Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,142

the crowd desperately.

I stopped dead, stricken. Unable to move.

My mother.

“Behold this woman!” Morgane shouted over the sudden din of voices. “Behold the treacherous Helene!” She grabbed Madame Labelle by the hair and threw her down the temple steps. “This woman—once our sister, once my heart—conspires with the human king. She birthed his bastard child.” Shrieks of outrage rent the air. “Tonight, she was found attempting to force entry on the Chateau. She plots to steal our Mother’s precious gift by taking my daughter’s life herself. She would have us all burn under the tyrant king!”

The cries reached a deafening pitch, and Morgane’s eyes shone with triumph as she descended the steps. As she drew a wickedly sharp dagger from her belt. “Louise le Blanc, daughter and heir to La Dame des Sorcières, I shall honor you with her death.”

“No!” Lou’s body spasmed as she fought to move with her entire being. Tears poured down Madame Labelle’s cheeks.

I tore viciously from Ansel’s grasp and lunged forward, diving for the temple steps—desperate to reach them, desperate to save the two women I needed most—just as Morgane plunged the dagger into my mother’s chest.

The Pattern

Reid

“NO!” I fell to my knees before her body, jerking the dagger from her chest, fingers moving to stanch the bleeding. But I already knew it was too late. I was too late. There was too much blood for this wound to be anything but fatal. I stopped my frenzied ministrations and clutched her hands instead. Her eyes never left my face. We each stared at the other hungrily—as if in that brief moment, a thousand other moments might’ve happened.

Her holding a chubby finger. Her tending a scraped knee. Her laughing when I first kissed Célie, telling me I hadn’t done it right.

Then the moment ended. The cold tingle of her magic left my face. Her breath faltered, and her eyes closed.

A blade touched my throat.

“Rise,” Morgane commanded.

I exploded upward, catching her wrist and shattering it with ease—with savage pleasure. She screeched, dropping the dagger, but I didn’t stop. I bore down on her. My free hand wrapped around her throat—squeezing until I could feel her windpipe give, kicking the dagger down the steps toward Ansel—

Her other hand blasted into my stomach—stunning me—and invisible bonds cinched around my body, pinned my arms to my sides. My legs went rigid. She struck me again, and I toppled over, thrashing against the bonds. The harder I struggled, the tighter they became. They bit into my skin, drawing blood—

“Mother, stop!” Lou spasmed again, shuddering with the effort to reach me, but her body remained suspended. “Don’t hurt him!”

Morgane didn’t listen. She appeared to be feeling for something in empty air. Her eyes darted outward as she tracked whatever it was into the crowd. With a vicious tug, two familiar people staggered forward. My heart dropped. Morgane pulled harder, and Ansel and Beau fell at the temple steps, struggling against invisible bonds of their own. Their faces had returned to normal.

“Her coconspirators!” A mad gleam entered Morgane’s eyes, and the witches went wild with bloodlust—stamping their feet and screaming—as they struggled to converge on the temple. Magic shot past my face. Ansel cried out as a spell slashed his cheek. “The king’s sons and huntsmen! They shall bear witness to our triumph! They shall watch as we rid this world of the House of Lyon!”

She jerked her uninjured hand, and Lou slammed onto the altar. The witches screamed their approval. I threw myself forward. Rolled and clawed and twisted toward Lou with every ounce of the strength I had left. The bonds around me strained.

“Nature demands balance!” Morgane swooped to retrieve the dagger from the steps. When she spoke again, her voice had deepened to an unearthly timbre, multiplied as if thousands of witches were speaking through her. “Louise le Blanc, thy blood is the price.” Enchantment washed over the temple, burning my nose and clouding my mind. I gritted my teeth. Forced myself to see through it—to see through her.

Beau immediately slackened. His eyes glazed as Morgane’s skin began to glow. Ansel alone struggled on, but his resolve quickly faltered.

“Let it fill the cup of Lyon, for whosoever drinketh of it shalt surely die.” Morgane walked to Lou slowly, her hair billowing around her in a nonexistent wind. “And so the prophecy foretold: the lamb shalt devour the lion.”

She forced Lou to her stomach. Ripped her braid back to extend her throat over the altar basin. Lou’s eyes sought mine. “I love