Sisters of the Coven (Daughters of the Warlock 1)

“It’s Matlock... It’s always been Matlock. My mother loved him for decades...” I sobbed as the truth fell from my lips.

I hung my head and cried as her magic leaked out of me.

Someone must have released her magic because the bonds around my wrist and body fell away and I slithered to the floor.

Tavlor caught me just before my head hit the concrete.

He swept me up into his arms and held me tight, a deep, warm sense of healing washing over me.

“Thank you...” I whispered, though I could barely open my eyes. I felt like she’d drugged me.

My arms and legs were heavy. Mmy eyes slid shut. A strange headache floated around my head.

Tavlor didn’t say anything, but his muscles trembled as his expression darkened.

“How dare you touch me!” Charity screamed.

Tavlor took a step back. Away from her?

I lifted my head but my skull was far too heavy, so dropped it against his shoulder.

Nearby, Charity continued to yell. “Put her down, you traitor!”

Tavlor growled, the noise both terrifying and settling, since I was the one he was protecting.

“My only allegiance is to the High Warlock,” he snapped. He was more animal than Fae, than human, and I realized just how much that ferocity pulled me in. “You attacked him and exposed this girl as his daughter. Do not accuse me of the very thing you are acting like.”

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but no words came out. The room tipped as darkness encroached from the side of my vision. Then it engulfed me, and I passed out.

When I opened my eyes again, it took a moment for me to make out that I was in a hospital bed, pushed to the side of a sterile white room. The lights were dimmed, and I was alone.

Not a friend in sight.

The truth stung: I was on my own here.

Fine.

A moment later, the door opened and a woman stepped into the room.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said. “Good. Drink this.”

She handed me a glass of water.

“No, thank you.” I wasn’t drinking anything that they were giving me. I didn’t trust anyone in this realm.

“You’re dehydrated. You need it.”

She probably wasn’t wrong. My lips were dry, and my throat was sore.

I lifted my hand and, still feeling drugged, conjured myself a glass of water from a place I could trust.

A feminine chuckle came from the other side of the room.

As I drank my water, I slid my gaze across to the place it came from.

Abigail sat on a gurney in the corner, tucked into the shadows.

I startled, trickling water onto my lap.