Le rituel (verb) the ritual

We trotted past an estate that nature seemed to be reclaiming. Thick, brambly bushes and twisted trees dusted with snow clawed at the outer walls. Dead vines crawled up the sides.

It didn't look like a happy place.

But the home was less unsettling than the chanting, which came from an old family graveyard behind the house. A tall, iron fence encircled the gravestones, enclosing the whole area, which was filled with dark witches.

A strange prickling feeling raced up my spine the longer I stared at them, so I turned away, forcing myself to focus on evening out my breath.

I had to keep it together, no matter how afraid I was.

Discovering information about their relics was the whole reason I braved the frigid ride and came with Bastien, wasn't it?

Yes. Of course, it was.

It certainly wasn't because he was my mate or because I was developing feelings for him.

Wanting to feel wanted and cared for and feminine wasn't the same as...love.

No matter what the gods thought, Witches of the Light didn't fall in love with vampires. These feelings I had for him were unnatural, and I was starting to believe the darker part of me that he'd awakened was to blame.

My breath caught in my chest, and my spine straightened. Maybe that's what was wrong with me all along. Maybe this darkness inside of me was the reason why I wasn't gifted with Diana's gift and why she'd seen fit to mate me to a vampire.

I was a bad apple.

I swallowed hard as the realization sank in. Well, bad apples could still make their family proud, and I was going to prove it.

Bastien brought his horse to a halt, and in one graceful movement, he dismounted and quickly set about tying Lucien to a tree.

I was so cold and stiff that I could barely shift my weight when I tried to swing my leg over Lucien's back, and I let out a groan of pain and frustration. Bastien had me by the waist and was lifting me off like I was as light as smoke.

Our eyes locked as he set me on the ground, and a thrill raced through me, just like it always did when he was close enough to kiss.

And I knew just how delicious his lips tasted.

I was chastising myself for the errant thought when a brilliant, warm light caught my attention.

It was the moon—the personification of Diana herself. She loomed over his shoulder, bathing Bastien in her light. Diana's glow almost made his blonde hair look nearly white, and there was something breathtaking about seeing him surrounded by it.

"Let's get you in front of a fire, then I'll find something warm for you to drink."

I nodded once. Finding it difficult to focus on anything except the way he came alive in the garden and here under the moon. Almost like he was...no, that was silly.

Bastien couldn't possess any of Diana's powers.

There was something magickal about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I knew it couldn't be light magick. He was a vampire.

Bastien offered me his arm, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts, then wrapped my gloved hand around the crook of his elbow. He shortened his long strides so my stiff muscles could keep up.

Before we'd left, I'd decided to keep my hair concealed beneath a hat at this funeral. I didn't want to draw more attention to myself than necessary, and after Tansy had revealed that purple hair wasn't a common color, it felt like it would invite too many questions.

I needed to be a ghost to gather as much information as possible. And ghosts didn't stand out.

As we approached the graveyard, I took in all the unfamiliar sights, smells, and sounds that assaulted my senses.

However, seeing what was going on behind the gates was difficult. Faces were blurred, and objects were obscured. There must've been a protection spell cast around the perimeter.

Almost like they were fearful of another attack.

Which made me wonder if my family was hidden around the valley, lying in wait.

That thought alone had my throat clenching with nerves, and I lifted a hand to my neck. My thick fur-lined clothing concealed two necklaces that marked me as belonging to two worlds. 

Only...Bastien had made it clear I couldn't belong in his world forever. He couldn't keep me, nor did he want to try. That left me with an easy choice about where my true allegiance must lie.

Two floating braziers illuminated a sign just above the entrance gate that read, Kemp Family Burying Ground. For whatever reason, another chill raced up the back of my spine.

Bastien set his hand atop mine and squeezed. I heard his voice inside my head, reassuring me that nothing would hurt me here.

But I also felt his emotions. Sadness, regret, and nervousness as well.

I glanced up at him and found he was already staring down at me. 

It took one look to send my heart skittering around in my chest. It was hard to believe he didn't want to keep me when he looked at me like that, but I'd heard the words from his own mouth.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to break eye contact and stare into the faces of my enemy.

Witches dressed similarly to those guarding the front gate, in long black robes that hid their faces, pulled back the creaking iron gates, and whatever spell that had made everything blurry lifted.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I took it all in.

Some danced naked around a fire. Some drank from bubbling cauldrons hanging between marble statues that seemed to watch me as I walked in on Bastien's arm. Some sat on the ground, holding hands, chanting around a lifeless body.

Instead of being solemn, the graveyard was filled with witches with red hair, the sweet smell of dark magick, and life.

It was a strange sight, but that wasn't even the most peculiar thing. There were just as many creatures in the graveyard as there were people.

Snakes as thick as my arm. Goats. Chickens. Bats with leathery wings. Owls hooting from atop gravestones. One white raven squawked from atop a statue, and I watched a curvy witch with long red hair arguing with it to come down.

When the gates slammed shut behind us, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face us.

Hundreds of eyes seemed to bore into my soul as Bastien led me across a path of crushed seashells toward the large fire at the center of the graveyard. The warmth was welcome and eased the stiffness in my limbs, but it wasn't like I could let out a sigh of relief—not with everyone staring at me.

Without acting like any of this bothered him, Bastien stopped at one of the cauldrons along the way and accepted a cup of steaming hot liquid that he handed to me.

"Drink," he said.

I couldn't deny that the warmth of the cup on my hand was very welcome after hours on the back of a horse. But...this was straight from the cauldron of a dark witch. She'd probably cooked human bones and flesh inside it before this drink.

I glanced from him to the cup skeptically.

"It's sweet cider, camomile tea, and whiskey. It will warm you."

With everyone's eyes on me, I forced myself to nod and lifted the cup to my lips. The scent was both familiar and foreign. I took a sip, allowing the elixir to coat my tongue. The whiskey wasn't strong, but it warmed me, which was nice.

Once I forced myself to swallow, and Bastien was satisfied that I would continue sipping the tea, we continued up the path, nearing the fire.

"My prince," said a witch in a hooded black cloak who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

She lowered her hood, revealing a face that was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time. Her nose was pointed, her cheekbones razor sharp, her eyes a strange smoke color, and her hair was as red as the flames.

"How good of you to join us," she added without a smile, just the slightest curl of her lips.

Her voice was as silky as a spider's web, reminding me I was in a spider's den. One wrong step, and I'd be caught.

"You have my condolences, Hera, for your mother," Bastien said. "I hope your reign as matriarch of the Kemp Coven will be just as long and harmonious as hers."

She lifted her eyebrows and inclined her head toward a giant black spider that was sitting on her shoulder as if they were sharing a private joke.

"How...kind of you to say, my lord."

There was a moment of awkward silence, where I took another sip of tea. But I couldn't take my eyes off the spider. How could I when its eight beady eyes were staring right at me?

When the witch didn't seem to have anything else to say, her mouth flattened into a hard line, then she clapped her hands. Everyone stood straight up, even the woman who had been arguing so vehemently with the raven on top of the statue.

"Places, everyone."

A magickal charge pulsed through the air, and I glanced at Bastien, who didn't seem surprised by this turn of events as every witch in the graveyard joined those chanting around the body. I watched as a great black panther padded forward and sat beside the body. Laying its massive head on her chest. 

Hera stood at her mother's feet and lifted her hands into the air. Everyone did the same. Everyone...except Bastien and I.

I watched as witches chanted, swaying back and forth. Young. Old. Cloaked. Naked.

The smell of magick became so strong that it was as if I'd just eaten one of Shreesa's muffins.

Through our connection, I said to Bastien, "This seems like a ritual, not a burial."

He contemplated me for a moment, then responded. "Witches of the Darkness believe that death is powerful magick. Once this ritual is completed, the power of the witch who died is passed on to another."

My mouth dropped. Her power was passed on? How was that possible? But...another more important question bubbled inside me.

The chanting rose. Dry leaves whipped around the loose circle that had formed around the body.

"Why did they want you here? It wasn't just to pay your respects. Was it?"

Bastien pressed his lips together, and by the expression on his face, I knew the answer before he said anything at all.

"Magick this powerful requires balance."

The wind howled. The chanting was so damn loud I could barely think. The person beside me nearly bumping into me with the way they swayed back and forth. "What do you mean?"

Slowly, Bastien's hand fitted around my jaw, cupping my face like he was fond of doing. Holding my gaze as he contemplated me.

I could feel how badly he wanted to tell me everything he was thinking, but there was fear.

Fear...he would...scare me.

"There is no light without darkness, and no darkness without light."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sense of his words as a great gust of wind caused a strand of my hair to blow from my hat. "I still don't understand."

"What do you know about the Choosing?"

I scrambled to recall hearing that word before and couldn't come up with anything. "The what?"

Animals hissed and clucked and screeched and growled. The chanting was nearly as loud as Bastien's voice inside my head. He drew our foreheads together as the chaos unfolded around us and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, an image filled my head. I was standing in a circle with a group of men when a silver cup was pushed into my hands. The liquid was red and thick and I was ordered to drink it by an old wizened witch.

I could feel the excitement and pride but also...apprehension.

"Prince Bastien!" came the spidery voice, and as I heard it, the memory faded away, and all that was left was the hundreds of eyes staring at us.

"My lord, if you will, step forward," Hera said.

Step forward? What was going on? Was he part of this ritual?

"Stay here," he said, stroking my cheek. "I'll be back."

Diana. It seemed he was.

I watched as Bastien's broad shoulders and tall frame cut through the mob of witches with tears in my eyes. What was he doing? What was going to happen to him?

He trusted these witches too much. 

The bloodstone nestled against my breastbone throbbed like it wanted to be back with its mate.

In the distance, past the fence line, I saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes that seemed to be staring right at me.

Who is out there staring at Claire? And what do you make of these dark witches? 👀