Trial by Heart (Trial Series Book 4)

by Lizzy Ford

  Unfortunately for Ben, I’m not the heroic type who can shove a knife through my neck or stomach. He’s going to have to be stronger than I am.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I wipe my face hastily and then turn towards Ben. Nate steps aside as I approach him, and I walk past the three candidates to Ben.

  I gaze up at him, momentarily lost in his silver eyes and the combination of yearning and fear in my breast. Blinking out of the spell, I hold out the knife to him.

  “You have to destroy it after … after … you know,” I manage to say through my tight throat.

  He accepts it. For another second, I’m lost in his eyes again, wishing I knew what to say. Farewell, I wish we had a chance together, thank you, please don’t hate me … Everything dies at the tip of my tongue.

  “I trust you,” I whisper finally.

  My hands drop. We stare at each other, the tension thick and taut. Desire and desperation shimmer in the air between us, as strong as ever. I can’t read him and don’t want to know what’s going through his mind. It’s all I can do to keep from breaking down weeping. I’m not going to make this harder on him, not going to sob or beg or leave him with the final memory of his mate crying when he killed her. He deserves better, and it’s this knowledge alone that helps me keep my head when I’m about to lose it.

  Lowering my gaze, I step back, longing for his touch but afraid to mess up the final steps of the trials or disrupt my delicate internal balance.

  I kneel before him, trembling and terrified. I’m halfway through putting my hair in a ponytail, so it doesn’t get bloody, when I realize how stupid that is. I’m about to die – what the hell do I care about blood in my hair?

  Erish kneels beside me, seeming resigned. I glance at him.

  “There’s some irony here, isn’t there?” I ask. “You killed your mate and that of every Kingmaker for twenty generations. Now, one of the mates kills you.”

  “Irony. Prophecy. Semantics.” He shrugs.

  “Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I don’t still think you’re a dick.”

  “You want those to be your last words?”

  It shouldn’t be funny – but I almost laugh.

  Ben moves closer, and both of us tense. I suck in a breath, squeeze my eyes closed and brace myself for pain.

  No one speaks in the backyard. The crackling and popping of my world burning to the ground is the only sound.

  “Back to what I was telling you,” Myca says and kneels beside me.

  I wait, afraid to open my eyes and witness Ben getting ready to stab me or Myca.

  “Twenty thousand years of magic may be a drop in a lake compared to my mother’s magic, but the amulet you wear has been doing more than protect you,” Myca says, upbeat. “It’s been gathering magic as you progressed through the trials, sapping it from the curse, from the candidates, from any source of magic it encounters. Your transformations to and from other supernatural creatures in particular require an incredible amount of magic. The Kingmaker magic is powerful – and the amulet’s been capturing it all.”

  I’m not sure where he’s going with this. I need less magic in my life, not more.

  “There’s enough magic to turn you one last time into any supernatural you want,” Ben says in his quiet growl. “And for one more, permanent mating bond to cement your soul to whatever clan you choose.”

  I risk a look at them. They’re both kneeling, Ben before me and Myca beside me.

  “He means, there’s enough magic to turn you into a werewolf and his mate.” Myca smiles.

  “It’s her choice. Always her choice,” Ben says firmly then adds with a half-smile, “But choose quickly, because it has to be done before the eclipse is over.”

  Is this a dream? “I don’t understand,” I reply. “I anchor the curse. I have to die.”

  “Tristan severed the link between the curse and your soul, but you cannot remain a Kingmaker. The clan must be destroyed, per what we know of the Final Trials,” Ben explains. “Destroying your clan doesn’t mean you die. It can mean you transform into one of us, one last time.”

  I’m not processing this in real time. It almost sounds like there’s a chance for me to survive tonight.

  “I didn’t spend a hundred years preparing for this night to sacrifice you in the process,” Ben adds roughly. “I won’t lose you or anyone else to this fucking curse.”

  I gaze at him, aware of the tens of thousands of lives lost to the curse. Rare emotion is in Ben’s gaze. It’s getting harder not to cry. I’m waiting for one of them to tell me this is a sick joke, the Community’s final revenge against the curse.

  “Just say it, angel. We all know where you belong and who you’ll choose,” Myca teases. He reaches for the amulet and folds his hand around it. Magic thrums in the air between us.

  I grip his wrist. “Don’t! You can’t trade your life for mine!”

  “My life was forfeit before the trials began. I’d like to know my magic won’t be wasted or absorbed by my father,” he responds. “Trying to teach the bastard a lesson.”

  How he can find any humor at a time like this, I don’t know. Myca pries my hand free, and I look to the werewolf alpha. Ben’s resolution dashes any hope I have of swaying him to my side, though the skin around his eyes is soft and his expression one of warmth and compassion.

  “Ben isn’t going to interfere. It’s my choice,” Myca says before Ben can speak. “We went into this knowing what we each had to do. Redemption, remember?”

  “Ben,” I say, my focus on the acknowledged mastermind and leader. “I can’t live knowing he died because of me.”

  “This is the only way, Leslie,” Ben says quietly. “Myca will die no matter what. It’s his right to choose how.”

  “No!” I hear the logic, but I can’t think of Myca’s death rationally.

  “It’s done.” Myca releases the amulet and leans back.

  “Tristan.” Ben tosses the Exile knife to the fae prince, who stands close to the picnic table. “Destroy it.”

  “How do you even know this will work?” I demand, starting to lose it. “Ben, you can’t risk the lives of –”

  He takes my arms. His ability to command without saying anything silences my panic. With my eyes riveted to him, I’m trembling and beginning to cry. I can’t get a full breath past my tight throat and chest.

  “I need you to decide, Leslie,” he tells me. “This will only work if you willingly give up being a Kingmaker.”

  The snap of metal is followed by the sound of something shattering beneath the weight of the sledgehammer. I glance over to see the Exile blade in pieces and Tristan lowering the tool. Terror doesn’t describe the fear inside me that this is going to backfire spectacularly.

  “Leslie.” Ben’s voice is softer. He cups my cheek in one hand and brings my head to face him again. He releases me.

  “Ben –”

  “Trust me.”

  I do. With everything. I crumble from the inside out. A few days ago, I chose to let Ben help me, to spend my last few days with him. My instincts tell me to follow through, that the intended mate of the Kingmaker must be allowed to play his part, if this is ever going to end.

  “I willingly give up being a Kingmaker,” I reply. “I choose you, Ben.” Please, please, please know what you’re doing!

  Heat emanating from the amulet at my chest spreads through me faster than the fire is tearing through my father’s study. I recognize the transformative magic– and the sudden disarray of my senses: the smells that are too strong, the soft crackle of fire that sounds like a roar. I can suddenly see Ben’s features as if it’s noon and not a full eclipse, and the skin of my arms and legs begin to itch from the cheap material of the clothing I’m wearing.

  My instincts grow in depth, filling in the gaps in my senses, illuminating the dark corners of the backyard and the condition of everyone in it. Hope, fear, dread … I’m surprised to realize not one of the clan leaders is experiencing hate or anger. The abrupt onsla
ught of sensation catches me off guard. I’ve forgotten how powerful it was when I first became a werewolf.

  Gasping in air, overwhelmed, I lean forward, grabbing for the alpha. Ben wraps an arm around me, and my world stabilizes. The second his sandpapery cheek rests against mine, I want to roll around in his scent, to smear his smell all over me. The warmth at my core mixes with the fire of magic, and the two move throughout me, changing me.

  “It’s working,” I whisper, a little panicked at the thought.

  What started as natural, if uncannily powerful, attraction between us becomes something else as I transform one last time. The sense of being home in Ben’s arms becomes richer, deeper, until I wonder how I ever considered anyone else when a connection this incredible awaited me.

  I was always meant to be here, with Ben. The primal acknowledgement is strong enough to scare me and also to crush what remains of my doubt and fear when it comes to letting him in. Ben holds me securely as the final transformation shreds me from the inside out. It’s less than pain but more than discomfort – and happening so fast, I struggle to stay connected to reality and not pass out during the most critical point of my life.

  “Farewell.” Erish’s voice is faint.

  Ripping myself out of my senses, I twist away from Ben far enough to see the shadow figure.

  He’s no longer solid. The shadow becomes transparent and starts to disintegrate around the edges. He dissolves before my eyes. Within seconds, he’s completely gone.

  Shuddering beneath the sensations within me, I blink rapidly and wipe my eyes to ensure I’m seeing this right.

  The beep of Ben’s watch might as well be a blaring foghorn.

  “Time’s up,” Ben whispers.

  I glance at the sky. The shadow over the moon has begun to shift again, away from the center.

  Erish is gone.

  The leaders of the Community breathe a collective sigh, and I cling to Ben, not trusting myself to know if it’s really over.

  “Ow,” I mutter and double over. The last of the transformation magic is working its way through my system. I close my eyes and let it, breathing in the scents of those around me. Ben, Tristan, Nathan, Jason …

  Myca’s not here.

  Confused, I shift away from Ben’s touch and scour the backyard for the vampire prince.

  “He’s gone,” Ben says.

  “Gone. You mean dead?”

  “Yes, Leslie.”

  I reach for him, unable to balance the outside world assaulting my newfound werewolf senses and my inner turmoil. He takes my hand.

  “He didn’t suffer,” Tristan says and kneels beside us. “I felt him go.”

  I can’t speak. Tristan’s words don’t really help me accept Myca’s death as necessary. I understand the reasoning behind it, and I understand it was his choice. Neither of these things will prevent me from weeping for the next few months whenever I think of him.

  “It’s over, Leslie.” Ben draws me into his body. He rests his face at the nape of my neck and breathes deeply.

  I melt, shaking and overwhelmed. The mating bond between us is stronger than any I’ve experienced to date. It’s gentle, deep and peaceful, as if I could fall asleep right here in his arms despite my horrible night and know I’m safe. I’m waiting for my inner wolf to rear her stubborn head, but this feels more natural, less like being possessed by a werewolf. There’s no separation between my instincts and my primal self this time. We’re one, and we’re intimately bound to the mate I never thought I’d have.

  “Are you sure?” I ask and stare toward the ground, waiting for my second shadow to reappear. “He’s really gone?”

  “Yes.”

  I hug him hard, barely daring to believe the Kingmaker Curse has been destroyed with me still alive.

  “Can you stand?” Ben asks.

  I nod. He shifts to help me to my feet. I refuse to release him completely, unprepared to deal with the onslaught of sensations from the city when my wolfy senses are already maxed out.

  The clan leaders remain, and I glance over them then up at Ben. Their attention is on the werewolf alpha, as if they’re waiting for him to declare the curse gone and dismiss them. His stance is one of casual protectiveness, and he nods to one of the leaders, who steps forward and approaches me.

  “Congratulations, Leslie,” the zombie leader says and offers a hand.

  I have no idea how to respond and shake his hand in silence. Another leader steps forward, then another, each offering a couple or few words as he or she shakes my hand and then leaves. It’s an awkward, subdued affair, but I also know the importance behind it. They’re acknowledging the breaking of the curse.

  When the last is gone, I watch her leave and then turn to Ben. “That was really weird.” I shake my head.

  His half-smile tells me there’s a lot more going on than I understand, as usual.

  “Talk.” I poke him.

  “Just a guarantee none of them decides to ensure the curse is gone by trying to kill you,” he replies.

  “So … you threatened them?”

  “Didn’t have to.”

  Sometimes, Ben scares me a little. His intensity is one thing, but it’s his self-confidence that often floors me. He knows exactly who he is, what he can do, and that no one on the planet will ever get in his way.

  It’s a total turn on, when I’m not freaked out by it.

  “I saved you from the villain,” I tell him, struggling to lift the tension of the night. I want to collapse and sob for the rest of my life, but I don’t want to do it here. “And you didn’t even have to wear a dress.”

  “Dress?” Nathan repeats. “Not going to ask.”

  Ben chuckles. “Out, Nate.”

  His brother obeys without a blink, and the others follow him, including Tristan.

  “Does everyone do what you say?” I ask, awed by the effortless wielding of power by the quiet pack leader.

  Ben gives another half-smile. “Alpha.”

  “That shit won’t fly with me. You know that, right?” I warn him.

  “I’m counting on it.” His gaze is intent and desire glows in its depths.

  A different kind of fire flares to life inside me and just as quickly dies when I face the burning row house. The sound of a siren, still five miles out, is loud enough for me to pick up with my new senses.

  “We can run together tonight,” Ben says. “It’ll help you.”

  The memory of how liberating it is to become a wolf, to lose myself in my senses and to sprint wildly through the forest, stirs a deep ache inside me. Tonight, I desperately need the freedom from being me and the insanity of my world.

  “I’d like that,” I reply.

  We sink into somber silence. I watch my life, my world, my only home, burn. Ben wraps an arm around me and stays at my side.

  I know this is for the best, but a small part of me mourns the destruction of my clan. Twenty generations of Kingmaker’s, trapped by a curse they couldn’t fight, ends tonight in flames. None of them had the chance I did.

  None of them had Ben.

  Turning away from the fire destroying my past, I gaze up at the man who is my future, unable to understand how he could spend a hundred years planning for this moment and risk everything for a stranger and a clan the entire Community despised.

  He is, by far, the most incredible man I’ve ever known. I’m glad my father got to meet him, however brief the encounter, and only wish my mother could have, too. I don’t deserve him, but I will thank the heavens every second we’re together for the rest of our lives. His strong features and silvery eyes will be the first thing I see every morning and the last before I go to bed for the rest of my life – and I can’t imagine a life more beautiful. As hard as the past four weeks have been, and as much of a challenge it’ll be to find my place in the Community, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than standing here with Ben.

  Admiration and gratitude can’t describe what I feel for him.

  “Let’s go
home,” I whisper.

  He nods and turns away, guiding me towards the alley running behind the row houses.

  With a final look over my shoulder, I wrap both my arms around his muscular torso and breathe in his scent before rubbing my cheek against the soft material of his sweater with a sigh.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  I can’t honestly say the past year has been easy. The first few months were a mix of euphoria and mourning, of steamy nights with Ben and quiet days working through my emotions. Negotiating the feelings left over from the trial experience was horrible, and I couldn’t have done it without Ben to steady me on the days when I wanted to break things. Handling my heartache has been trickier. I can get over the lies Erish, the Book of Secrets and even my father told me, but the pain of losing someone …

  It’s impossible to heal fully from the deaths of my father and Myca or to forget what I felt for them. The best I can do is to remember them and focus on the positive impact they had on me and everyone else. Because of their sacrifices, the infertility problems afflicting the Community disappeared within three months of the curse breaking. A rash of pregnancies took the supernaturals by absolute surprise. In fact, so many couples conceived, the leaders had to convene a summit to discuss the shortage of medical clinics and birth control practices, because it had been too long since anyone had needed to prevent pregnancies. Everyone simply forgot how not to get pregnant.

  I swear I must’ve laughed for a week when Ben told me this, partially out of sheer joy at the confirmation the curse was broken. But mainly, I found it hysterical to imagine the stoic, grave clan leaders sitting in a stuffy boardroom somewhere, uncomfortably discussing basic sex education.

  I also somehow retained my angelic healing magic, which came in handy for about two months. I was able to keep my promise to Tristan and save every fae baby born from the night when Erish disappeared until the curse gradually wore off and my help was no longer required to ensure the infants survived. Once threatened with extinction, the Community as a whole is rebounding and growing after two thousand years of living in fear.