Then comes the man.
He’s massive, towering, broad as an ancient blackbark. Built like he could shoulder a boulder without flinching and still have strength to spare. Muscles ripple beneath his shirt with every careful step, the fabric barely containing the raw power beneath. His shaggy brown hair falls over his eyes, matted with sweat and what might be blood, both his and others’. The scent of violence clings to him like a second skin. His arms cradle a bundled figure wrapped in heavy white cloth that might once have been a cloak. I note the limp weight of it, the unnatural stillness. Thecareful way he moves, as though carrying something infinitely precious and terribly fragile. The reverence in his movements. The protective curl of his body around his burden.
A body. Unconscious? Wait. I focus my hearing, filter out the whispers of the forest, until I catch the faint sound of a heartbeat. I hear it from here, thready but persistent. A stuttering rhythm that speaks of trauma and desperate clinging to life. Like a bird with a broken wing, still fighting against the inevitable.
At first I assume he’s mortal. A guard or a servant. Some human muscle Mageetha recruited for her errand. The kind of disposable ally she might use when venturing into dangerous territories where even fae fear to tread. A student, perhaps?
The wind shifts through the trees, bringing with it the scents of the forest floor, and the man’s scent hits me like a physical blow.
Wolf.
Not a court-hound or half-bred plaything. A real one. Wild-born. Earth-soaked. Alpha-marked. The kind that shouldn’t exist anymore. Not since the purge, when the High Court turned on the shifter clans, branding them too loyal to the mortal bloodlines, too difficult to control. So, they were driven out and banished to the Mortal Realm.
His scent is primal, pine and blood and that old, forbidden wildness my people tried to bury. It’s the scent of a predator who’s known both freedom and pain, who understands territory and loyalty in ways my kind have long forgotten.
He keeps glancing at the trees, nostrils flaring. Eyes scanning the canopy where I hide. He knows we’re not alone. Knows someone is watching. His shoulders tense slightly when I shift my weight, though I make no sound. It’s instinct against instinct, predator recognizing predator.
A very clever and dangerous beast.
I follow from above, silent and sharp, hopping from limb to limb as they cut across the forest floor.
They don’t belong here.
Mageetha might be allowed, but he is something entirely different. Him and whoever he’s carrying. My father would want to know. I should intercept them now, demand answers. Draw my blade and assert the authority given to me by blood and oath.
Something holds me back. Curiosity? Perhaps, or something deeper. A strange reluctance that sits uncomfortably in my chest, as foreign as mortal sentiment.
They reach the clearing, the one that most have forgotten, though I never have. The one forbidden in cautionary tales. The bramble shifts, as though parted to allow passage by sentient fingers. The stones beyond the clearing whisper ancient warnings that neither of them heed. The house beyond awaits, carved into the cliff, windows glowing with warm amber light though no fire burns inside.
Cashira. The exiled witch. The forgotten one.
Tall and veiled in gossamer fabric that catches the faint starlight, she steps into the doorway and stares at the man holding the girl. The girl whose hair has now spilled free from the cloth. It’s ice white, tangled like seafoam caught in branches. Not silver like the Court nobles. Not platinum like the Dawn fae.
Ash white. Pure as bone.
She reeks of something old. Something that makes my skin prickle with recognition though I’ve never encountered it before. It crawls across my senses like frost over water, familiar in its strangeness.
Not magic. Not quite. Something. . .Tethered. Bound. Ancient and new all at once.
I watch them vanish into the stone-wrapped house, Cashira’s hands already working spells of healing and protection. I watch the door close with a sound like destiny settling into place,the sound dissipating through the now quiet forest. Even the nocturnal creatures have gone silent, as though holding their breath.
I stay behind. Stalking. Because I can’t stop watching. Because my feet won’t carry me back to report what I’ve seen.
Because something is wrong. Or right. I can’t tell which is worse.
Because I may not care about mortals or mutts, but that girl. . .that wondrous creature might just matter. To whom, I’m not certain. For what purpose, even less so.
I can’t put my finger on this pull, this invisible thread that seems to tug at something deep in my chest. Mere curiosity? No, it feels more than that, more fundamental. I need, no, want to find out. The distinction bothers me. Need implies weakness. Want is merely a choice. I’ve been trained since childhood to purge need from my existence.
When she wakes, when whatever brought her here finally is unveiled, I’ll be the one waiting. Watching. Ready. For what, I don’t know. For the first time in decades, I feel. . .anticipation. It’s both terrifying and invigorating.
CHAPTER ONE
ESME
“Isee you chose after all,” the high priestess, Isadura, says as she closes her eyes once more. “Yes,” she croons. “The wolf.” She opens her eyes and rakes her gaze over my body. “Well, two souls are better than one. Either way, there will be one less abomination in the world.”
No!
