Chapter 9: The Aftermath - Bloodween

“SHE’S JUST A LITTLE WITCH, HIS BLOOD IS TOO STRONG.”

I was cold.

Not the kind a blanket could fix.

The kind that felt like someone had left me in a walk-in freezer to die.

Because that’s what I was doing.

Dying.

At least, that’s how it sounded and felt every time I surfaced. My body was not happy with me, and it showed in the acid that burned my throat.

“Hold her,” someone said as I vomited, blood projecting out of my mouth.

Something was severely wrong and they knew it too. I felt them all watching me like I was a science project.

“She’s rejecting it,” a voice whispered. “I knew she would fail.”

I had a few choice words for whoever had said it, but were they wrong?

During our prep-work, we were warned that the first six hours after the ritual would be hard, but that it was also the most critical. It was when it would be revealed whether the Bloodween Ritual was a success.

We were told we’d feel flu-like symptoms—weakness, fever, chills, maybe nausea.

But no one mentioned throwing up blood.

No one mentioned feeling the world collapse around you.

No one mentioned drowning.

And I—I was drowning.

* * *

October 31st, 12:22 p.m. — Five Hours Post-Ritual

I woke to Master Vale’s voice. “Enough!” she barked at someone as I opened my eyes.

This was the first time I had the strength to do it.

“Master Vale!” a voice called from beside me. I was too weak to see who it was. “Her eyes are open.”

Blurry figures rushed toward me.

“And they are still pale!”

Our eyes told everything. Pale red wasn’t terrible; it meant my body was still in the aftermath of the ritual, in that waiting period.

“I told you, she wasn’t built for this!”

Inwardly I rolled my eyes at that voice. The same one that used to correct my spellwork in front of everyone. It was like nails scraping against glass. Eira. Master Vale’s sister and the Second Seat of our coven. Also my biggest opp.

Something bitter and sharp swirled around my head and entered my nostrils—burning herbs, maybe sage mixed with iron.

“She’s just a little witch, his blood is too strong! That’s why her sacrifice is still in his form. Look!”

I tried to look, but my head was too heavy. I'd almost forgot that he'd be here too, in the room with me as the ritual decided our fates. That was how it went—when you were brought back to the coven, your sacrifice stayed with you until all was said and done. Until all was revealed.

“Eira, what do you want me to do? Goodness, she is still a Crimson Witch. I will not let her die.”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice,” she huffed. “She’s doing that on her own.”

I tried to talk, to defend myself, but I couldn’t. Every word I heard made me want to disappear.

If I failed, if he remained in his wolf state, I didn’t want to live. Life without magic was one thing, but the shame of not being successful was something I wouldn’t allow myself to endure.

I had been doubted all my life. This was supposed to be the time I proved everyone wrong—and I didn’t.

* * *

October 31st, 3:13 p.m. — Eight Hours Post-Ritual

I blinked my eyes open.

I didn’t know how long I’d been out or how much time had passed, but I knew that by now, the body I was staring at should’ve been human, not a massive wolf.

A wolf whose fur was still matted with the blood I’d let drip out of my mouth.

Varek was still holding on, the air around him vibrating.

My chest hitched. A cough tore out of me—bile and spit because there was nothing left.

“This again,” someone said. I didn’t know who. Didn’t care. I heard the judgment in their tone.

They saw me as pathetic.

I didn’t blame them.

They weren’t the one who had messed up and sacrificed the wrong wolf. I was. I made that choice, and now his body was proof of it.

* * *

October 31st, 6:27 p.m. — Eleven Hours Post-Ritual

Heat. Then ice. Then nothing. Then everything.

My veins felt loud. Too full. Like something new was shoving the old out of the way and didn’t care how much it hurt.

I screamed.

“Keep her still!” Master Vale yelled.

“Sidra! We can’t keep doing this. She is suffering. I know you think I’m being selfish but⁠—”

“It has not failed. Don’t say it again,” Master Vale said, calmly. “Her eyes remain pale. The confirmation hasn’t come yet.”

“You and I both know it shouldn’t take this long. It has never taken longer than six. We are at eleven—nearly double.”

Eleven hours? Six would’ve been pushing it. Most confirmations happened within four.

“I know how to tell time, sister. I am aware it’s taking longer than normal. Nothing about this has been normal, but I will not claim something that has not been confirmed. As long as her eyes remain as they are, we do what is necessary to keep her alive. Do you understand?”

Eira sucked her teeth. “What I understand is it should’ve been my daughter. Had you just⁠—”

That does not matter!” Master Vale’s voice cracked through the room causing the young witch assistants to jump. Her tone always had a way of silencing thunder.

I tensed without meaning to. Well, maybe I meant to, because Eira mentioned her witch of a daughter—Elyessa. She’d always been better than me in her eyes. And the truth: she probably was. But I was smarter, more calculated, and that’s how I got selected for this year’s Bloodween.

Ely rested on her mother and aunt’s power, thinking it was enough.

Fortunately for me, Master Vale didn’t share that sentiment.

If I could’ve laughed at the irony, I would’ve. But I didn’t have the air—not when my magic was flaring out of me, fast, wrong, too much.

A candle popped. Glass cracked. Hands moved.

“Bind her again,” someone yelled, and the pressure came back.

So did the sleep.

* * *

October 31st, 8:42 p.m. — Thirteen Hours Post-Ritual

My teeth knocked together hard enough to hurt.

But everything hurt.

The restraints still pressed into my wrists. I couldn’t tell if it was from them or from the magic inside me that refused to die quietly.

I was exhausted.

Furious.

And underneath it all, terrified.

Eira’s words flooded back into me: “She’s doing that on her own.”

Was I? Was I letting myself die? Had I given up?

With the amount of time that had passed—thirteen hours now—it was starting to feel like it.

And I hated that for me, because I wasn’t that girl.

I didn’t let things happen to me. Not if I planned to prove I wasn’t the less-than Crimson Witch many of them had written me off to be.

I was strong enough for this. I wasn’t a failure—I was a fighter.

The heat pulsed again, sharp under my ribs as if my magic agreed. I didn’t know what that feed had done to the vampire in me, but I knew it was fighting—and I needed to as well.

No more waiting.

I forced a breath past the weight in my chest, and my eyes landed on Varek.

If the blood was still moving in me, if he hadn’t turned human yet, then it wasn’t over.

But he had to let go, so I could win. My legacy wouldn’t die with him.

* * *

October 31st, 10:18 p.m. — Fifteen Hours Post-Ritual

The next time I came to, the room was thinner. Quieter.

It felt like I was alone, but I wasn’t.

He was there.

I stared at him. At Varek. My angry little wolf true to form.

His eyes opened, and I jerked, almost falling off my bed if not for the restraints still binding me.

Bound. That’s how I felt as he glared at me—bound to him.

“You used us.” I almost lost my mind at Dorian’s voice. He stood at the side of Varek’s bed, same tone, same fury.

Was this a dream? Or were they really here? It didn’t matter. His words were facts.

“I did,” I admitted. Each word hurt leaving my raw throat.

“Why?” he spat.

“I told you why. Your blood.”

“But why me?” he pressed. “We—he—felt something different with you. It didn’t make sense, but I know you felt it too. I saw it in your fucking eyes, Armisha.”

I blinked, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Power had no room for feelings.

Power had no room for feelings.

Power had no room for feelings.

Especially now, when I was already so weak.

“Say something,” he barked.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

Varek growled, eyes on Dorian.

“We don’t believe you. You’re heartless. Selfish. Your type,” he motioned around, “would clearly do anything for power.”

“You’re right.” The words ripped out of me. “It wasn’t even supposed to be you. Renna⁠—”

His eyes widened. “You were gonna kill Renna?“

“Yes,” I ignored his judgment, “but plans change, and⁠—”

I looked away, afraid to see his face as the truth left my lips. In this moment, he was more handsome than I remembered. Varek more beautiful. His coat gleamed, even with the remnants of blood.

“I wish it wasn’t you. But someone had to be betrayed. Someone had to be sacrificed, Dorian.” Eyes back on him. “It was either me or you. At least you can say you saved Renna.”

His jaw twitched at her name.

“This isn’t about her! Varek never wanted Renna, but the moment he smelled you… he wanted you. Then you let him mark you and⁠—”

A small gasp left me. “I thought turned wolves couldn’t imprint⁠—”

“We can’t. Not the way born wolves do. But we can choose. When we feel something deep enough, it happens. He fucking trusted you. I kept him in control for you, and to you it was all a game.”

Silence. Then the echo of his breath where my neck remembered it—the bite that had felt different from all the others.

And now I knew why.

My cold heart twisted.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, eyes on Varek. “You’re not wrong. I did feel something, and that’s what made it hard.”

Dorian stepped closer. The movement was soundless, unreal. For a moment I thought he’d vanish if I blinked, but he didn’t. He only stopped in front of me, studying my face like he was memorizing it. His expression eased, the fury draining until only weariness remained.

When his hand lifted, I didn’t move away. Rough fingers traced my jaw, slid along my cheek, and the warmth of his touch burned through the cold, making my magic coil.

I relaxed into it, eyes closing for a breath. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was peace—and that was enough.

“Dorian. Varek.” I breathed out their names. “I meant what I said—you’ll always be my little wolf, and I’ll always be your . Let go. Die for me.”

* * *

October 31st, 11:58 p.m. — Seventeen Hours Post-Ritual

The air tasted like hot metal and death, and my skin burned like fire.

Not like before; this time, my magic was expelling from my body.

There was relief.

My eyes flew open as someone yelled, “Master Vale! The sacrifice!”

My head dropped toward the wolf—my wolf, the one who had marked me. Chosen me.

He was transforming.

His fur faded as he shifted back into Dorian’s lifeless human body.

For a split second, my heart ached, but the eyes on me didn’t give me long to dwell.

Eira’s scowl.

Master Vale’s muted pride.

The others whispered in awe.

I glanced at my reflection in a shard of broken glass on the floor and saw my eyes glowing. Not crimson. Not ruby. Blood red.