To ruin an Omega

Chapter 88: Cottonwood 2

CIAN

She stepped aside and held the door wider. But then she raised one finger. “Only you should come in.”

Ronan moved forward immediately. His body tensed. “I think not.”

I put my hand on his chest. Held him back. “Remember what you said.”

His jaw clenched. The muscle there jumped and twitched. But he stepped back. His eyes never left the witch.

I walked past Ophelia and into the cottage. The door closed behind me with a soft click.

The interior was exactly what I expected. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in bundles. Shelves lined every wall. They were packed with jars and bottles. Some held liquids that glowed faintly. Others contained things I could not identify. A fire burned low in the hearth. The flames cast dancing shadows across the room.

But there was something else. A smell. Sweet and familiar. It tugged at my memory. It tried to surface but could not quite break through. I knew that scent. I had smelled it before. But where?

“Sit,” Ophelia said. She gestured to a small table near the window. Two chairs sat on either side.

I remained standing.

She shrugged and moved to a cabinet. Pulled out a teapot and two cups. Her movements were slow. Deliberate. She poured dark liquid into both cups. Steam rose in thin wisps.

“Tea?” she offered.

“I am not here for tea,” I said.

“It is not poisoned,” she said. She picked up one cup and took a sip. “See? Perfectly safe.”

The sweet smell grew stronger. It was coming from somewhere in the room. From one of the shelves maybe. Or from something brewing in a pot I could not see. My wolf stirred. Restless. Something about that scent bothered it. It bothered me more.

I pushed the thought aside. Focused on why I was here.

“I am here for business,” I said.

Ophelia set her cup down. She settled into one of the chairs and looked up at me. “I really did not think they would use it against a member of a pack so powerful.”

“You were working for my uncle Gabriel and you are surprised?” I asked.

She laughed. The sound was dry. Brittle. “It is actually just two low borns. A sentinel and an Omega.”

I stared at her. I barely believed that shit. “What?”

“The people who paid me,” she said. She picked up her cup again and took another sip. “They were not working for anyone important. Just two low borns with a grudge.”

My hands curled into fists. “You have no problem helping people attack innocent pack members?”

“I have no problem helping the wronged,” she corrected. “Given how classist your kind are.”

“My mother who is as kind as she could be was caught in your kindness to low borns,” I said. My voice came out harder. Sharper. “And I need a fix.”

Ophelia set her cup down again. Her expression grew more serious. “What poison was it?”

“It was made to look like she has the rot,” I said.

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh. One of my unique blends.”

The casual way she said it made my blood boil. Like she was discussing a recipe for bread. Not something that was killing my mother.

“I can help,” she said. “But it will cost you.”

“How much?” I asked.

“Fifty grand for a bottle.”

I did not hesitate. “You have a deal.”

She smiled. It was a calculating expression. The smile of someone who knew they held all the cards.

“You can earn more,” I said, satisfied that she was a slave to money. “If you know anything else regarding the sentinel and Omega that could push me in the right direction. Like who they were working for. Or who else came to see you.”

Her smile widened. “How high will you pay?”

“As high as a million.”

“Oh I like you,” she said. She leaned forward in her chair. Her eyes gleamed. “You see there was this man who came to me once. He paid very well for information on how to make poisons that mimic natural diseases. He was very specific about the symptoms he wanted. Very detailed about how it should present.”

“Who was he?” I asked.

“I never got a name,” she said. “But he was important. You could tell by the way he carried himself. By the quality of his clothes. By the amount of money he was willing to spend.”

My heart was pounding. This could be the connection. The link between Gabriel and everything that had happened.

“What did he look like?” I asked.

“Tall. Dark hair going gray at the temples. Strong build. He had these cold eyes. The kind that looked right through you.” She paused. Took another sip of tea. “And he had a scar. Right here.”

She traced a line down her left cheek.

That was Gabriel. She was describing Gabriel.

“He came back several times,” she continued. “Always asking questions. Always wanting to know more about different poisons. Different methods. He was very interested in things that could not be traced. Things that looked natural.”

“Did he ever mention why?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But he did not need to. Men like that only want such things for one reason.”

The sweet smell in the cottage was getting stronger. More insistent. My wolf was agitated now. Pacing. Something was wrong. Something about that scent.

But I needed this information more. Needed to hear everything she knew.

“Who else?” I asked. “Who else came to you?”

“There was the woman,” Ophelia said. “Young. Pretty. She came about eight months ago. Asked for different blends of poison and had enough to pay. My favorite was the one one that would make someone sick but not kill them. Something that would look like a chronic illness.”

“What did she look like?”

“Dark coarse hair. Soft eyes. Acne scars across her nose. She was nervous. Kept looking over her shoulder like she thought someone was following her.”

Bo. She had to be describing Bo.

“And then there was the sentinel,” Ophelia continued. “Big man. Broad shoulders. He came just last month even. Wanted something fast acting. Something that could be slipped into food or drink without being noticed. But he had no money at the time so that was just kept at the back of my mind.”

They wanted to do something else. What else?

But her description fit Kayden. All the pieces were falling into place.

“Gabriel was coordinating all of it,” I said. It was not a question.

“If you say so, I would assume so,” Ophelia said. “Though I never saw them together. They all came separately. All paid separately. But the timing. The types of poisons they wanted. It was all connected.”

I pulled out my phone. Opened my banking app. “Give me your account details.”

She recited a string of numbers. I typed them in. Transferred one million dollars. The confirmation came through almost immediately.

“Pleasure doing business,” she said. She stood and walked to one of the shelves. Her fingers traced along the bottles until she found what she was looking for. A small vial filled with dark red liquid.

“This is what you need,” she said. She turned back toward me. Held the vial up. “One dose. Administered orally. It will counteract the poison within hours.”

I reached for it.

“Oh, there is something else I forgot to mention.”

That sweet smell surged. Stronger than before. My wolf howled inside my mind. Warning. Danger.

“Do tell.” I said. But my focus was on that scent.

I knew that scent and finally, I placed it.

Magic. The magic of most practitioners has a smell. And this was familiar.

But why? I knew a few practicioners. So it would be no surprise if these witches knew each other.

“There was one time the Gabriel you speak of came and I noticed his—”

The thought had barely formed when it happened.

Ophelia’s head exploded.

One second she was standing there, about to finish her speech while holding the vial and smiling that calculating smile and the next second, her head was just gone.

Obliterated. Blood, bone and brain matter sprayed everywhere. It covered the walls. The shelves. The jars and bottles. It splattered across my face. My chest. My arms.

Red. Everything was red.

The vial fell from her hand and hit the floor. It says instantly and the dark liquid spread across the wood.

Her body swayed for a moment. Then crumpled. Fell to the floor in a heap of limbs and blood and torn fabric.

I stood frozen. Blood dripped from my face. Warm and thick. It ran into my eyes. Turned the world crimson.

The door burst open. Ronan came through first. His gun drawn. Eyes scanning. The sentinels flooded in behind him. Their boots thundered on the wooden floor.

“Cian!” Ronan shouted. His eyes were wide. Taking in the scene. The blood. The body. Me standing there covered in gore.

The rage hit me all at once. It surged up from somewhere deep inside. It was primal. Unstoppable.

I screamed.

The sound tore from my throat. Raw and jagged. It was not human. It was not even wolf. It was something else entirely. Pure fury given voice.

My hands clenched into fists. The blood on them was hot. Sticky. The witch’s blood. The only person who could save my mother. The only person with answers. The only connection we had.

Gone. Just like that. Her head blown apart by offensive magic. By someone who had been watching. Someone who knew we were here. Who knew what she would tell us.

I screamed again. The sound filled the cottage. Bounced off the walls. The jars on the shelves rattled. Some fell. Shattered on the floor. The contents spilled out. Strange liquids and powders and things that probably should not exist.

Ronan grabbed my shoulder. Tried to pull me back. “Cian. We need to move. Now.”

I shook him off. My chest heaved. My vision was red. Not just from the blood. From the rage. From the absolute fury consuming me.

“Search the area!” I roared. “Find the witch or warlock! Find them now!”

The sentinels moved immediately. They scattered. Some went outside. Some checked the other rooms. Their movements were quick. Professional. But I knew they would find nothing. Whoever did this was long gone. They had done their wicked spell and disappeared.

I looked down at the body. At what remained of Ophelia Cottonwood. The witch who had made the poison. Who had the antidote. Who knew everything.

The vial was destroyed. The liquid soaked into the floorboards. Useless now.

“No no no no,” I said. The words came out strangled. Broken. “No. We need that. We need the antidote.”

I dropped to my knees. My hands moved over the broken glass. Trying to salvage something. Anything. But it was gone. Absorbed into the wood and lost.

Ronan knelt beside me. “Cian. We need to go.”

“We need the antidote,” I said again. My voice cracked.

“I know. But we can’t stay here. Whoever did this might still try again. Who knows if you are a target as well.”

I looked at the body again. At the blood pooling around it. Spreading. Soaking into everything.

That sweet smell was still there. Underneath the copper tang of blood. Underneath the herbal scents and magical residue. That familiar sweetness that I still could not put my fingers at.

Why? Why did this place smell like that?

“Alpha,” Ronan said. His voice was firm now. Commanding even. “We go now.”

I let him pull me to my feet. My legs felt weak and unsteady. Blood dripped from my clothes. From my hair. From my face.

We walked out of the cottage. Into the morning light. The sentinels had formed a perimeter. Their weapons were raised. Eyes scanning the tree line. Looking for threats.

But there was nothing. Just forest. Just trees swaying in the breeze. Just birds singing like nothing had happened. Like the world had not just ended.

I stood there in the dirt path. Covered in blood. Empty handed. Failing.

My mother was dying. The witch was dead. The antidote was destroyed. And I had no answers. No leads. Nothing.

Gabriel had won again. He had been one step ahead. Had known we would come here. Had sent someone to make sure the witch never talked. To make sure we never got what we needed.

The rage built again. Stronger this time. I threw my head back and roared at the sky. The sound echoed through the forest. Birds scattered from the trees. Small animals fled.

But it changed nothing. Fixed nothing.

I needed more than rage. I needed fucking foresight.