Chapter 100
The cottage was exactly as Niall liked it: small, stone, and overlooking the clear blue of the Mediterranean. It was a charming, cozy refuge in Malta, a perfect hideout that smelled faintly of sea salt and old paper. Niall wasn't kneeling before a dark altar; he was sitting in an antique leather armchair, holding a glass of Maltese wine.
He didn't need a coven to scry; he had paid Ursula well to anchor the magic, and his own blood was the antenna. The connection snapped into place not with a visible flash, but with a visceral, cold spike of energy that slammed into his mind. It was sharp, absolute, and ripped the calm right out of his bones. The glass of wine dropped from his fingers, shattering harmlessly on the thick woolen rug.
It is done. The blood-to-blood spell is comp
