DAVINIA WAS ALMOST as pale as the white smoke from the incense. Although, her skin had always been on the lighter side, with only her rose lips and shining green eyes bringing colour to her face.

Azura's face, on the other hand, was so perfect. The magic keeping it that way shimmered barely visible on the surface. Azura's eyes, as dark as coal, pierced into hers, stinging like frostbite.

"What happened here, my child?" Azura's voice crackled as if it were fire.

The words, my child, used to send a shiver through her body and slashed through her soul. Now, she knew they weren't worth her feelings.

"Mother Elder." The lie burned on her tongue. To call Azura a mother—title or not—would never be truthful. Azura was the one who killed her real mum. But Davinia counted the days until she had the chance to bring Azura the same fate. "I was trying to draw power and knowledge for the walk of the Mos Maiorum trials."

A hint of pride flashed in Azura's eyes. Davinia wasn't sure if Azura bought it, but she had always been her favourite. The one who didn't fight back and the first one accepting Atropa as their coven. The youngest to bound her soul to them during initiation, and not to forget, the one who brought the most power to their ancestors. That wasn't a brag. Davinia understood she was strong.

Of course, Azura didn't know how pretended it all was—how Davinia cursed them every night and plotted against them behind their backs.

She was twelve and saw her mum die before her eyes; her people, friends, and neighbours slaughtered by Atropa. Davinia knew she was helpless back then. But now she was twenty, and not a child anymore. She learned and continued to learn to grow strong enough to beat them.

Azura.

Heda.

Reanna.

Tora.

The four high priestesses she was going to kill first.

"You know you shouldn't. It's too early. Only the elders of our coven can take part, and even then, only if they have the power. Or it will consume them.

Never did Davinia want to undergo the Mos Maiorum trials. She'd have to walk through the Ancestors' everlasting woodlands. To come face to face with the people the Atropa witches drew strength from. She'd had to tell them she'd follow in their footsteps for eternity. If she passed, the ancestors gave her strength beyond the boundaries of any ordinary witch. The price? Her soul, mind, and the essence of her life bound to them. When Davinia died, she'd be stuck in the Ancestors' everlasting woodlands forever. If you fail, you're cut off from the ancestors' power source. A fate worse compared to death. The witches partaking probably didn't even know how to draw from another source than their ancestors.

Azura rested a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch bit like ice into her flesh. "I'll have to discipline you. You harmed the altar and sought out magic you're not supposed to." Azura clicked her tongue as she inspected the damage to the altar.

The soft squeeze on Davinia's shoulder almost made her shudder. She tried to calm down her rapid heartbeat, keeping it from leaping out of her chest. They once cut off a witch's hand and tortured a lycanthrope in the guise of discipline.

"No food, and give our ancestors extra prayers," Azura decided, and Davinia's eyes widened. "You didn't think I would really punish my prized protégé?" Azura let a strand of Davinia's black locks glide through her long fingers. "You should stop cutting your hair. You're an Atropa witch."

"Yes, Mother Elder." The words didn't sound like her own, yet she spoke them.

"Now, go and study."

Davinia bowed and scurried out of the shrines and through the forest. She didn't slow down or look back. Her feet led her to the apprentice's house of the sleeping quarters, up the stairs, and to the attic as she tried to control her panicking mind.

She almost got caught. The thought didn't leave her for one second.

Did she get too comfortable or even lazy? With shaking hands, Davinia closed her bedroom door. Her fingers raked through her hair. The Atropa witches weren't stupid. Underestimating them was deadly. The magic of her protective runes, sigils, and whatnot radiated from her room in a soft presence with a sweet but sharp scent. Yet, they trusted her. They bought her half lies and deceptions.

Screams.

Blood.

Death.

Images she could never forget.

She had done horrible things to gain the Atropa high priestesses' trust. Things that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Tears stung behind her eyes. She clenched her jaw, holding her breath as she fought the crashing wave of emotions. They didn't deserve her tears. They deserved nothing from her.

Anger burned hot in her veins as tendrils of sorrow lumped together within her chest. It was a consuming wildfire coursing through her and eating her from the inside out. A rage that had to be released.

Allowing her breath to flow out, she stretched her fingers, pointing her hand out. All her emotions flew from her heart, burning along her arm and tingling out of her fingertips to her victim—the soft pillow in the chair. The padding erupted with a dull thud, throwing its remnants around the room like snow falling in winter.

The pressure in her chest disappeared as a deep breath escaped her lips. The wave calmed down, and so did the mist clouding her brain.

Crap. The sigils.

Davinia rushed to the wooden panels behind her bed. Unlocking the sigils, the panel clicked open. Candles, herbs, vials, books, and notes showed themselves. She took the notebooks and scribbled down everything she noticed and felt. Drawing the last sigils she saw, the paper caught fire. Pieces of burning ashes left the pages before the flames disappeared.

She blinked at the paper, the gears of her brain turning. For the millionth time, Davinia soaked in the information she scribbled down since she started her path to freedom. Her stomach twisted as the ache in her chest grew. The puzzle pieces fell together. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds.

Davinia had finally found the answer she'd been searching for for so long. She just never imagined the price she had to pay.

No, there must be more. Another way. Something she missed.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The footsteps thudded against her mind. She cleared everything and redid the locks. As she sat on her bed, facing the door, she waited for whoever was coming for her.

A soft knock echoed from the door, and the corner of her mouth twitched up. She pushed herself off the bed.

The smile plummeted at seeing the grim face of the only loyal friend Davinia had.

"Oh, no, Gillian." She ushered him inside, checking the hallway for any unwanted eyes. "What happened?" A hollow question to one of the Atropa prisoners.

His normally brown eyes shimmered gold, revealing the struggle with his wolf's side. His hazelnut hair, which had to be kept short, had grown a bit longer, almost showing the curls again. He was bulky but lean, reflecting his powerful wolf...but not powerful enough.

Gillian was one of the few left of his lycanthrope pack. His father pledged allegiance to the witches when the reaping happened. Atropa cursed them to never fight or harm the witches. Just like her, but they choose this path. The wolves could've picked death. Something Davinia wasn't allowed to do when they took her.

Still, Gillian didn't choose either. His father did. So Gillian was locked here with her. Hating the Atropa witches together in secret gave them some peace.

"I can't anymore, Davinia." He stroked her cheek, his finger brushing her lips with desperation. "I need you."

She nodded in understanding, and his mouth crashed onto hers in the familiar comfort. His tongue slid in, making no excuses. His taste was as sweet as always, and his scent of pine trees engulfed her. He occupied all her senses. Yet, she couldn't fully let go. Her guard up and mind gated by high walls. Pulling away, she drew extra sigils and runes for protection, including Algiz a few times. Gillian waited impatiently, his eyes piercing and intruding in a way only he could.

But she would make his waiting worthwhile. She always did.

Their lips met again as she pushed him onto the bed with rough, woollen blankets.

Davinia may not have loved him, for there was no room for anything other than revenge. But something was there, kept away from her heart. Yet, his touch on her naked body, and his muscles caging her made her forget the world for a moment.

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

Davinia has gotten away this time, and she finally has her answers, but what will it cost her?

Does Azura really not know what Davinia is up to?

And we've met Gillian!