See how blood gushes between stiff fingers while the witch clutches at the ruins of her face? Bright and thin, splattering the ground until the soil is soaked through. Filling her throat until her breath is reduced to a gurgle. The black wolf wasn't kind, and the witch's remaining acolyte can barely look at her, instead tearing fabric apart for makeshift bandaging.

Curses are spat out with broken teeth. Hands tremble while wrapping strips around missing features. Only the figure beside them remains calm, studying the grotesque sight with a puzzled air. She's hardly more than a girl, this one, her hair very dark against a gown as delicate as froth, and her eyes very bright in the dour gloom of dusk. In the final rays of light, the slab of rock she perches upon appears unremarkable, squat and misshapen in its bed of ferns. Only the lingering red stains give hint to its true purpose.

Oh yes, this is damned ground, and only damned creatures gather here, hidden in the shadows of an abandoned quarry long reclaimed by the trees. The reek of blood and fear always hangs heavy in the air, and yet it's now these witches who add to it, terror thick in their sweat. Their most precious ritual will happen tonight, and each rasping breath reminds them that they're no longer the most dangerous creatures in the forest. Something else has arrived. Something else now hunts.

"Stop flinching, Babette." Only Portia's eyes remained visible, flat and furious as they peered out from a mask of white fabric rapidly staining red. "He didn't so much as bite you."

"But he saw me," said Babette, tying off the final strip. Her gaze darted all around, as if she expected teeth to flash out from the nearest shadows. "He looked right at me while tearing off Bettina's head. As good as saying that I'd be next. And how could he do this to you? The bleeding hasn't stopped at all."

"Hush," hissed Portia, the word clotting in her throat.

Too late. The girl on the altar turned toward them, still stroking the rough granite and its gruesome stains. "Yes, what was he, Mother? How could he hurt you?"

Portia's tone immediately sweetened. "Don't trouble yourself, my pet. There are more important things to think about, especially for you. Nothing must stop this ritual. We've worked too hard for it."

The girl's expression cleared. Then her mouth curved into a dreamy smile. "I've worked too hard. After all, he's coming for me."

"Of course, my darling." Portia waited until her daughter nodded and looked away before her voice lowered, harshened into something meant only for Babette's ears. "I don't know what that creature is. All I'm sure about is that the girl he's guarding was part of Vanna's offering."

"Sabotage?" breathed Babette. "Would she be that bold?"

"Possibly. We'll learn more once she arrives." Then Portia gingerly pressed at her face, testing where blood had already seeped through. "It's such a pity, not having time to fix this. I wanted to look my best in front of the others while they're being forced to honor us. But it doesn't matter. After tonight, his favor will lift us far above them."

"Including me?" asked Babette. "Surely, being Celeste's dear friend will give me a glimpse of his power."

"We're not friends," said the girl, still watching the rising moon. "Being friends means you like each other."

"As your loyal acolyte, then." Babette stared at Portia, fresh desperation etching her forehead. She was just a girl herself, pinched in the face and thin in the body, hair and eyes equally colorless. It was as if every inch of her that could be spared had long since disappeared, given over to Portia in the effort to move from acolyte to coven member. When silence stretched on, she trembled like a beaten dog, leaned forward like an eager vulture. A ragged little ghost that had lost everything except her hunger.

A note of humor joined the gurgle in the older witch's voice. "Dear Babette. Always looking out for yourself. No, don't be embarrassed. It's why you're here and Bettina isn't. But you must avoid being so obvious. Some people dislike feeling used."

Just then, a ragged shout drifted up from below, hardly more than an echo among the dark swathes of forest.

Portia dismissed her acolyte with a twitch of her hand. "They're beginning to wake up. Control any that make too much noise, but leave the rest alone. The less they're touched, the better."

As Babette slipped away, steps silent on the steep trail down, Portia returned to where her daughter waited on the altar, her gaze as distant as the horizon. As she began arranging Celeste's hair in perfect waves over her shoulders and down her back, the girl murmured, "They'll all have to love me after this, won't they? Even while seething with jealousy over not being chosen themselves."

Portia traced the curve of her cheek. "Some might. Others will hate you as much as they dare. The important thing is that after tonight, all will worship you and what you can do for them."

"It's such a laugh to think about." Celeste's smile looked delicate, but the remote light in her eyes had hardened. "Especially the ones who thought I couldn't catch his attention just because they failed to."

Then she really did laugh, a sound as swift and sharp as a bird's cry. It echoed in the darkness, sinking down to the circle of cages waiting far below the ledge and its altar. They were crude, heavy things made of branches lashed together and then hammered into the ground, hardly big enough to crouch in. Their weathered appearance revealed a pedigree of past horrors: gashes left by frantic fingernails, bloodstains as black as the clusters of mushrooms growing here and there on the rotting bark.

And inside them, roused by the smoke and starlight and unseen danger, people began to stir...

Fleur's head hurt. Something trickled down the side of her face, but she didn't touch it to see whether it was blood or sweat. Even dazed and half-aware, she felt how filth crusted her hands from shaking the cage. From digging at the ground in animal panic over finding herself trapped.

Now she just stayed very still there in the darkness, trying to think of what to do. There were torches stuck in the ground nearby, casting light on all the other cages, but not on the people who waited inside them. Even so, she didn't have to guess who they were—there had been shouting earlier. Hoarse calls for help that had sounded as confused as she'd felt. A few people had calmed down and tried puzzling things together, but she'd kept quiet, too scared to do more than listen and realize they were all from the riding group.

Then someone had emerged from the darkness, coming from the direction of a nearby ledge. A woman as naked and dirt-streaked as if she'd clawed herself out of the earth, a woman whose hair fell into her face while she squatted before the nearest cage and reached for the voice that rose within.

The torchlight had been too weak to reveal what happened next, but Fleur heard a shriek that ended suddenly, and saw the woman rise back to her feet with bloodied hands. A few others had kept yelling, maybe unable to believe what was happening until she visited them, too.

Now the forest was silent and the woman was gone, but Fleur couldn't stop shivering, her gaze always circling up to the ledge and the torches glittering there like fireflies. A few times, she pressed her face against the cage, trying to see if Alice was in any of the others. She gave up just as quickly, unable to make out anything besides vague shapes that rocked back and forth, or shook at the branches penning them in, or that didn't move at all.

The moon hung high when she heard footsteps crunching through the ferns. Immediately, she slumped to the ground, trying to keep as still as possible even as her breath rose in quick, shallow gasps. At the sound of voices, she opened her eyes just enough to watch.

Two women approached, both looking at odds with their surroundings. One wore a sharp business suit; the other was dressed in the type of breezy pastels that Fleur always associated with her mother. Red-stained bandages covered the first one's face, and Fleur swallowed hard, feeling ready to throw up. Then the second woman spoke, voice clear at last.

"How awful for you, Portia. And here I thought I'd practically gift-wrapped them. Denise is as threatening as a puppy. I didn't expect her family to be any different."

As they began circling the cages, the torchlight flickered enough to reveal the second woman's face. Fleur clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her gasp. It was Vanna, one of Mom's old college friends.

A muffled noise came from the bandaged woman. It sounded wet and strained, and as they drew closer, Fleur saw thick trails clotting on her neck, staining the collar of her crisp jacket. Then the name "Portia" clicked in her head, and she realized it was the resort's owner standing in front of her. Bleeding in front of her. Her fingers were now clamped so hard over her mouth that her cheeks hurt.

Portia continued to check the cages, her voice clearing enough to form words. "How could you not see that the girl was different? Or that she had such a strange creature with her?"

"I knew nothing about her. She drifted away from her family years ago, and apparently only recently returned."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

Vanna's tone remained silken. "Why not? After all, you didn't recognize her, either. And why are we checking the cages? I thought you had acolytes to watch them."

"One was killed by that fiend. The other is now scared stupid. I want to be sure they're all here before I'm busy with the final preparations."

Then they both stopped before Fleur's cage. She tried to keep still, tried not to whimper under the weight of their attention. Every hair on the back of her neck rose while a heartbeat of silence passed.

Then Vanna sighed. "Well? There she is."

When Portia remained silent, the other woman's voice changed, rising until she seemed to hiss like a snake. "I'm so sick of your shit, Portia. Even with a missing face, it's obvious what you're thinking. You could never be as blind as the rest of us, right? You're so much savvier. Farsighted. And now... so much more in his favor. It must have been a trick of mine, because you would never be stupid enough to underestimate a silly little girl, or overestimate yourself. Nothing is ever your fault. Tell me, if tonight's ritual fails—"

"It won't," snarled Portia. The violence of the words left fresh blood leaking through the bandages.

"But if it does, who's to blame? Me? Our king? Perhaps your precious daughter. It has to be someone else. It's always someone else."

Portia's hand cracked across her face. Her nails left scratches behind.

Vanna only laughed. "You are worried."

"This means everything to me." Then Portia tore the bandaging off, revealing what waited beneath. As some of the glimmer left Vanna's eyes, she added, "I've waited years for another chance, and I'll see it through all the way. No matter what."

"Think that makes you special? I felt the same way when it was my turn. And while I'll hardly wish the best for you and your daughter, the fact is that we're all too cowardly to move against each other. Especially if Celeste succeeds tonight." Then Vanna's smile returned. "Even if you don't believe me, what harm was done? The older girl wasn't even supposed to be part of my offering. The tour guide works well enough in place of her or Denise. And I'm sure your face will turn out fine. It's about time you took a new one, anyway. It was starting to look tired."

"The harm is that the girl and her creature are still out there somewhere," growled Portia. "If they try to ruin the ritual out of revenge..."

"While we're all there? I doubt it." Then Vanna turned away from the cages, heading for the trail that led up to the ledge. Her final words were offered over her shoulder. "Try speaking with the hag mother about this black wolf. She knows something about him."

"Bitch," rasped Portia, but quietly, as if to herself. A final glance around, and then she began to walk back as well.

Fleur once more found herself alone, panting against the leaves. Silence fell. The torches flickered and smoked. She felt numb, curling in on herself as the air grew sharper, colder.

Then shapes bounded out from the darkness between the trees. Fleur flinched to the other side of the cage, stuffing the ragged sleeve of her sweatshirt into her mouth to keep from screaming as two pairs of eyes glowed at her. The moonlight picked out sharp muzzles and thick fur, rangy limbs and white teeth. Wolves.

The larger one was as black as the shadows, almost invisible while prowling around the other cages, but the second wolf was lighter, easier to see while it sniffed at Fleur.

She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning as far away as possible, and muffled another shriek when something brushed her shoulder.

"Fleur," whispered a voice, soft but urgent. "Fleur, it's all right. It's me, Alice."

Fleur stared at the hand shaking her arm, and then at her sister's face. "But—the wolves. There were wolves just here. And then Mom's friend before that, talking with the hotel owner about you. And... and why are you naked? Is any of this even real?"

She fell silent when Alice's hands caught hers. "I know. I know it's all strange, but right now you have to stay quiet and patient while we get you out. We don't want them to hear us."

At that, Fleur glanced past her shoulder, gaze drifting up to the ledge. A big fire had appeared at the very tip, illuminating the figures gathering nearby.

A flicker of movement snapped her attention back to the cage's door. The black wolf crouched there, teeth snapping at the twine knotting the door shut. The cage jerked from the force. Fleur's breath dwindled to a squeak.

"He's on our side," murmured Alice. "You can trust him."

"Are you kidding?" managed Fleur, as wood chips flew from his second bite.

"No. I'll explain everything later."

Then the door buckled, swinging open with a creak. The black wolf melted back into the darkness while Alice motioned at her to hurry.

"You've got to be shitting me," she muttered, crawling out even as her mind struggled to accept how a wolf and her naked sister had appeared out of nowhere. After sitting hunched in a cage for so long, every muscle in her body trembled, trying to remember how to work, and she stumbled several times while Alice helped her toward the nearest cluster of trees. Then those massive trunks were looming all around, hiding the ledge and its distant fire.

Just as she opened her mouth to demand an explanation, a flashlight beam caught her in the face. She flinched back as Alice's grip tightened on her arm, squinting at the new figure in front of them. Her stunned eyes made out long, matted hair and skinny limbs. She gasped, realizing it was the same woman who had gone around the cages to silence anyone shouting for help.

The light remained fixed on her face as the woman said, "Nice try. Now get back in your cages, or I'll cut the tendons in your legs and drag you there."

Beside her, but still in the shadows, Alice growled. It was a deep, inhuman sound, and the woman's expression suddenly changed into sheer terror. Before she could angle the flashlight toward Alice, a man slipped out from the shadows behind her and caught her head, giving it a vicious twist. A sharp crack and the woman crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Fleur whimpered, too stunned to even run.

Alice tried to turn her away from the sight. "It's okay. It's Colton, and he's not going to hurt you."

"He just killed someone with his bare hands," said Fleur, her voice very flat. "And he's also not wearing any clothes. What the fuck is happening?"

He ignored the question, instead glancing at her sister. "Not much time left. Want to get any of the others?"

Alice hesitated, but when she spoke, her voice sounded firm. "No. I want Fleur away from here and safe before anything else."

Fleur watched him nod and pull the body away into the thickest part of the shadows, his movements casual and efficient, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. When her sister tried to urge her away again, she shook her head, stomach twisting, some part of her insisting that she stay and watch and understand. Then a black wolf loped back out into the moonlight, eyes flashing at her sister before he circled around them, obviously impatient.

"No. No way," said Fleur. Then her gaze jumped to Alice, pieces clicking together in her mind. "There were two wolves. Then you suddenly appeared. Does that mean you're the—the other wolf?"

"It's a lot to take in, I know." Then Alice glanced behind them at the glimmer of light that could still be seen between the trees. "Trust us a little longer. We'll get you safely home."

"But..." The rest of Fleur's words faded to a gasp as her sister suddenly hunched over, hair falling into her face while a convulsion wracked her body. Skin and muscle and bone writhed in a way that should have been impossible, twisting and reknitting itself as her sister gave a soft gasp, obviously in pain. At that, the black wolf returned to her, pressing close.

When he moved away again, it was a grey wolf that rose from where her sister had been, a grey wolf who looked at her and then trotted further into the trees. A soft whine urged her to follow before it was too late.

Fleur did, feeling dizzy. Heartbeats passed. Her feet slid in the soft soil, crunched against dead leaves. The moon flickered in and out of sight, hardly enough to light their uneven descent into thicker forest. The black wolf was completely invisible; she couldn't even hear him, much less see him there in the dark. But her sister remained close by, letting her grab onto the thick fur between her shoulder blades whenever she stumbled.

Then—a distant scream, ragged and echoing. Fleur stopped short. When it came again, wet heat ran down her cheeks. Her pulse hammered in her throat so hard that it hurt.

A cold nose pushed at her hand, coaxing her on. Instead, she sank back against the nearest tree, not caring how the damp leaf litter clung to her jeans and sweatshirt. The whole world seemed to spin. "I can't do this."

There were a few moments of silence before Alice approached her, human once more. Her long hair and the surrounding shadows obscured all except her face, and it held the same composure as when they'd first gotten lost. For a single breath, Fleur could almost believe that this night hadn't happened at all, that they hadn't been separated that afternoon and the only things to fear were exposure and thirst. It was a comforting thought, a flashlight to cling to in the darkness, but it evaporated as soon as her sister spoke.

"We're almost there. It's just two miles to a ranger's station."

Fleur shivered and hugged her knees, aware of how her fingers were growing numb from the chill. As she stared at the sky, she said, "What if they're part of this shit?"

"They aren't."

"But how can you know?"

Alice moved close enough to settle beside her, also looking up at the stars. "Do you remember what I said earlier today? That I wouldn't say something just to make you feel better?"

Fleur nodded, scrubbing at her cheeks with her sleeve. Hating how her chin had started trembling.

Her sister's hand squeezed hers, then. "You'll be safe at the station. I promise."

The forest had fallen quiet again. The black wolf reappeared, his eyes glowing while he paused beside Alice. Fleur watched her sister rest her head against his fur without a hint of hesitation, moonlight tracing them both. She looked so at ease, so natural, that Fleur could only stare, overcome by this glimpse of a world that had always existed just out of sight, a world impossible to explain or rationalize.

"They'll think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy." Then she surprised herself with a sudden laugh. "But then, how many people really want the truth?"

Her sister smiled a little, but her expression remained serious. "A lot less than you'd guess. Ready to walk some more?"

"All right." Fleur stood after the second try, feeling her legs wobble, and let Alice steer her in the right direction. She couldn't say how fast or how slow they traveled. Any sense of time seemed to have drifted away, and all she knew was the distant sound of running water, the sudden sharpness of rock protruding from the damp earth, and her sister's soft steps beside her own.

There were no other screams, but fear still itched at her, driving her forward even when every tree looked the same. She started to feel weightless, as if she floated over the ferns and roots. She stopped feeling the cold, stopped seeing the stars. All that mattered was putting one foot in front of the other.

Then light glittered. Her heart jumped, caught by the idea of them somehow getting lost and circling back to those cages waiting beneath torches.

"That's it," said Alice, pushing a branch aside to reveal a long, double-story building with all its windows lit. A few cars were still parked there.

Fleur only swallowed, suddenly terrified now that the safety of electricity, blankets, and civilization waited feet away, just out of reach. She stumbled closer, clawing past the final trees until her sneakers reached the first pool of light from the parking lot. Then she stopped, looking back at her sister, who had remained in the shadows.

"Aren't you coming with me?" Some part of her knew the answer even before Alice responded.

"We're going back."

"No!" Fleur found herself grabbing at her sister, desperate to keep her close. "They'll kill you. They're total freaks."

When Alice only shook her head, Fleur felt herself crumple. At that, her sister pulled her into a hug, and she clung back fiercely, trying to convince her not to go back, not to disappear forever.

As if sensing her thoughts, Alice murmured, "You'll see us in the morning. I promise."

"What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad? They won't believe any of this."

"Sometimes, it's easier to say only what they need to know." Then Alice pulled away, stepping further into the shadows with a final smile.

"Shit." Fleur ran hands through her hair, trying not to cry again. But as she stepped out into the full light, shaking so hard her teeth chattered, the black wolf was suddenly there beside her, ears alert while he matched her pace. Making sure she was safe all the way to the door.

When she glanced back at her sister, she could just make out Alice's silhouette there among the trees, the light catching her tangled hair and little else. She looked unreal, inhuman, and Fleur's skin prickled from a sense of having stepped past some invisible barrier between the brightly lit mundane world, and its secret, unknown shadow.

Then she was at the door, the black wolf slipping away into the darkness while she knocked on the worn wood. Her hands didn't stop for a response, instead pounding harder and harder, until all her weight was thrown into her fists. At the sound of footsteps on the other side, she finally shrieked. The door opened and she nearly fell inside against the rangers standing there, staggering until hands caught her.

"I got lost earlier today," she muttered, eyes trying to focus on their startled faces. "I'm part of the horseback riding group."

"My God," said one, as they carefully ushered her in. "Is there anyone else with you?"

Anguish filled her voice for more than one reason. "No."

She told them her name and let the rest of their questions flow over her, ignoring everything except the station's cat, a fluffy calico that curled in her lap and purred, not minding how her tears dampened its fur.

Back among the silent trees, Alice watched what was visible through the windows. "She's safe," she murmured, but a chill ran down her spine over how close it had been.

Beside her, Colton changed form, his gaze on her instead of the station. When his mouth pressed against the curve of her neck, she leaned into the heat of his body, trying to ignore a second shiver.

He must have felt it, because his voice then rumbled against her throat. "Sure you want to go back? You're tired from changing form so much."

She sighed, closing her eyes as the first hint of a helicopter could be heard. Fleur would soon be flown out of there. If she wanted, she and Colton could just return to the resort and rest. Her bones throbbed and ached, as if urging her to give in.

She resisted, some part of her snarling for more. "I couldn't live with myself if I just let the rest die. If I didn't at least try. Besides..."

Then she looked up at him, feeling her teeth bite into her lips. "Portia has a lot to answer for. She's felt your anger, but she hasn't felt mine."

* * *

Four witches stood in a circle around the altar, already stripped to their skin. Unflinching even against the sparks cast from a bonfire burning off to the side. The moon was at its highest, and the air had taken on a strange tension, all nearby shadows stretched and thin. Yet an unexpected type of anticipation shivered among the witches, a seething curiosity that left them quiet while Portia tried calming her daughter.

Celeste's shrieks split the night while Babette the acolyte hunched by their feet, one hand rubbing at her neck. She still seemed in disbelief that the black wolf had left her to recover, quiet even when Celeste slapped and scratched at her in between bouts of sobbing.

"It's ruined! He won't come with only eleven sacrifices." The girl was hardly more than a heap of fabric in her mother's arms.

"Everything will be fine, my darling. Vanna will pay for this." Those last words gained a particular edge as Portia glared over at the other witch.

Vanna scoffed, remaining unconcerned. "Why is it my fault? It was your acolyte who lost her. And it was you who lost the other two."

There was a low hiss from Portia, but one of the other witches suddenly shook her head and said, "Enough bullshit. She's here."

All stared as the hag mother emerged from shadows. Despite her title, she didn't look old, her skin as soft and flushed as a girl's, her face fresh and unlined. She moved with a stiff grace, smiling a little while the rest dipped their heads in a show of respect. There was a glitter to her eyes that suggested she was well-aware of how disliked she truly was, and that it amused her, but her face grew serious as she looked at Celeste. "No tears, darling. You should be saving every part of yourself for our king."

As the girl frantically waved at her face, trying to keep the rest at bay, the hag mother turned to Portia. "Tell me what happened."

The torches flickered while she listened. When she'd heard enough, she cut Portia off with a sharp motion of her hand, the same one that held the ritual knife. Then she glanced at Vanna, who looked sullen. "Find a replacement. There must be twelve sacrifices, and we owe our king more respect than to immediately give up."

Vanna knew better than to argue back, and at first her mouth only tightened. Just as quickly, it relaxed into a smile. She walked over to Portia's acolyte—hunched by Celeste to blot the tears from her face—and grabbed her by the hair. "Here."

"What?" Babette scratched at her, panicking when her grip only tightened. "Portia, tell her to let me go."

But the other witch said nothing while holding her daughter, running a light hand over her hair.

Babette's eyes widened. "You're not... no, you can't! Let me find someone else. Just let me go and I'll find someone. Please!"

The hag mother raised her eyebrows at Portia, another small smile playing on her face as if she already knew the answer. "Will you accept this gesture of Vanna's? To refuse this replacement would mean an effective end to this ritual."

"Portia," managed the acolyte, fingernails ripping at the hand that held her by the hair. "Please, you can't do this. Not to me. I've done so much for you without ever complaining. Ever!"

Portia nodded, finally looking at her. Her eyes glittered in her ruined face. "And believe me, I'm always impressed by that. You're very special, Babette. But now there's one more thing you must do."

"No!" The acolyte writhed as the hag mother handed the knife over to Vanna, and then screamed as the hand snarled in her hair wrenched her head back, exposing her throat. The blade's edge gleamed in the moonlight as Vanna raised it above her, licking her lips. It flashed in the light of the flames before slicing down. Babette's ragged scream cut off against the sickening crunch of bone.

As Vanna began sawing off the head, Celeste managed a tremulous smile at her mother. "Will it be all right?"

Portia smoothed her hair a final time. "As long as you remember what to do. It's begun, my dear, and now it all rests on you."

The girl nodded. "I won't fail like you did. I swear it."

As she resettled herself on the altar, once more calm and composed, Vanna tossed the head into the bonfire. The smell of burning flesh seemed to both excite and terrify the other witches, and they all stared at the blackening features, watching one of their own burn beyond the point of return.

Vanna began taking cuts from the body, as experienced with the knife as a butcher. The others watched, some already licking their lips as the slick, heavy guts were pulled free. Blood already smeared up to her elbows, Vanna cut out the heart and then offered it to the hag mother, who took it gently, as if it were something more precious than gold. She bit into it like an apple, ripping a chunk free. Her smile turned ghastly as she chewed.

Vanna's own grin disappeared entirely when she took the heart over to Portia.

"You're such a cunt," hissed Portia, brandishing her own knife. The tip quivered, as if she ached to stab it into Vanna instead.

"As if you even liked her," said Vanna, squeezing the heart until fresh blood ran down her arm. Then she handed it over.

Portia was also experienced, quickly biting off her mouthful and then slicing off a second piece for her daughter. She fed it to Celeste in tiny morsels, taking care not to smear any on that perfect, waiting mouth. The girl already seemed to be in a trance, face glowing with each fresh taste.

Witch by witch, the heart was passed around until all had fed. The sad remnants were given back to Vanna, who threw it into the fire next to the head. Then the hag mother spoke again, her eyes bright in the firelight. "Bring your second offering, Vanna."

Soon, screaming reached them. All the witches waiting for her to return from the cages now shifted impatiently, eyeing the mutilated body that they couldn't touch and sucking blood from their fingers.

The second sacrifice was hardly dragged within reach of the torches before they were all on her, tearing at her with fingernails and teeth as she kicked and shrieked. When Vanna hit one in the face with the hilt of her knife, the other witch spat at her. "Hurry the fuck up, then."

Vanna just smiled again, but something had gone sour in her face while she cut up through the stomach. Only the hag mother, Portia, and Celeste ate from the second heart; the rest still tore at the body, squabbling over choice parts like scavengers. After Vanna threw the second heart into the fire, she wiped at the blood smeared on her face, fingers digging down the soft flesh of her throat. Stopping only to squeeze her nipples instead. When she looked at Celeste there on the altar, delicately accepting another tiny bite from her mother, she pinched them harder, teeth bared in what could have been a snarl as much as a grin.

Then she offered the knife to the witch staggering up to her, face a mask of red. The hag mother spoke from her place at the altar. "Your offerings now, Cleo."

The bodies piled up, blood trailing sluggishly until the ground was soaked through. Celeste continued to eat whatever was given to her, eyes wide yet serene even as those around her grew more frantic with each sacrifice, blood smeared over every inch of their bodies as they fought and fed. The air thickened with the smells of smoke and burning flesh, with split intestines and sweat.

By the time the final body was thrown onto the others, most of the witches already had one hand working furiously between their legs, crawling back to their places around the altar.

Vanna seemed the angriest, leaning back against the nearest tree while her fingers raked across the planes of her body. Scratches were left on her chest and stomach, some of them bloody. She pulled at her hair, pinched at her thighs while the palm of her hand crushed the seam of her cunt, her panting hoarse and low as she glared at the altar and the girl upon it. Her hot gaze never left Celeste or how the dark tips of her breasts pressed against her pristine gown. Her lips moved in something like a snarl during her first climax.

The hag mother had moved within the full reach of the torchlight, exposing every inch of her body as she worked herself into a froth. The smile never left her face, but it did grow pained, sweat leaving her hair damp against her neck, leaving trails through the blood on her skin. Her hips worked in hard, sharp jerks, the only hints of something far more raw and ragged living beneath her composure.

Others hunched in the damp ground, backs curved until it seemed their vertebrae would burst out through their skin while they shivered and shook. One rubbed her entire body against the ground, throwing her head up whenever a rock or root pushed against her clit. Her fingers left deep furrows in the earth. Another bit her lip until it bled and spat at those nearest to her, her voice rising as laughs or sobs while her fingers pushed in deeper.

Yet it was Portia who was the most changed; all hints of the refined proprietress had disappeared. She hunched there as ugly and obscene as the rest of her coven, fresh blood oozing from her face from the effort. Her eyes remained unblinking on her daughter, who stayed still and unmoving, watching the sky instead of the writhing bodies surrounding her. The firelight cast her in gold, the moon in ivory. She looked perfect, too perfect to be real, and something like pain filled Portia's gaze even as her fingers never faltered.

One scream rose, and then another. The stench of spilled blood and ripped apart bodies was joined by something muskier, something seething. Then there was a sixth cry, the last cry. The hag mother's cry. The pile of bodies shifted, and each witch turned toward it, exhausted and sticky and enthralled.

It moved again from somewhere within, as if a great force gathered beneath the lifeless meat and bone. Celeste stiffened, shivering lightly as she stared with the others. Her fingers fluttered beside her thighs, as if she desperately wished to join in with the rest, but instead she stayed still, stayed obedient, and watched.

Horns pushed up from the slack, ruined flesh. Stag horns, giant and with points as sharp as teeth. Soft gasps rippled among the witches as a dark-haired head followed. Strong hands appeared, and then arms that bulged with muscle. A final heave that sent bodies rolling away, and then the figure rose to its full height, shaking its head to cast lingering scraps of flesh from those terrible horns. The hag king had answered their call.

Silence fell as he stood there, blood running down his chest and stomach as he breathed. He was tall and broad-shouldered, face hidden behind a mask of ancient, gnarled wood, but there was something else unnerving about him, a sense of the untouchable. When he approached the altar, the firelight flickered over his powerful frame, revealing his thick, erect cock.

The witches all sank to their hands and knees in supplication, watching with glittering eyes as Celeste alone remained still, looking at him in rapture. The smells of blood, rotting earth, and musk reached her even before he stopped in front of her, huge, towering, the tilt of his mask suggesting he stared down at her.

He was filthy, unwashed even beneath the blood, and his hair hung past his shoulders in snarled tangles, the color impossible to tell from the erratic light and mud. But the girl knew the part she had to play, and immediately stroked along the hard muscles of his torso, her lips already parting.

Her fingers found the thick nest of hair surrounding his cock, jerking when she realized there were lice writhing there. More could be seen in his hair as well, and Celeste swallowed hard, realizing that any hesitation would ruin her chance. Then she forced a smile and ran her hand along the length of his shaft, rising to her feet to press her flat belly against its head. Letting him feel her very softness, her ripeness.

One of the other witches hissed when he let her cling to his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist. Another swore when his hand slid between her legs and squeezed. But Celeste's smile looked identical to her mother's as she shifted, trying to brush against his cock as his hands caught her by the hips. One thrust, and he would be in her. One thrust, and she'd be the most powerful witch in her coven.

Then the hag king threw her aside, the movement casual, almost careless. She landed on the ground in a disheveled heap, shrieking even as that head with those magnificent, imposing horns shook side to side slowly, deliberately.

"No!" Celeste's voice cracked on the word as she crawled toward him.

But he was already gone, fading as quickly as a shadow, as silently as a gasp, and she was left panting and rubbing furiously at her mouth with the back of her hand.

The hag king had refused her.

For one agonizing moment, there was only the crackling of flames. Then Vanna laughed, a high, clear sound that seemed to shatter the air, shatter Portia's expression. Another witch joined in, and then a third. Soon, it was only her mother who turned away in silence, hunched over as if she'd been stabbed in the stomach. The others all jeered at the girl, breasts heaving, hands clasped over mouths.

"Stop it. Stop it!" Tears ran down her flushed face.

But the laughter only continued, drifting down from the ledge and into the trees beyond. Reaching Wolf-Alice and the black wolf as they raced past the empty cages, following the scent of blood. Up the trail they went, fast and quiet, until they could watch the witches from the shadows and remain unnoticed.

They were disappearing one by one, their derision hanging in the air. Once they were alone, Portia picked up her knife and looked at it, still ignoring her daughter.

"Mother." Celeste sounded bewildered while pulling the folds of her gown closer to her. The delicate fabric was now smeared with blood and filth from the hag king's touch. "I don't understand. I did everything right."

"It doesn't matter. He found you worthless." Portia finally turned to her.

"But it's not my fault." The girl drew in a shuddering breath. "You saw me, Mother. You saw what I did."

"Yes. You ruined my last chance." Then Portia grabbed her daughter's hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck. The knife in her other hand slashed.

The act spurred Wolf-Alice into lunging out in the open, an unthinking reaction to the girl's frantic eyes. But Portia already held one of the torches to her daughter's face, hand steady even when the gurgling rose into a broken scream.

Wolf-Alice slammed into the witch, ignoring the sparks singing her fur while she dragged her away, biting at whatever she could reach. Fury left her frothing, clumsy, but then the black wolf joined her, catching Portia by the throat and suffocating her with one steady, unrelenting bite. As soon as the witch stopped kicking, Wolf-Alice returned to the altar, changing form so that she could face the body there.

It was a terrible sight, and Alice felt herself tremble as she looked around, taking in the carnage, the smell of arousal and excitement, the bonfire burning down. Then her gaze returned to the burned girl, and remained there while Colton changed into his skin and dragged Portia's body over to the flames.

When he circled back to her, she finally spoke, voice unsteady. "She called her 'Mother.' I heard it. She was begging her mother."

He nodded. "Looks like a failed ritual."

"And she killed her own daughter over that?" Then she looked up at him, unable to say why tears filled her eyes. "This is what witches are like?"

"Most of them." He pulled her into a hug then, understanding why it hurt her.

Even as she tucked her head under his chin, closing her eyes against the pitiful remains surrounding them, she asked, "Is there anything we can do?"

He knew she meant the bodies. "Bury them, maybe. No way to explain what really happened without Fleur getting pulled into it."

"No, I don't want that. But their families... Well, they'll never stop looking. Or wondering."

He remained silent for a moment, hand stroking along the lines of her back while she listened to his heartbeat. "Best we could do is take enough belongings to scatter around the forest. Wallets, rings, things like that. They might be found later."

She nodded, hating how hollow she felt. "Would you mind doing that?"

"Not for you."

Later, they returned to the outskirts of the resort, finding where they'd hidden their clothes in a tree. Despite the early hour—it wasn't even true dawn—Alice could see activity. People seemed agitated, even excited, crossing the lawns in their hurry to get to and from the hotel.

One man kept pacing the line of trees that marked the entrance into the forest, and Alice started when she recognized him. It was her father. She quickly finished dressing and then, with a final glance at Colton, slipped out from the shadows, remaining quiet as her father turned and saw her.

"Alice." He grabbed her into a hug, his breath coming out as a huge sigh. "A ranger station called in to say that Fleur found them. She's been in the hospital for about an hour. I told your stepmother I would stay behind and wake you up with the news when it grew closer to morning."

She nodded, pulling back enough to look at him. "But you're not waiting by my room."

"No. No, I'm not." His expression remained as calm as his voice, but something in his eyes softened. "Thank you for finding her."

She nodded again. Then her chin trembled. "I still don't know what happened to Mom. I really don't."

"It's all right." He hugged her tighter, rocking her as if she were four years old again. "Sometimes, the ones left behind can never know what happened."