This Coven Won't Break - Isabel Sterling Page 0,80

comms device from my ear. “Go!”

She hesitates, but the last thing I see before a dark hood covers my face is my covenmate following the crowd out the door.

21

I’M DRAGGED DOWN THE hall and shoved into an elevator, my vision cut off by the hood over my face. My stomach swoops as we rise several floors. My knees buckle, and fingers dig into my arms to hold me upright. With a shudder, we come to a stop. The door dings open, and we’re moving again. Another beep, and metal scrapes on metal. I’m shoved forward and pressed into a chair, my limbs bound tight to the wooden arms and legs. Another length of rope secures my torso.

My entire body convulses as the memories come bursting in.

Benton’s expression in the rearview mirror, hard and unfeeling. The confusion on his face moments ago in the hall. My legs bound from ankle to knee, tied to a pyre, the fire licking at my skin. Smoke choking my lungs.

It’s happening again. Except this time, Archer is caught, too. He won’t be able to save me. We’re both going to die, and it’s all my fault.

The black hood is ripped off, and I blink against the brightness. When my vision adjusts, I’m surprised to find myself sitting in a large office. Huge windows let in the early afternoon light, and the space feels warm and inviting. A large wooden desk is covered with picture frames, and a slim laptop sits at its center. Archer’s belt of potions is laid out before us.

“Hannah.” Archer’s voice comes from my left. I turn and find him strapped to a wooden armchair like the one I’m in. The office is empty except for the man standing watch by the door. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. How is any of this okay? “This is all my fault.” Tears spill down my cheeks. “If I hadn’t gone after him, we could have gotten out. And now we’re trapped. They’re going to kill us like they killed the other Casters and—”

“Hannah,” he says urgently. “We cannot panic. If they wanted us dead, we’d already be dead.” He speaks with such calm that I almost believe him, but I remember how well he can mask his fear. I don’t trust his confidence for a second. I’ve ruined us like I ruined Sarah and David and nearly Ellen, too.

Please, Ellen. Please be safe.

“Why didn’t they kill us? What do they want?”

“That is a very astute question, Miss Walsh.” The presence of the deep voice makes me jump, and the door slams shut. A man dressed in a well-tailored suit approaches the desk. A woman follows after him, similarly dressed like she’s late for a board meeting. She wears a navy pencil skirt and crisp, white blouse with her dark hair pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.

The woman leans against the edge of the desk and looks me up and down, assessing. “I’m disappointed,” she says to someone behind me. “We trained you better than to be caught off guard.”

Her gaze tracks movement that stops to my right. I risk a glance and find Benton leaning against the wall. His neck is still covered with red scratches, and he doesn’t meet either of our gazes. He keeps his attention fixed to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

Mother? I turn sharply back to the pair of Hunters in front of me. The woman—who must be Mrs. Hall—smiles coldly at me. And the man . . . Now that I’m looking for it, I can see Benton in him, can see the future Benton might grow into. The same dark hair and hazel eyes. The same nose and jawline.

These are the Hunters who murdered my dad.

I struggle against the ropes that bind me. I’m not sure if I’m desperate to escape or to finally hurt them like they’ve hurt me, but the chair doesn’t even shake. “What do you want with us?”

“We’ll be asking the questions,” Benton’s father says. He reaches for his pocket and pulls out a slim, silver lighter while Benton’s mom walks around the desk and opens the laptop. “Let’s start with how you managed to break in. We haven’t found you on any of our entrance footage.”

“You don’t need Hannah for this,” Archer says, still infuriatingly calm. “I have all the answers you need and more. She’s just a child.”

“A child who sent our son to prison,” Mrs. Hall says, glancing up from the computer. There’s a cold glint