The witch’s eyes narrowed, her body unnervingly still as the tendrils of fog coiled tighter around Peter’s ankles.
“Well?” she hissed. “Who broke my magic?”
Peter licked his lips, savoring the moment. “An omega.”
The witch’s laugh was sharp, dismissive. “Impossible. No omega has ever bested me. Their kind bends… they do not break.”
Peter leaned forward, his voice a low snarl. “Not this one. She’s different. She stood before me, before the Court, and crushed your power under her own. She had an aura, cloaked in shadows I’ve never felt before… and she isn’t afraid to use them.”
The witch’s smile returned, but it was different now — thin, cold, dangerous.
“A Dark Aura… and an omega? Impossible!” she whispered, as if testing the words. Her gaze unfocused for a moment, her mind running ca
