I clench down on the inside of my cheek to keep my teeth from grinding.
Any more and I’ll need dentures. Restlessness prowls beneath my skin but I force myself to stand with my spine pressed to sun warm oak.
The rest of the prepackaged vanilla latte goes down smooth and does nothing for the terrible pain in my thigh. It gnawsdown to the marrow and the pressure in my ears increases the longer they read.
Neither of the witches are speed readers. Time ticks slower just to fuck with me before Aimee’s eyes widen.
When she speaks, three simple words mean the difference between salvation and the alternative. “This is easy.”
I latch onto it, a life raft in a stormy sea. “You have something?”
“This istooeasy,” RJ grumbles. “Seriously, this is a joke. It has to be.”
Acid churns in my gut. “What do you mean?”
Aimee shushes her with an elbow to the side. “This girl’s cursive is awful, by the way. But unless I’m mistaken, this sayscure.”
“Sure, it’s labeled that way, but come on. Three ingredients? It’s like a slap in the face.”
Horror strikes me silent.
I stare between the witches, all three of us unsure what to do next. “What are the ingredients?”
“It says the cure requires vampire venom, witch energy, and pure werewolf blood.” Aimee points to the page. “The ratios aren’t written but off the top of my head I think it will probably be equal parts. It makes sense if you think about it.”
RJ is right, this feels way too easy. But there, underlined and adorned with unnecessary curlicues, is the wordcure.
I flinch. “Why would equal parts make sense?”
“Because until now it’s been nearly impossible to get any of the three sides to agree to work together. We’ve always been pitted against each other, the vampires using your kind as cannon fodder and witches as power cells. Or whatever the history books say.” RJ waves it off.
Centuries of war, pain, panic. The agony of families torn apart by moon madness, and the cure is this simple?
Well, nothing is simple when it comes to having to cooperate with your enemies. Vampires and werewolves have never gotten along. Thus the wars. The constant battle for power and the way both sides have hidden their knowledge from the other, damming innocents in the process.
“That’s it?” I blurt out. “Something from each of us?”
“Seems that way.” Aimee flips through several more chapters before she turns back to the page marked with her finger. “It will take all of us to make the cure. No wonder the shaman was able to cure the moon-mad. He must have had access to all these things but kept it a secret. No one would ever think it would be this simple.”
RJ vibrates with excitement. “This is great! We can use your blood, Mandi. You were born from wolves. We have everything right here.”
Tongue tied in knots, I force the words out. “I’m not sure if it will work. I’m moonlocked. I’m basically human at this point. We’ll have a better shot at making a cure with another werewolf’s blood.”
The wind shifts, changing direction, bringing with it the acrid tang of cold blood. The metallic bitterness coats the inside of my nostrils and erases every thought in my head as I whip around.
“You’re the best bet we have,” Aimee says softly.
I hold my breath then turn, a figure cutting through the woods from a distance. He moves like he is following orders, a zombie reanimated for a terrible purpose. And for one horrible moment I wonder if this was a sick joke.
Grayson limps into the clearing with what I am assuming is Colt in his arms, covered from head to toe in a blanket. Both his eyes are blackened, bruises swelling and skin split. His lip drips blood in a steady trail down his chest.
His stride hitches as he sets the bundle beside the tree and tucks the edges tight to make sure none of the golden hour light touches the vampire.
“I’m okay,” he says. The muscles in his back tense.
Even Grayson doesn’t believe it.
He’s alive. For a heartbeat, the miracle of his arrival gives me life. It squeezes my chest tighter and I reach for him.