Mated To The Enemy

I walk around the room, searching for anything to help me pick the lock on my cell door. It's made of silver, so trying to break it down is out of the option. My actions suddenly halt, hearing the cell door squeak open. I whip my head toward the door, praying in my heart my mate isn't back to make good on his threat. I exhale when I get a different scent than his as the lights come on in the room. Eric and a woman with a herby scent tread into the room. The woman must be a water witch. Most of them are healers and deal with a lot of herbs. Witches are grouped by elements of nature, fire, water, earth, and air. They cast spells based on which element they are gifted with.

"Hi, Amelia," Eric greets. I remain silent, my gaze fixed on him and the water witch at his side, trying to decipher why they are here. My mate mentioned a woman would make me regret not disclosing where my family might be hiding. Is this water witch the woman he was talking about? As I said, most of them are healers, but they are also one of the deadliest witches out there.

Eric's voice carries a touch of concern as he approaches me, navigating the edges of the room. I instinctively step back, maintaining a wary distance. My attention might have been mainly on my mate in the ballroom earlier, but I saw him too, streaked with blood on his body from head to toe and Alphas' decapitated heads around him. We might have had an intense moment earlier that night, but it doesn't change the fact that he is the enemy.

"How are you feeling?" he inquires, his concern seemingly genuine. I raise an eyebrow, skeptical of his sudden care. He didn't hesitate to take lives earlier, so why express concern for mine?

"I understand why you would be wary of me, but I don’t wish to harm you, Amelia," he asserts, attempting to reassure me. I meet his gaze, skeptical about his gentle behavior toward me. He didn’t have a problem killing my people, so why should he care about me?

"Why are you here then?" I question, my tone holding a hint of suspicion.

He sighs before responding, "I am here to ensure you are prepared for what’s coming."

“What’s coming?” I press, shifting my gaze between Eric and the water witch by his side.

"You will find out very soon. Have a look at her, Hillary," Eric instructs the water witch. She approaches me, but I instinctively move away, keeping a safe distance on the other side of the wall.

“Don’t come close to me,” I warn, uncertainty clouding my thoughts. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want any witch around me right now. She could be trying to kill me for all I know.

“Amelia, she’s only trying to check on you. She doesn’t wish to harm you,” Eric reassures, closing the distance between us. Despite his assurances, I continue retreating from them.

“Why?” I question, baffled by their sudden interest in my well-being. It seems counterintuitive for those responsible for my injuries to now express concern about my health.

“We don’t want you to die when she comes,” Eric states, mentioning a ‘she’ as Nicholas did.

“When who comes?” I demand, my steps grinding to a halt.

"You will find out soon,” Eric says, abruptly seizing my hand. I tug my hand out of his, attempting to pull away, but his grip is unyielding.

I can't fathom why, but his words are challenging to believe. My mate isn't one to treat my wounds out of kindness, and he certainly won't use this approach to get information from me. Something feels off, and I'm left puzzled about what might be happening.

"I could sedate her with magic," the water witch suggests, positioned a few feet away.

"No! Stay the hell away from me!" I scream, desperation mounting. I struggle against Eric's grasp, determined to resist whatever they have planned. However, my efforts prove futile as he shoves me against the wall, securing me in place. The water witch conjures liquid from a bottle, muttering incantations for a spell. In moments, she douses my face with the enchanted water, and darkness envelops me once more.

***

Opening my eyes with a jolt, I take in the dimly lit room, grappling to understand my surroundings. A pang of disappointment settles in as I realize I’m still in the same cold and dimly lit space. For a second, I wished everything was a very elaborate bad dream that I could finally wake up from. As I gather my bearings, I sense something on my ribs and back. Lifting my dress, I discover bandages there. It strikes me - they genuinely treated my wounds. The question lingers: Why?

"Welcome back," Eric's voice reaches me from a few feet away. Hastily getting to my feet, I regret the decision as my body wobbles, nearly causing me to fall. Eric, with his lycan speed, swiftly catches me, preventing a mishap.

"You still have some of the silver in your system. You shouldn't try to move around too much."

I shove at his chest to create some distance as a headache starts to form. Closing my eyes, I massage my temples to alleviate the pain. The thought crosses my mind: Did they treat my wounds only to gift me a nasty headache in return?

"Sorry about that; it’s to make sure everything goes well," he apologizes, remaining uncomfortably close.

"I don’t know what games you are playing, but it won’t work. I will never tell you where my family is," I assert, brushing off the throbbing in my head.

"Games? We haven’t even done anything yet," confusion evident in his voice.

I open my eyes, locking gazes with him. "Then how do you explain what’s going on now?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asks, chuckling. My brows knit together.

"You know what I'm talking about," I grit out, my head pounding with every passing second. I search the room for the witch who treated me. I need to have a word with her. Who the hell treats someone's wounds and gives them a bad headache in return?

"No, I don't."

"You do,"

"He doesn't, and if you would just fucking calm down, the headache will stop," someone says from outside the cell. A whiff of rainforest hits my nose, and my blood runs cold. He's here.

With every step he takes, my heart pounds. I retreat from Eric further into the room as his footsteps draw closer and closer until he's in front of me. I gasp, finding myself face to face with the most exquisite emerald eyes I had ever seen but also the most terrifying. He used his lycan speed to close the distance between us in a matter of milliseconds.

"Be calm," he commands, in that thick British accent that makes any word that rolls out of his mouth the sexiest thing a man could ever say. I breathe in his scent, and a wave of warmth surges through my bones, and my headache starts to subside instantly. I hate that his scent can do that to me.

"Why is my head hurting after getting treated?" I ask, tilting my head back as I speak to him. He’s so tall.

"Side effects of the drug," he replies, moving away from me and approaching the door.

“What drug?”

“None of your concern.”

"What do you plan to do with me?" I inquire.

"You are about to find out," he replies and walks out, leaving me more confused than I was minutes ago.

I turn to Eric, about to ask him to explain when the clicking of someone’s heels outside my cell halts me. A beautiful redhead in her late forties or early fifties with brown eyes steps into the room. She sets her sights on me, and they light up, staring at me. I look at her, wondering why she’s so happy to see me even though I have no clue who she is.

“Your Highness,” Eric says, bowing his head. All the color drains from my face as my eyes widen in terror—a redhead Queen. There is only one person she could be.

“Hello, princess,” Ava, the Queen of Witches, says, her voice dripping with a sinister sweetness. Her lips, painted in a bold red hue, stretch into a big grin, revealing pearl-white teeth. Clad in a red pantsuit that matches her lipstick, with black heels adding a touch of elegance, she exudes an air of confidence and power. One look at her and it’s evident that red is her favorite color.

She moves toward me, an evil smile playing on her lips. Ava places her long, black-painted fingers on my chin, forcing my head to move from side to side.

"You might have your mother’s hair and face, but your eyes," she remarks with a disdainful click of her tongue. "Those are Becky’s," she adds, digging her nail into my chin, threatening to draw blood, before abruptly flipping my face to the side.

I pant, my heart pounding, fearing my death was near. There is no one on Earth that Ava hates more than Becky, my late fraternal grandmother. Becky was the one who killed Ava’s mate.

Ava turns away from me, directing her attention to Eric.

“Do you mind giving us some privacy before we start?” Ava requests, her voice carrying a chilling tone.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Eric replies. Thank heavens, he is not leaving me alone with this monstrous witch. Despite my mother resurrecting Ava’s mate, Leo, I know Ava still holds a deep-seated grudge against Grandma Becky for massacring half her kind while searching for her.

“I promise I only wish to speak to the child and nothing more,” Ava insists.

“Nick gave strict instructions not to leave the two of you alone,” Eric pushes back.

“I know, dear.” She moves closer to Eric, her hand gently resting on his shoulder as she locks eyes with him. “I promise I won’t do anything.”

Eric's Adam's apple bobs as he attempts to maintain eye contact with Ava.

“I will be outside,” Eric says, stepping back, causing her hand to drop from his shoulder. He turns to leave the cell, but not before stealing a fleeting glance at me, his eyes filled with an unmistakable pity.

“Good,” She says, turning away from him and fixing her malicious gaze back on me.