Chapter Five

Idon’t sleep that night. I can’t—I’m too wound up to do anything but think and train. For hours, I run through every fighting move I learned from my father, almost breaking the meager furniture around my house in my crazed enthusiasm.

By the time the moon is starting to set, as evidenced by peeks I take through the curtains drawn over my windows, I’ve concluded that, although I’m confident I’d hand most humans their ass, my odds against a shifter are not good. Which means I’ll need to fight dirty.

I know there aren’t any weapons allowed—which is ridiculous, since shifters have sharp claws that come out on command, and I’m sure whoever my opponent is will be happy to use them. I’ll have to use my brain as much as my body during the duel and think several steps ahead to have even the tiniest chance of success.

In an attempt to get myself into a strategic mindset, I pull out my father’s chess set. We used to play the game several times a week, and he taught me many tactics to win. The primary one being to think at least five steps ahead, though ideally eight. For hours, I play against myself, imagining each piece on the chessboard to be a fighting strategy or person and setting them against each other.

Then, as the first rays of light start to peek through the curtains, I sit on the floor in front of the worn old sofa in my living area and pray.

Praying isn’t an abnormality for me—I pray to the gods almost nightly, asking for health for both Leisel and me, and praying that my parents’ souls are resting in peace. This morning, however, my prayer is different. More ritualistic. It’s a prayer directly to the goddess of magic, Hecate.

All mythic species have a specific god they pray to, the same god that’s said to have created them. For shifters, it’s the moon goddess Selene. For vampires, it’s the war god Ares. For sirens, Poseidon. For demons, Hades. For witches, Hecate.

Although my magic is from the earth, it’s magic nonetheless—which gives me a direct line of sorts to the goddess of all witches. Possibly more so than witches from other realms, since there are many of them and so few earthly witches. My mother once told me to only pray to Hecate when truly necessary because she will always hear me, but she wouldn’t be pleased with unnecessary disturbances.

The last time I prayed to her directly was when Leisel got pneumonia at five years old. I was watching the life slowly seep out of my sister, listening to her wheezing breaths and horrible coughs, horrified at the possibility of losing her. I begged the patron goddess of witches to heal her, to let her live. The following day, Leisel was cured, as if she was never ailed in the first place. That was a miracle in itself since she’d been at death’s door mere hours before. The following week she developed her first—and so far only—power: healing.

The power became apparent when Leisel had accompanied me on a horseback ride through the forest—not a hunt—and had seen a baby chipmunk being ravaged by a ferret. She leaped off of Duchess, scared the ferret away, and took the bloodied, barely breathing chipmunk in her hands. She held him to her chest, and I remember seeing a faint golden glow emanating from her hands. When the chipmunk was visible again, he was completely healed. Leisel proclaimed that she was keeping him and named him Chip.

Since then, she healed Shadow when he broke his leg during a hunt and healed me multiple times when I would hurt myself working the farm or out in the forest.

I don’t expect my prayer to Hecate to result in another miracle—but I hope to get some guidance. Something that will help me in my upcoming fight.

My mother taught me the way to activate my connection to Hecate before a prayer; to shed a drop of my blood and use my magic. So, I prick my index finger with a sewing needle, and let loose the power I’ve spent countless hours learning to control.

Holding the palm of my unbloodied hand to the ceiling, I let out a deep breath, and summon a small bit of fire.

From my understanding, having the ability to summon and wield fire isn’t uncommon among witches. What makes my fire such an anomaly—a dangerous anomaly—is that the flame I summon isn’t red and orange; it’s gold and black. It’s a flame that destroys anything it comes into contact with—incinerating objects with a mere lick.

The ability first manifested when I was eight and demolished an oak tree by accident. I’d broken my leg while in the forest with my father, and the acute pain somehow tore my power out of me. Both my father and I had been terrified because it was merely a spark of the golden-black flame that turned a century-old oak into ash. For years, I struggled to learn how to control the black fire, because it would burst forward whenever I was angry or injured. I was twelve by the time I truly mastered being able to summon and control it at will.

Since then, I’ve had no reason to use it, outside of the last time I prayed to Hecate. Even still, the flame manifests in the palm of my hand with ease, as enchanting and dark as I remember it being. It’s black at the core, gray at the edges, with a gold shroud dancing across each flicker of fire.

“Hecate,” I murmur, keeping my voice quiet because I know how good shifter hearing is, and close my eyes. “I call upon you for guidance. In a mere few hours, I’ll be dueling with a shifter—someone who’s no doubt far stronger and faster than me. I fear for not only my own well-being but the well-being of Leisel. I cannot use my magic during the fight because I do not seek to expose myself. If there’s any assistance you could give, it would be met with my eternal gratitude.”

Opening my eyes, I clench my fist, extinguishing the fire, and hope to gods a miracle will occur that gives me a much-needed advantage.

***

At six a.m., I stand in the center of the town square—empty of the vendors that normally set up later in the morning. A crowd of both shifters and my fellow villagers is gathered. Evidently, word of the Alpha discovering his mate spread like wildfire because at least fifty people are standing about.

Leisel and I rode in a mere few minutes ago, accompanied by two pack members who were guarding us in wolf form through the night. They stayed far enough behind so as not to spook the horses, but both my sister and I noticed them. I’d mulled over the idea of leaving Leisel in the cabin—but I feared that would result in her getting snatched up by shifters while I wasn’t there to protect her.

After tying up the horses to their usual post, I walk straight to Mariketa and Parker, both of whom are gathered with the human portion of the crowd, and ask them to keep an eye on Leisel while I’m occupied trying to win against impossible odds.

Now, I stand silently by them, eyeing the group of shifters across the stone-paved town square from us. Camden and Wyatt are conversing with eight of their packmates, as well as watching Leisel and me from the corner of their eyes.

Almost all of the shifters are male, the only female being the one who nearly knocked down my door last night. I imagine I’ll be paired with her, even though she’s taller than me, and most likely a lot more competent with fighting. She’s the closest thing to an even match that’s currently available.

Parker brings me out of my thoughts when he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Your father once told me something that’s stuck with me, even decades later,” he quietly tells me.

That instantly snags my attention, and I turn to face him. I know that Parker was friends with Dad—they grew up in the same village, and even before doing business together, they were almost like brothers for how close they were.

“What was that?” I ask him.

Parker gazes meaningfully at me. “That morale is the most important aspect of any battle. If you go in with a losing mindset, you’ll lose. If you go in with a winning mindset, you’ll prevail.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “You know where the trachea is on the neck, yes?”

I nod.

“A blow to the trachea will hurt and slow down even a shifter. Let your opponent tire themselves out and wait for an opening. Once you see it, give a punch to the trachea full force. That’ll give you enough time to get an arm around their neck, even though they’ll heal far faster than humans. Then you grip their neck with everything in you, and hold on like your life depends on it because it damn well does.”

I look at Parker in an entirely new light, because he sounds like he’s speaking from experience. All my life, I’ve known him as the cheerful village butcher, married to the even more cheerful village baker, but right now, I’m not staring at the man I sell meat to several times a week while chatting. I’m staring at a warrior.

I blink slowly. “It almost sounds like you’ve fought shifters before, Parker.”

A small, slightly sad smile flits over his lips. “You’re not the only one who’s had to declare duelum, Sierra.” His hand drops from my shoulder. “Remember what I’ve told you.”

Camden steps forward from his crowd of shifters and addresses me directly, his voice echoing around the town square. “You will be dueling with Aspen,” he says, motioning to the blonde female. “The rules are simple. No weapons allowed. It is a fight until you yield or lose consciousness. Afterwards, you will accompany me to Kinrith, whether in chains or by your own free will.”

His assumption that I’ll yield or pass out isn’t lost on me—he’s not even slightly worried for Aspen and has every confidence she’ll win. He clearly doesn’t think I stand a chance. That sparks an anger in me that I vehemently push aside because being emotional will only hinder me.

I walk into the middle of the town square, halfway between the humans and shifters. Aspen follows suit, looking me up and down with a predator’s eyes.

“I advise you to yield now,” she tells me. “I have no wish to harm my future queen.”

She sounds surprisingly sincere on the latter, but that only makes me more determined to prove to the shifters here that I’m not quite the helpless human they assume me to be.

“Thank you for the consideration,” I respond mildly, “but I’d really rather die than have any relations with mythics.”