Catherine…
…
The moment Nisaba entered the chamber, I felt it—the shift in the air, the unspoken weight of what we were about to do.
This was the final step. Layla's wolf would never see the light of day. The prophecy that whispered of her power, the one that haunted me in the dark hours of the night, would never come to pass. The ceremony would bind her powers for good, ensuring that she could never become the threat I feared she could be.
I paced before the fireplace, the heat licking at my skin, but I welcomed it. Anything was better than the cold, creeping doubt that had begun to coil around my thoughts. Rhys had gone to oversee the final preparations, ensuring that everything was in place. It had to be flawless. The spell had to be quick, efficient, and irreversible.
A flicker of anticipation curled in my chest. Finally, I would be rid of this nuisance. Finally, Layla would be nothing more than a shadow in my world.
The heavy oak door creaked as Nisaba stepped inside, her robes whispering against the stone floor. Shadows clung to her, moving unnaturally as if drawn to her very essence. She carried the scent of earth and decay, the aroma of things forgotten and buried. She had served my family for years—long before I became Luna. She was the one who had whispered of poisons and hexes when I needed them. The one who had ensured Layla's mother was too weak to fight back, too sick to stop what was coming.
And now, she would seal Layla's fate for good.
"I trust everything is ready?" I asked, keeping my voice composed, my spine straight.
Nisaba tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "It is," she rasped, her voice like the scrape of bone against stone. "But you must be certain, Catherine. Magic of this kind is not undone."
I stiffened. "I wouldn't have called for you if I wasn't."
Nisaba chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "No," she murmured. "But doubt lingers in you like a sickness. Be careful. The Moon Goddess does not take kindly to those who meddle in what is destined."
I ignored her words, turning my gaze toward the girl in the center of the room.
Layla stood still, her hands bound by silver chains, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders in waves that glowed in the firelight. Even now, in her moment of weakness, she looked like something celestial—a fallen goddess stripped of her divinity.
Her silver eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw it. Something fierce. Something untamed.
I clenched my fists. Not for much longer.
Nisaba moved toward her, murmuring in the ancient tongue. The air shifted, growing heavier, pressing down on us like an unseen weight. The candle flames trembled, flickering wildly, casting the walls in shifting, elongated shadows.
Layla's lips parted slightly, but she made no sound.
The incantation deepened. Dark energy slithered through the air, coiling around her wrists and ankles, sinking into her skin like ink bleeding into parchment.
Her body tensed. Her jaw tightened. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, but still, she did not scream.
The fire roared higher, its light illuminating the beads of sweat forming on her brow.
Nisaba's voice grew louder, pressing forward, forcing the magic deeper.
Layla's breaths quickened. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her muscles straining against the invisible force that sought to crush her. A single flicker of defiance flashed in her silver eyes, sharp as the edge of a blade.
It sent a chill up my spine.