The Alpha's Witch |18+|

Chapter Thirty Six

ADELINE

Air fills my lungs in a gasp that burns my throat and I cough up what feels like dust that's settled within me. When my eyes open, I'm met with only a pitch black darkness.

There's a solid coldness against my back and it doesn't take long for me to realize that I'm laying down. My hands stretch in front of me, until they're stopped abruptly by another cold, hard surface.

A panic seeps into my chest, sending my heart into a frenzy.

There's a moment of dread, a moment where I think that this is it—that I'm dead and this is my own version of hell. One where I'm trapped without sight and confined in a box barely larger than my own body.

That panic is what forces the single word out of me, "Lux."

A small orb of light appears in front of my face, illuminating the extremely small space and dissipating my fears. If I were in hell, my spells wouldn't work.

I don't know how or why I'm not dead, but I don't care. Braxton is the only thing on my mind, his name echos in my thoughts on repeat.

The memory of the trial floods back, along with it the sight of him on his knees in front of me before everything went blank.

He thinks I'm dead.

My heart aches for him. I crave to tell him I'm alive. My fingers burn with a need to touch him, to feel him against me. I crave to feel that bond again.

I need to get out of this coffin.

I need to get to him.

Numerous spells filter through my subconscious. I weigh the pros and cons of each one, before settling on the one that will cause the least amount of attention if anyone happens to be six feet above and nearby.

"Perambulo."

The spell parts the coffin in two, but it does nothing for the dirt. I claw through it, practically choking by the time I get to the surface.

I glance around, and when I only see a vast darkness with stars speckling the sky through the trees above, I pull myself all the way out of the ground.

Tombstones litter every corner of my vision, seemingly going on forever. Except when I look down at the fresh unkempt dirt around my feet, there's no stone for me. Like they couldn't be bothered to label the place that my body was meant to stay for eternity.

I can't find it in me to care.

I wipe my clothes off and sift my fingers through my hair in an attempt to rid the mess that it's become. Only, when I lift my eyes from the disturbed earth, there's a shadow that makes my movements stiffen.

It grows closer, until it stops at a distance near enough for me to make out a mop of black hair.

The man, the same one who delivered me to my trial, stands in front of me with a neutral expression. Not even a sliver of shock or confusion twitches on his face.

He speaks first. "I had a feeling you'd be back."

My body remains still, until curiosity peaks my interest. "Why's that?"

His head tilts. "I could sense the spell on you," his eyes scan my body, purely observationally and nothing more, "The council was too hungry for a trial and their judgment too clouded to pay attention and realize it."

"What spell?"

"The protection spell."

When Silas told me about the protection spell my mother had put over me, I was surprised. But now, I'm just confused. "Protection spells don't bring you back from the dead."