Page 78 of Fated Alpha Baby

Dark, corrupted magic coils around her body like smoke.

“You found us quicker than I expected,” she says, her voice laced with bitterness and amusement.

I move Clarissa behind me instinctively, every protective instinct I possess roaring to life.

“What did you do to him?!” I growl, and the witch only shrugs.

“Nothing permanent,” she says nonchalantly.

My gaze flickers back to Conan, and I see the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

His chest barely rises, and rage fills every corner of my being. It’s dark. Violent. Dangerous.

The witch seems to notice. I see satisfaction flash across her face as she stretches out a hand.

“Give me the child.”

My stomach twists, and my brows pull into a frown. “No.”

Her smile widens as she turns back to Conan. “Then your mate dies.”

The world narrows when I hear those words, and everything around me disappears. The buildings. The city. The traffic. The alley.

All I can see is Conan. Broken. Bleeding. Dying...

And Clarissa trembling behind me.

“No.” This time, my voice is stronger as I straighten my shoulders and tilt my chin with defiance. “I will never give you my child.”

The witch sighs dramatically. “That’s too bad,” she drawls, and she points a palm at me, and dark magic explodes toward me.

I shove Clarissa behind a dumpster just as the foul magic slams into the pavement where she’d been standing moments earlier.

Concrete erupts in dust particles that fill the air.

The witch attacks again, this time her dark magic pointed at me. I dodge every attack, but they come so fast, so strong, and it takes every ounce of determination to stay focused. I remember every bit of training Conan and I practiced as the alley turned into a battlefield.

Fire bursts from my palms, wind screaming around me as I push against the dark witch’s attacks. The air itself seems to tremble beneath the force of our power colliding.

The witch is strong.

Stronger than any witch I’ve faced before. Stronger than my sisters in the August Moon Circle, whom I’d spar with occasionally when training.

But the dark witch isn’t fighting for someone she loves. She isn’t fighting to protect her child. And she isn’t fighting for her mate.

I am.

Every dark spell she murmurs and all the black torrents of smoke she throws only fuel the fury building inside me. Every glance toward Conan’s motionless body makes my power surge harder. Hotter. Brighter. Until the fire I wield changes.

The flames surrounding my hands become white-gold, pure and blinding, drawing from deep within my being, as ancient as my ancestors.

The witch’s eyes widen, fear finally appearing on her face.

“What are you—”

I don’t let her finish. Fire and wind erupt from me in a devastating wave, the mate bond, my desperation, amplifying the powers I already wielded. It feeds my magic in a way that makes me feel more powerful than ever, unstoppable. A force that nothing can stop. Not even dark magic.

The alley becomes an inferno as I push all my power forward,