Chapter 30: A sacrifice

Chapter 30

Isabella stayed frozen on the threshold for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The transition from the damp, suffocating cave to this warm, sun-drenched interior was shocking.

Her brain was still trying to reconcile that witches were real and this white eyed female was as terrifying as they had been in stories.

“The threshold is a filter, little wolf,” Clara’s voice floated from deeper within the cabin. “It only shows you what your soul is prepared to handle. Apparently, earlier today, you were only prepared for dirt and darkness.”

Lucian stepped inside first, his presence immediately making the cozy room feel small. He was still a mess—covered in dried blood and dirt—but the way he carried himself in this space suggested he had been here a hundred times before.

Isabella followed, her shoes scuffing against a thick, hand-woven rug. She looked around, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface, but it was being pushed aside by a growing sense of unease.

The cabin was filled with jars of strange, floating specimens, shelves of crumbling leather books, and—most disturbingly—several mirrors that didn’t reflect the room at all.

“Sit,” Clara commanded, gesturing to a pair of velvet high-backed chairs near a fireplace that crackled with blue flames.

Isabella didn’t sit. She walked toward a small table near the window. On it sat a single framed photograph.

It was old, the edges curled with age, but it was dustless, as if touched often. The woman in it was unmistakable. It was Clara. She looked exactly the same as she did now.

But standing next to her, with a hand on her shoulder, was a man whose face was hidden in shadow, wearing a crest Isabella recognized from the history books.

Her pulse stumbled.

Something cold slid into her gut as understanding began to stir. This wasn’t just history. This was personal.

Isabella straightened slowly, the photograph burning in her mind. Clara and Lucian—whatever they were to each other now—had not always been enemies. There had been trust once. Proximity. Perhaps even loyalty.

The thought unsettled her more than any insult.

Before Isabella could process the image further, Clara appeared beside her with the suddenness of a shadow.

Her fingers plucked the photograph from Isabella’s hand and settled it back onto the desk with a sharp, possessive click.

“Curiosity is a dangerous trait for someone with such a short lifespan,” Clara murmured as she shoved a stone cup into Isabella’s hands.

It was heavy and cold, the liquid inside a thick, swirling maroon that looked less like tea and more like something pulled from a stagnant pond.

“Drink,” Clara commanded. Isabella looked down at the cup, her nose wrinkling in immediate revulsion.

A thin, oily sheen sat on the surface, and it smelled of iron, bitter herbs, and something spoilt that made her stomach churn.

“I’m not putting this anywhere near my face. It looks like it’s still alive.” Clara’s white eyes narrowed, her patience thinning like old silk.

“You performed a forbidden ritual and lost enough blood to kill three of your kind. Your body is currently running on borrowed time and Lucian’s spite. You need to regain your strength, or your heart will simply forget to beat.”

Isabella remained stubborn, her fingers tightening around the cold stone. She looked over her shoulder at Lucian, seeking some sign that this wasn’t a death sentence in a cup.

He had settled onto a velvet couch, leaning back with a grace that felt out of place in a rustic cabin.

He looked back at her, his crimson eyes tracking the way her hands were shaking. He didn’t look at the cup, he looked at her, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

“Drink it,” he said, his voice was low. “If she wanted you dead, she would have let the Sentinel finish the job. She doesn’t waste her brews on people she hasn’t found a use for yet.”

The word use grated on Isabella’s nerves, but the sheer exhaustion finally began to win. Her knees felt hollow.

She took a tentative, disgusted sip. The taste was worse than the smell—thick, salty, and bitter enough to make her eyes water—but the moment it hit the back of her throat, a jolt of heat raced through her veins.

The dizzying fog in her head cleared instantly. The ache in her joints vanished, replaced by a strange, humming energy that felt like a low-voltage current under her skin.

Clara watched her, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Better?”

“I’ve had better-tasting cough syrup,” Isabella rasped, though she couldn’t deny the strength returning to her limbs.

Clara hummed, turning to Lucian. “Now. To the matter of this… accident.” She moved to a large hearth, where she began to pull down jars of silver powder and dried roots.

“You ask for the impossible, Lucian. In my two thousand years on this wretched earth, I have seen empires crumble to dust and gods forgotten, but never have I heard of a vampire reversing a bond. It is simply not done.”

She paused, looking between the ancient King she had known since when she was a baby, way long before she even knew she was a witch.

“Vampires are creatures of will. You choose your mates, making the tie a knot of blood and desire that the universe itself respects.”

Clara had longed to be Lucain’s chosen mate but he’d never looked at her more than a witch he protected not until she used a love portion on him that backfired.

She glanced dismissively at Isabella, hate and jealousy mixing in between. ” Werewolf….they are slaves to the Moon Goddess. Their fates are handed to them like scraps from a table, which is why their kind is so prone to the drama of rejection. But this?”

Clara gestured broadly with a hand laden with silver rings. “A vampire bond tangled with a wolf’s thread? It is a mutation. A first in history. Mistake or not, wolf or not, you have bridged two species that have spent centuries trying to exterminate one another. You haven’t just created a bond”

Isabella felt a cold sweat break out on her neck just as the mark throbbed. She wasn’t just a wolfless freak anymore, she was a historical anomaly, breaking all records.

First to not have a wolf, not see her heat until recently and now? Bonded to an enemy.

“Reversing a mark of this magnitude isn’t a simple healing spell, Lucian. You’ve stitched her soul into your Crown. To unpick those threads without unraveling the both of you…”

She trailed off, her white eyes fixing on Isabella with a look that made the hair on the back of Isabella’s neck stand up.

“It requires a sacrifice. A hollow. One of you will have to hold the bond steady while I cut the other loose. And the one left behind… well, they rarely remain the same.”

Isabella’s stomach dropped. She looked at Lucian, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “What do you mean, they don’t remain the same?” Isabella demanded.

“What happens to the one who stays behind?”. Clara smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing Isabella had seen yet.

“The soul is not a garment you can just take off, girl. When I cut him loose, the part of you that is tied to him will be ripped out. You’ll be a vessel with a hole in the center. A ghost in a living body.”

††

Clara really wants Isabella gone lol.

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