Lorcan & Evette

Chapter Twelve

Great. Not only had the werewolf kidnapped her from her home and the life she'd come to know but he expected her to do things for him too. Like chores. Things that would help him out.

Of course, he hated the fact that she was a witch—right up to the moment where he could use it to his advantage.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Now you're seeing it."

He pushed his phone away, done with the full moon.

Instead, he pulled out her very old and very frayed communication book.

Annaliese would've seen it by now. Surely. Only Evie wasn't in the know. She hadn't even seen what the werewolf wrote. She wondered if he'd read over past messages. Knowing him to be the invasive type, she didn't doubt it.

His eyes raked across the page, then his fist slammed down on the table beside it. She heard a scraping sound. His claws were digging into the wood.

She was sure the hotel staff were going to appreciate that.

Stunned from her laze, she crawled up to her feet and crossed the room. He wasn't even looking at the book anymore. His eyes were flashing from hazel to gold.

She snatched it up, turning with it to the bed.

She read his message first.

Annaliese.

The war has gone on for long enough. Our courts warned you that we would strike out if your kind continued to poach ours. Of your own volition, you chose to ignore this and continue with your reign of terror. No more.

When you are ready to surrender and settle this war appropriately, the werewolf community will be waiting. Until then, allow our possession of your dearest witch to maintain order.

Your oracle has been found and taken. May her life depend upon your conduct.

Signed, King Lorcan of the Lupine armies.

Her death wasn't at all in her control. Not for the first time, Evie was completely reliant on the behaviour of her Queen. She didn't know what Annaliese would risk. The woman was basically her sister. But she wouldn't conform. Conformity wasn't Annaliese's style. No. On the contrary. The Queen of blood would lash out with a malice the wolves had thought impossible.

Blood would rain from the ceilings. Blood would reign.

She'd get Evie back, one way or another. Of that, the oracle was sure. She didn't need the future to know it. There were no limits with Annaliese. The werewolves would do well to learn this.

Whatever pain they caused Annaliese, she'd double it and send it right back to their court.

Evie kept reading, scanning the page. His font was the opposite of hers. In entries above his, she saw her curvy, loopy writing. His was straight and professional. Regal.

She glanced between the wolf and his entry.

Judging by the content, she realised the wolf was definitely going to kill her. If her treatment was dependent on Annaliese's conduct, Evie was well and truly screwed.

Would he slash her throat out with his claws? Would he make it quick? Painless?

Not knowing was what scared her the most.

Below that, Annaliese had responded with two words. Two words in Latin- the common language. But that was all that was needed. The message was clear.

Lupus Mortem.