Wolf's Kin (Monstrous Hearts #3)

Chapter Twelve

The hag king hunched beneath a colorless sunrise. His skin steamed in the air while he shook scraps of flesh from his antlers. His slashed sides heaved. The fight had been a hard one.

His rival twitched a final time, power and ambition reduced to mangled flesh against churned earth. A warlock that had wanted more land. A warlock that had wished to be a conqueror as well as a king. Now, a mere body drowned in its own blood.

The howls of the rival's coven could still be heard, invisible among the pines and mist as they fled. The witches belonging to the hag king spurred them on with taunts and branches broken into switches, scratching and spitting at one whenever she stumbled.

Only the hag mother stayed by her king's side, already tending to his wounds. Against his bristling filth, her immaculate skin glowed like the moon, and her expression matched the tenderness in her fingers while she wiped the blood away with her own hair. He appeared unaware of it all, those massive antlers cutting at nothing as he shook his head and seethed. Sweat and aggression filled his every movement.

Soon, his other witches returned, exhilarated from the chase. Their switches were bloody, and a few still laughed breathlessly. They all surrounded their king with shining eyes, new eagerness filling their movements as they took in his impatience and thick, erect cock. Which of them would have the honor of being his first? Gain the biggest taste of his power?

The hag mother remained intent on his injuries, but one of the others approached without being told—Faustine, the youngest of the coven and also the boldest. In silence, she crouched in front of their king and stroked his matted beard. His eyes remained hidden in shadow, but she thought he looked back at her.

When he let her fingers trail down his neck, her mouth curved into a small, triumphant smile. Then she shifted closer, ignoring the soft laugh from the hag mother.

Just as her bare breasts brushed against his arm, he moved. A casual twitch, effortless on his part, and yet she was still flung away from him. Her shriek echoed through the trees. Then he vanished, leaving the hag mother with mud on her fingers and blood clotting her long, dark hair.

Their smiles disappeared with him. The excitement that had filled the air now soured into something metallic, into something closer to fear. Faustine rose to her feet, cheeks burning, and rejoined the others as they all stared at the lifeless body of the rival warlock.

"It's time to finish things," said the hag mother. She alone seemed unshaken while kneeling beside the remains, a knife already in hand. "Start a fire."

"It won't collect nearly as much power as when he burns enemies."

It could have come from any of them, that whisper, for their faces were all etched with the same frustration.

Then one stepped away from the rest—Vanna, far removed from her usual stylish appearance. "Maybe, but he's obviously not coming back. I'll find some kindling."

The others watched suspiciously as she disappeared into the trees. A witch only moved against the mood of her coven if she had a scheme that could give her some safety, an assurance that standing out would result in a sweet reward instead of a painful tumble down the pecking order. But when she only returned with thin branches, they all began working together with the grim harmony of pallbearers carrying a casket.

The flames devoured the severed body parts with the same hunger the witches felt deep inside, but the sting of their king's absence was soothed by the flush of power from his burning rival. A rare meal, much more potent than any human or stray witch. The most satisfying flesh always came from enemies. More than one imagined that the only thing sweeter would be another coven member.