The witch arrived at dawn which felt ominous because nothing good ever happened at dawn in my experience.
Her name was Morgana—because of course it was—and she looked exactly like you'd picture a witch council head: tall, silver hair, eyes that seemed to see through you to whatever ugly truths you were hiding.
She also radiated power in a way that made my hindbrain scream run while my vampire side said interesting.
"So." She studied me like I was a specimen under glass. "You're the Hybrid Queen."
Not a question. An assessment.
"That's what the prophecy says." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Whether I actually am or not seems to be up for debate."
Her mouth twitched. "At least you're honest about your uncertainty. Most would posture."
"I'm too tired for posturing." True and embarrassing. "Do you want the alliance pitch or do you want to tell me why you're really here?"
