulated me so that I would do it thinking I was ridding the world of Lucifer.
He knew it would fail. And he knew he’d use it to kill me.
“How could you?” I mumbled, shaking my head from side to side to shake off the weakness plaguing my soul. “You’re betraying your own kind, and he has nothing to offer you.” I knew that as much as Michael did, what with the pathetic opportunity he’d given me to do the same.
I was beyond salvation because of what I was.
“I gave up my magic for a family. I never corrupted the Source like you did. I can repent,” Iban explained, tripping over my feet as he guided me toward the seal on the ground at the circle’s center.
“You fucking fool,” I gritted, falling to the glass pane of the mirror. The gateway to Hell had been filled with stone, cutting off the view I knew of. Iban let me fall, my body settling against the odd mix of glass and stone.
He covered my body with his, laying atop my back where I knelt on my hands and knees. I grimaced, flinching away from his touch even in this.
His hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade, twisting it within my belly so that a fresh squelch of blood dripped down onto the surface of the mirror.
An offering.
I reared back, struggling against him as he lifted me off the glass and the stone melted away, giving me a bird’s eye view into the pit of Hell.
He grasped each of my hands in one of his, wrestling with my weakened body. I couldn’t fight or do anything as my life and magic faded into that blade.
Iban guided my hands to the border of the mirror, slamming them down onto the face that was mine. The magic latched onto me immediately, taking even more from me than I had to give. I winced back, attempting to sever the connection.
The seal held fast, sucking me deeper as the glass shattered. And the gate to Hell opened once more.
