18. Sophia

My head throbs as a candlelit chamber swims into focus. Bound wrists and legs, the tang of iron in my nose, the rough cotton gag and the chill of stone beneath me snap me fully to attention. Panic flares in my chest, but I tamp it down—fear won”t help me now.

I twist against the ropes, testing their give—minimal. The room”s air is thick with the scent of burning herbs and the low chant of a language I don”t understand. Ominous and ancient intricate symbols decorate the walls around me—symbols that speak of dark intentions and older magic.

I recognize some of them from my research, but none more so than the stylized snake swallowing its tail--woven in gold onto the black robe of the man staring down at me.

At first, I”m confused. The man so resembles Oliver.

But the eyes flare at me with blue fire, not amber.

It can”t be Jason. Unless Jason is not dead.

Demons be damned. I’ve obviously found the Shadow Covenant. Or they’ve found me.

Irene stands next to him, her hands raised as if conducting an invisible orchestra. Next to them, in a high back armchair, slumps the older Lord Faulkner, looking even more frail than at the dinner party. Is he even breathing?

Just outside the circle of candlelight stands the lascivious Earl of Cairn, the matron with the pendant, the centaur-shifter, and a handful of the other Gala attendees. They are Lycan, Fae, Demonic, Angelic, Equus, Vampiric and Leviathan—all the Factions. All of them traitorous bastards, as far as I”m concerned! If I get out of this, I will report them to the High Council.

A flicker of movement catches my attention—Councilman Gerard Kray. So the High Council is already here. They not only know about the Covenant, they are members, too? That’s the cruelest blow. But he tried to warn me. Why?

Kray leans against the wall, his posture casual but his gaze sharp as glass shards. His presence here is a wild card; whether he”s an ally or another threat is anyone”s guess. He won”t meet my eyes.

Panic flares within me like a struck match, threatening to consume my thoughts. But then, I remember—I”m not alone in this. Oliver. The bond we share, still so new and fragile, thrums in the back of my mind. I focus on it, drawing a semblance of strength from the connection. It”s not words or thoughts that I send along that invisible thread, but a pulse of desperate energy.

Oliver... if you can feel this.…

I push my thoughts into the bond with all my mental might, hoping it”s enough to alert him to my danger, hoping this chamber isn”t warded against such communication.

As I summon Oliver through our psychic tether, Jason”s voice crescendos into a command that resonates through my bones, weakening me. I shudder but focus on Kray”s face again, pleading for him to intervene.

Kray catches my gaze for a split second before turning away, his lips twitching. My gut says he”s not happy about what”s unfolding before us, but he”s weighing the risk to himself, per usual. Maybe there”s hope yet that he isn”t part of whatever twisted plan they”re hatching.

The chamber seems to hold its breath as Irene steps closer to me, her shadow falling across my face. She unties the gag and looks into my eyes.

I try to shout, but only manage a hoarse whisper. ”What is this?”

”She”s awake,” she observes flatly, turning to her older brother.

”Good. I need her to be conscious for the next part of the ritual. Her fear will feed the shadows,” he says.

Ritual? The word ricochets through my mind, igniting terror and confusion in equal measure. But I push down the fear; I can”t afford to lose myself in it, and I definitely don”t want to give the shadows any reason to be hungrier.

Oliver, where the hell are you?

The chamber is stiflingly silent as I wait for any sign that I”m not as isolated as I feel.

Irene watches me closely, peering at my neck at the point where Oliver”s bonding bite has sealed over into a lovely shiny scar. Her eyes are full of questions.

”Yes. It”s what you think, Irene.”

I have to gasp out the words as a strange force tightens around my throat. She leans in again but I see her eyes are unfocused. I”ll get no help from her.

Jason approaches, too, a cruel smile twisting his features. A ceremonial dagger glints in his hand, catching the flickering candlelight. I strain against my bonds, the ropes biting into my skin.

”Your struggles change nothing, human,” Jason sneers, shifting the blade to catch the light. ”But your terror does. I thank you for it. Humans have always feared us and it”s that fear the Covenant wants to grow. We”re tired of negotiating our place in Ravencourt and beyond. We were born to haunt your nightmares, not play politics. You should feel honored. Your blood is the final key to a new era of power for the Covenant.” He gestures towards Howard, slumped in the armchair. ”And as for my dying father, the full moon will witness his final shift. From man to beast to nothing at all.”

Horror churns in my gut, mingling with a surge of defiance. I meet Jason”s gaze, my voice dripping with sarcasm despite the fear pulsing through me. I have to force out the words, defying whatever spell he has on me that is keeping me from speaking. ”You need more than a ritual; you need a therapist. What you”re doing—this isn”t just twisted, it”s tragic.”

Jason”s eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. But it”s Irene”s reaction that catches my attention. She falters in her orchestrated movements, her hands trembling slightly as she traces the intricate symbols in the air. Her eyes, still clouded, meet mine for a fleeting moment. In that instant, I catch a glimpse of the woman she once was—the fierce, protective sister Oliver spoke of with such fondness.

But the moment passes, and Irene”s gaze hardens once more, the spell”s hold tightening its grip.

The air reeks of smoky herbs and dark intentions. I try to steady my breathing so I can focus on something besides the dread coiling in my stomach.

”Why now?” I croak. ”Why tonight?”

Jason”s laugh is sharp and bitter. ”The full moon is rising tonight, and the power of the paranormals rises with it.” He leans closer, his breath hot against my cheek. ”And I”ve grown tired of watching my little brother fuck things up. My father is dying, finally. And now, I will lead, as was intended.”

”You’re a madman. A rabid beast.”

Jason leers at me. ”I prefer to be known for what I am—a werewolf.”

”Sophia...” Irene”s voice is soft, almost lost beneath the chanting. ”Please, don”t make this harder than it needs to be.”

I stare at her incredulously. ”Can”t you see what he”s doing to you? To your family? You think this will be the end of it? This moonrise will turn into one more and one more.” I cough from the effort of speaking.

Irene flinches as if struck, her gaze darting between Jason and her father”s unconscious form. For a moment, I think I see a glimmer of doubt in her eyes, a flicker of the fierce love she once held for her family, that came apart when they turned their backs on Jason, casting him out into a world far crueler than they imagined.

”Enough! I sense the moon nearing its zenith. It”s time to begin the final phase. Kray, if you want me to hand over the Northern Quarter to you as agreed, prepare her.”

The vampire slides over to me and tears a slit in my dress with his talons, exposing my legs to the cold air. But he lingers over me for a moment, sniffing me as though he would like to finish me off himself. But then he whispers in my ear. ”He thinks I am softening your mind. So play along. Where are your teeth and claws, little spy? Call him with all your might. You are running out of time. I don’t wish you harm but I have no power to stop this madman. You aren’t the only spy here!”

So Kray is working for the right side? But what good does that do me if he won’t reveal himself?

Jason raises the dagger, the blade gleaming with menace. My heart leaps into my throat, and I struggle against my bonds with renewed desperation. The ropes cut into my wrists, drawing blood, but I barely feel the pain. All I can focus on is the dagger”s point as it hovers over my exposed thigh.

The pain as he carves the first symbol into my leg is searing.

Oliver!I scream the thought into the ether.

Jason”s eyes blaze while Irene stares blankly into the darkness. Jason”s voice rises again above the chanting of the traitorous cult members. ”I was cast out, deemed unworthy by my own father.”

He gestures towards Howard”s unconscious form with a sneer. ”Tonight, I take back what was denied me—recognition, power, the legacy of the Faulkner bloodline.”

Anger surges through me, momentarily eclipsing my fear. I strain against my bonds, ignoring the bite of the ropes and the pain in my leg. ”You”re a coward,” I spit, glaring at Jason. ”You”re just perpetuating the cycle of pain. Forgiveness is always harder than vengeance.”

Jason”s eyes narrow, his grip tightening on the dagger. ”What would you know about my family? You’re nothing to us.”

”I know that revenge isn”t the answer. It won”t heal your wounds or make you whole.”

For a moment, I think I see a flicker of the wounded child in Jason”s eyes, a crack in his vengeful facade. But it”s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by a coldness I know my words won’t defeat.

”Enough,” he snarls, raising the dagger higher. ”You are nothing but a means to an end. All I need is your blood.”

”Jason, please, no more bloodshed...” Irene”s whisper cuts through the chanting, her voice strained and desperate. Her eyes, for a moment clear and haunted, lock with mine. In that instant, I see the weight of her guilt, the depth of her regret. She”s as much a prisoner of Jason”s machinations as I am, trapped by his spell and her own loyalty to a family legacy that was built not on some sort of extraordinary supernatural connection—but lies. But instead of being pulled back under into the spell, her eyes dart toward her father.

My heart aches for her, for the family torn asunder by Jason”s twisted ambition. But I can”t dwell on it, not when my own life hangs in the balance.

I close my eyes, reaching out once more through the bond that ties me to Oliver.

If you can hear me, if you can feel me... I need you. We all do.

The chanting grows louder, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and the crackle of dark energy. Jason”s grip on the dagger tightens as he reaches over to carve another symbol into my skin.

”With this sacrifice, I claim my rightful place,” he intones, his voice echoing through the chamber. ”With this blood, I seal my destiny.” I brace myself, refusing to look away.

If death is coming for me, and not Oliver, then I will face it with my eyes wide open.