5

The moon was high in the sky as I sat by the window, lost in thought. I’d felt a pull towards Redakai from the moment I’d seen him step out from the shadows at the auction. His power, his strength, his cold, unyielding gaze—it was all grown too tempting. And yet, I knew he despised me and now, I had destroyed something he needed, further fueling his dislike.

As if I had conjured him up with my thoughts, the door to my chamber creaked open, and he strode in, his movements predatory. "Kaisha," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

"Yes, my lord?" I replied, keeping my head down, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands.

He approached me and I could feel his eyes boring into me. "Look at me," he demanded.

I slowly raised my gaze to meet his, my own defiant.

"I can see your stubbornness in your eyes, witch," he said, his voice like velvet over ice. "But fear is not what I want from you."

"I cannot hide that side of myself, my lord," I spat, anger bubbling to the surface.

He leaned in close, his breath a whisper in my ear. "You owe me a debt. I want your loyalty. Your obedience. And your magic at my disposal." His hand trailed down my cheek, and despite my resolve, a shiver ran down my spine. "And I will collect."

For a moment, I considered telling him to go to hell, that I would never be his to command. But something stopped me.

"You will find another," I said finally, my voice stronger than I felt. "Another way to protect your coven."

He stepped back, his hand falling away from my face. "You think I have not tried?" he snarled. "You think I do not know the cost of failure?"

I met his gaze, my own anger flaring. "Then why allow me to go gather something so precious?"

His eyes narrowed, and for a second, I thought he would strike me. But instead, he took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling like a storm gathering strength. "Because," he said, his voice tight, "it was the only way. The only way to ensure the purity of the potion. Only a virgin can pick it."

"But now," he continued, "the stakes are higher. The war is upon us. And you are the only one who can fix this."

The gravity of his words settled on my shoulders like a cloak of lead. "How?" I whispered.

He leaned in, his breath caressing my neck. "You will find a way. Because if you don't, you die." His hand wrapped around my throat, his grip firm.

The room was silent except for the thunder of my heart and the distant sound of the coven preparing for war. His eyes searched my own, looking for something—fear, perhaps, but all he saw was hatred.

"Do we have an agreement?" he asked, his voice low and deadly.

Straightening, I didn’t flinch away from his anger. "What do you want from me?" I snarled.

He leaned closer, his fangs glinting in the candlelight. "I want your word, Kaisha. That you will do everything in your power to make this right."

When I simply murmured, “Yes my lord, “ he turned and walked away.

~~

The old rocking chair creaked and groaned with each gentle sway, a rhythmic lullaby to the quiet evening. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky to the tender mercies of twilight. A cool breeze danced through the hallways, carrying with it the sweet, distant scent of the roses blooming within the garden.

My mind drifted to the stories Grandma used to tell me when I was young. Her tales of adventure and wonder had always had a way of making the most mundane moments feel magical. Suddenly, I recalled one of her favorite stories about a flower, a rare and mystical flower that was said to hold secrets untold. She had painted a picture of a world where two of these delicate blossoms emerged from the earth every thousand years.

Hastily I climbed to my feet and hurried down the hall that led to my bedroom. Going over to the chest that rested beside my bed, I raised its lid, carefully lifting out the tome that rested inside.

Grandma’s grimoire, an ancient book filled with spells and lore, had been her prized possession. Its pages even then, had been yellowed with age and whispered of the unexplained. She had shown it to me only once, her trembling hands tracing the intricate designs that adorned its cover. "Never touch it without permission," she had warned, "for the power it holds is not for the faint of heart."

Its age bore witness to countless generations, standing firm against the ravages of time. Each crevice held a secret, every corner a whisper of a past I longed to explore. As I gently turned the pages, I couldn't help but feel a tug at my soul, an inexplicable yearning to uncover the mysteries of the remaining flower. It was as if the very air was alive with the whispers of ancestors, the parchment crackling beneath my touch as I hunted for the incantation that would reveal the flower's location.

The grimoire was a labyrinth of arcane knowledge, a treasure trove of forgotten spells and ancient lore. The words danced before my eyes, swirling into patterns that spoke of ancient battles and timeless enmities.

With trembling hands, I turned page after page, the candlelight flickering over the aged parchment. Each incantation held a promise of power, of protection, of vengeance—but none spoke of the flower. The pressure mounted with each fruitless search, the weight of the coven’s fate pressing down upon my shoulders.

Finally, on a page that seemed to pulse with an inner light, I found it. An incantation for the Seeking of the Lost Bloom, a spell that would reveal the flower’s presence anywhere in the realm. It was a delicate dance of syllables and gestures, a silent promise to the very fabric of magic itself.

My heart racing, I took a deep breath and began to recite the words, my voice echoing in the stillness of the room. The air grew thick with anticipation, and the shadows grew restless, drawn to the power I was about to unleash.

The incantation grew stronger, each word a declaration of intent, a shout to the universe that I would not let the Laraque Coven fall. As the final syllable left my lips, the room was bathed in a soft glow, and the very air grew still. I knew where it was!

Carefully returning the grimoire to its resting place, I closed the lid of the trunk and hurried toward the council room.

As I entered, Redakai, Angalina, and Corton—Redakai's youngest brother—as well half a dozen other coven members peered in my direction.

I stepped forward, my chin high.“I know where there is another flower!” I announced, my voice strong despite the tremor in my hands.