I didn’t want to take lives. I wanted to save them. As spots filled my vision and the world went gray, I thrust my hand into her chest and pulled.

Artemis collapsed beside me, breathless but alive after I extracted the dark spirit. The illusions evaporated like morning mist under sunlight, leaving me on the ground alone, panting through the harsh reality of my actions.

Mazarin’s hand brushed my shoulder. Her gaze held sorrow that matched my own torment.

“The journey ahead will test you without mercy, Sierra. But always remember who you are. That is your greatest strength.”

Images flashed before my eyes—the faces of the ones I loved twisted by darkness and hostility. If I couldn’t turn them away from that path, I might have no choice but to take them on as enemies. My hands clenched, still feeling the blood of fake Torin on my fingers.

My stomach turned. I believed I would rather die myself than harm any of them. But when he’d killed Ethan….

I thought of Artemis, Enzo and the others. If they could not be saved from their curse ... would death in combat be a mercy compared to the hellish existence that awaited them? Or the rest of the world if the Unconsecrated were left unchecked?

My knees weakened at the horrific options before me. Was this the cost of my so-called destiny? Either allow the world to fall into darkness or personally destroy those I cherished most?

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I had craved nothing more than to run away from it all. But I couldn’t flee this bitch of my fate. Somehow, I had to find a way to save them that would not end in their deaths. I clung to that fragile hope with all my heart. I had tried another way with Artemis, and it had worked. Getting physically close to the guys should be easy, right?

A tiny thread of hope began to stitch itself in my heart. I had to steel myself for the dangers that were coming. Nothing was going to stop that awful wheel of fate from turning, and I had to be ready.

CHAPTER 5

TORIN

MURPHY HOUSE

The silence of my bedroom was as dark and oppressive as the room itself. Normally, it brought me comfort, but now it weighed on me as I tried to make sense of what had happened.

Dad must have put me here after he’d knocked me out. But why? Why did he do that in the first place? Was it because he’d noticed the Unconsecrated spirit within me, spurring me to violence?

Most likely.

I waved a hand toward the incense burner by the bed to move the stale air. I hadn’t slept here for what felt like weeks. The air was cool in my room, the scent of incense burning sweet and thick, thin plumes of smoke wafting about in thin lines that were blown by the tiny fan next to it. Yet couldn’t mask the lingering memory of the taste of sex on my tongue, or the sweat that clung to my skin like a second layer.

Shit. I’d just been through hell, and a fight with my parents, yet still my dick woke up hard the same as any other day. My heart raced with an unfamiliar energy as I remembered every touch, every moan, every grasp of their naked bodies entwined with mine. The bonding was supposed to make us stronger; instead, it seemed to have backfired horribly.

As I’d been doing for the past who-knew-how-many hours, I tried to figure out what had happened between Sierra and the four of us. The taste of fear and lust on her lips taunted me with the knowledge of how far we’d gone with that damned ritual. I’d done it all for the sake of family and friends, as well as our coven, the school, and the bloody prophecy that had cursed us since the beginning of time. But now, as I leaned against the black leather headboard, I realized how much further it had gone than any of us could have imagined.

I glanced up at the shelves that held centuries-old books of magic - secrets of our ancestors that we’d sworn to protect. But had we gone too far? Had we tampered with forces beyond our comprehension?

Fuck, I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror without seeing a monster staring back. A monster who’d cast a spell on a beautiful young woman who’d never asked for any of this.

My attention flew to the door as it creaked open, and there he was. Dad’s gray-streaked hair and sorrow-filled blue eyes held centuries of magic abuse and its repercussions. I felt like I was staring at my future.

He took a seat in the mahogany chair by my desk.

“Well,” he said softly, “I guess we’ve done it now.”

His gaze shifted between us, taking in our disheveled forms.

I didn’t even ask what he meant. There were too many things. Too many mistakes. My stomach dropped. And some weren’t even mistakes; they were curses.

Like the fucking Murphy Curse - a story I’d never believed, yet never before had understood so viscerally. How a lover’s betrayal led to disaster and madness, and now it hung over our heads like a blade over a puppet’s strings, waiting to slice through us at any moment.

He nodded slowly, as if he understood my thoughts. “One of our ancestors was the lover of the first witch,” he said, his voice still hoarse from being held in the underworld for so long. “But he betrayed her when he was seduced by darkness. And when she was overtaken by the dark wizards and witches, he did nothing as they beheaded her.”

“So, she cursed him as her head fell to the ground.” I said flatly.

A flash of pain filled dad’s face, as if he were remembering something that had happened to him. “And laid a sacred obligation on her descendants to reap the souls of the wicked, culling the covens of the Unconsecrated.”

A slither of anger and unease rippled my skin - not my own anger, it was that of the evil spirit whose power resided within me.

Dad’s eyes widened and his face went even more pale. Did he know? Of course, he must. He’d been tortured in the underworld by Dark Ones for not accepting them.

With a wave of nausea, the connection clicked. Sierra wasn’t a pawn in a prophecy foretelling the balance of worlds; she was the key to saving us from our own damnation. That’s what he’d meant when I was poisoned in the cave. He’d said she was the key.

“You see now why it was critical that you bind yourself to her?” My father’s voice was a cold wind that sliced through my thoughts.

I felt sick as I nodded.

He continued, “If she loses herself to darkness, you will all be destroyed together as you destroy our world. If she becomes a Reaper, she’ll destroy you and your friends’ souls – all of you – unless she redeems you instead.”

Redemption.

My chest tightened at the word. Images flashed in my mind: Sierra’s lips, red and swollen from my kisses; her moans mingling with mine. The taste of her sweat on my tongue. The feel of her nails digging into my back. The way she’d grabbed at my hair, pulling me closer.

But was it only because I’d tampered with her free will? Made her want us more than she did already?

Fuck.

I felt as if I was betraying her all over again, ripping out my own heart with each thought.

Dad’s face hardened, his voice became urgent. “You must find a way to fix or strengthen the bond you’ve created, or it will break all of you.”

A muscle in my jaw twitched. I didn’t know how to tell him about the spell I’d cast. That I’d tried to influence Sierra’s affections without realizing the consequences.

But I couldn’t keep quiet about it. “There’s something else,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes steeled.

I started to spill - the desire-enhancing spell, Heath’s skepticism, Riley’s warnings. Everything but the fact that the Dark Ones had urged me to do it in the first place. But hell, truth was, I also wanted it. I’d wanted to fuck and punish her since we’d met.

He merely sat there, face impassive as he listened. When he finally sighed, it was filled with resignation. As if he fucking knew it all along.

And he probably did, I realized, thinking again of the cave when I’d seen him in the underworld as I lay dying, before Sierra had saved me.

I nearly choked on a sob. “What do I do?”

“You must fix this.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “You and your coven brothers will need to rely on each other to do the right thing. All of you.”