Runaway Rogue

Chapter Forty Seven: Caspian's POV

Indigo stepped up to Mr. Hexsmith, offering him a tiny smile as she moved. He didn't seem intimidating, and his attitude was warmer than Albert's ever could be, but there was no denying his strength either. This warlock could wield magic beyond anything Indigo could comprehend, that she was certain of.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I suppose." She was ready for all of this to be over. No matter the cost. She was exhausted, so damn tired of fighting, of looking over her shoulder. This needed to end here, today. For her sake.

"Very well." Mr. Hexsmith began twirling his wrists, moving slowly.

At first, Indigo thought it was an elaborate show to conjure up a little jar like Albert had. Clearly, this man was fond of putting on a damn good performance. Then, she saw a faint shimmer in the air. And then, it struck her nose. Her head jerked back with the force of it, a gasp ripping from her mouth. She could taste it in the air, but she could never identify what it was.

She blinked, the sensation passing. Too bad new sensations came in so soon after. Her eyes ached, like they were trying to take in too much light. The world around her was too bright, too colourful. When she breathed in, she could taste the snow on her tongue.

"Indie?" Caspian called out, his voice sounding like he was far away, down a long winding tunnel. But she knew he was right there. He wouldn't leave her. She knew that.

"She's alright." That had to be Forest, stepping in to stop Caspian from interjecting and derailing this whole thing.

"How are you feeling?" Hexsmith asked, a single brow raised.

"Strange." The word was out of her mouth before she could even think of it. Her hands clapped over her lips, eyes widening in horror.

"Then I would say it is working. You may begin asking your questions, everyone," the warlock called out, stepping away from Indigo.

She was alone under the scrutiny of all these alphas. And no one was saying a damn word. She tried to spin, tried to make eye contact with any of them, but the world seemed to bob and sway beneath her feet. For a long time, the only thing she could hear was her unsteady breathing and the crunching snow beneath her wobbly boots.

"Who is your mate?" Forest asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Caspian," she said without an ounce of hesitation.

"Who is your husband?" Forest continued.

"My husband was Andrew. But he's dead now so I guess I'm a widow." What a strange concept. She didn't think she would ever be a widow, and yet here she was.

Now that Forest got the hard questions out of the way, others seemed to have found their voice. In her head, when Indigo thought of this moment, she had wanted to be steady and certain. She was certain, at least. But there was no way she was going to be able to move around enough to make eye contact with every single person who asked her a question.

Instead, she tipped her head back and stared at the expanse of blue sky above her. It made her feel small, insignificant. Whatever happened here, the world would go on. She let the answers pour out of her, not that she had much choice.

"Why were you married to a mate when you have a mate?"

"My parents sold me to him when I was young, before I found Caspian."

"Why did your parents sell you? How much did he pay for you?"

"Ask them, not me. I don't know."

"Why didn't you try to fight? You must have known werewolves had mates by then?"