When the witch realized Ian was serious about getting the truth from her, even if it meant breaking her, she waved her hand in front of him in surrender as she fell back into the seat behind her.
"Stop. I'll talk, I'll talk!" the witch shouted, finally giving in.
At the same time, her coughing ceased immediately. She drew in sharp breaths, her throat burning like she had swallowed small razors.
Sharp laughter filled the room, coming from Thomas.
"There he goes again, scaring away all his potential lovers. Seems like you weren't his type after all," Thomas remarked, stifling a chuckle.
The witch shot him an irritated glare as she managed to sit up properly.
"A black witch as an emissary. I don't know if you take us for fools to even assume we would believe such a false tale," Ian stated, looking ever calm as he stared her down.
"You were never an emissary for that pack. Tell me..." His eyes wandered briefly to the fireplace, before settling back on the witch.
"Did you murder the original emissary before impersonating her and taking her place?"
The witch stiffened, her fingers digging nervously into the armrest of the chair.
Lying to him was pointless and extremely dangerous at this point, and she knew it all too well.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Now why on earth would you do that? Was it to give the Alpha that scroll and manipulate him into using it with the promise of more power?" Ian pressed.
The witch's eyes widened as she immediately averted her gaze to the ground.
That question had most obviously hit the nail on the head. She began to sweat profusely, as though she had been trapped inside a sauna.
"What was your genius plan when you decided to stay so you could be brought here?" Ian inquired as he strode past her toward the fireplace.
His gaze fell on a tiny pin sticking up just above the fireplace, and he swiftly pulled it free, tossing it into the fire.
No reply followed his last question. The witch sat quietly, sweating and staring at the ground as if it might offer her the courage to speak.
"My patience is running thin," Ian commented, his voice cold and dangerous, still standing by the fireplace.
"There was no plan," she finally murmured. "I was simply following orders."
"Whose orders?"
As if struck by pain, the witch clutched her hair with both hands, her fingers digging into her scalp like she was trying to rip the strands from their roots.
"Ahhh!" she suddenly shrieked. "I... I don't know... I don't know..." she repeated like a mantra, her voice trembling as if she were being tortured from the inside.
Ian spun around at the sudden change. Thomas and Lucas' gazes snapped toward him.
"Are you doing this?" Lucas asked.
"No," Ian replied as he watched the witch writhe in agony.
Lucas strode toward her in hurried steps. He reached for her neck but jerked his hand back the moment his fingers made contact with her skin.
"What is it?" Thomas asked, stepping closer.
"She's burning up. Like, really burning up, almost like she's boiling from the inside," Lucas muttered.
Reaching out again, he touched her neck, ignoring the overwhelming heat as he examined her more closely. His fingers brushed against something unusual at the back of her neck, almost like a swollen vein.
He pushed her hair aside, and his eyes widened instantly.
A bleeding hole the size of a bullet sat at the back of her neck, reaching her hairline, where the abnormal vein ended.
By now, she was no longer screaming, speaking, or even moving.
Her hands fell limply to her sides, her head bent at an unnatural angle, her eyes dull and lifeless as drool slipped from her open mouth.
"What the fuck!" Thomas exclaimed when he saw her neck. "What is that?"
"A parasite," Lucas muttered as he tore the vein open with his fingers.
A thick black worm slid from the open wound, landing on the floor and squirming violently as if the air itself was scorching it.
Before their eyes, it caught fire and burned to ash.
Lucas crouched, his eyes critically examining the remains.
"It was conjured with black magic. This particular parasite feeds on its victim's memories, thoughts, and even their personality until there's nothing left, not even a soul," he explained as he rose to his feet, glancing at the ruined body of the witch.
"How the hell did it get into her neck?" Thomas asked.
"She did it to herself. She was loyal to whoever she was working for. And whoever that was, they were listening in on our conversation," Ian replied, glancing at the fireplace again, though the fire had already been completely quenched.
Strange, since it was fully fed with firewood, enough to burn for hours.
Thomas' eyes widened at Ian's words.
"Still, that's sick," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Too bad we didn't manage to get more information from her. She's practically dead at this point," Ian commented, clearly vexed.
"Well... we should leave now." He strode toward the door and stepped out.
As they came out from the cabin, Alpha Caden, who had been seated in his vehicle, immediately jumped out.
"Lucas, seems like you might have a little pickle to deal with," Thomas said, gesturing toward Alpha Caden.
Lucas sighed. Explaining this without getting shoved with accusations would be a bit of a problem.
"Fuck," he cursed, a word he rarely used.
...
Left alone in Ian's room, Camelia decided to stay until he returned. Catching sight of her completely disheveled reflection in the mirror, she opted to take a much-needed shower.
Minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom, her hair damp, a towel wrapped securely around her chest.
Searching through Ian's wardrobe for something to wear, she found nothing suitable and eventually settled on one of his shirts, a black long-sleeve, of course.
It was almost unsettling how his wardrobe consisted entirely of black attire.
Everything smelled like Ian. The familiar scent filled her chest with warmth, easing something deep inside her she hadn't realized was tense.
Just being in her mate's room made her feel safe, grounded, and strangely at peace. She sat quietly on the bed, a small, content smile curving her lips as her wolf purred softly in approval.
Then she remembered her mother. The smile vanished instantly.
To think she had boldly told her last year she would never find a mate.
Her stomach twisted with resentment. Her wolf already despised the woman, and Camelia found herself struggling not to agree.
She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, hoping to catch a short nap. It took some time, but eventually, sleep claimed her.
Camelia stirred, her head turning to the side as her eyes fluttered open. She yawned and lazily tried to shut them again, only for them to snap open when she noticed a silhouette standing by the door.
It wasn't Ian. She knew that immediately.
She sat up, her eyes locked onto the figure, relaxing slightly when she realized it was a maid.
"Do you need something?" she asked.
She glanced toward the window and froze when she saw that it was completely dark outside.
Her eyes widened. She hadn't realized she had slept that long.
A frown settled on her face when there was no response. She turned her head toward the maid.
The woman was standing far too close to the bed now.
And she was holding a knife.
Startled, Camelia jumped off the bed. She recognized the maid instantly. It was the same one who had been watching her the other day.
"What are you doing holding a knife like that?" she questioned.
"...."
No response.
The maid simply stood there, staring blankly at her. Her skin looked pale, the dark circles beneath her eyes deeper than before, giving her a disturbingly lifeless appearance.