I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. The world shrank down to the shine of steel at his throat and the vein pulsing in theWyrdmother’s neck. It was like I’d been pressed flat by gravity—a hundred atmospheres crushing my ribs until something deep in me snapped. Then, all at once, the terror shifted.
It started in my chest, a coil of panic collapsing into rage. Not just anger, but something older, purer. Something that burned away fear and made room for a different animal. The world slowed. I saw the light as if I were inside it. The Wyrdmother’s hand, the edge of the blade, the lines of runes in the bonfire’s shadow—every detail went razor-sharp and bright.
My hands rose of their own will, and for the first time in my life, I felt magic the way a wildfire must feel its own heat. Every nerve ending sparked, my fingers searing with white-hot light. It hurt, but not in a way that wanted to be stopped. It wanted out.
The Wyrdmother saw the change a moment too late. She turned, mouth open to scream a spell, but my voice beat hers to the punch.
“GET AWAY FROM MY MATE!” I screamed, and the world split.
Lightning—pure, holy, blinding—shot from my hands. It hit her in the chest, not just moving her but unmaking her. There was no time for words or last curses. Her black robe, her crown of silver hair, her talons—all of it dissolved into a shower of green and gold sparks, then nothing at all. The force of it knocked the nearest coven sisters off their feet. The bonfires roared higher, caught up in the burst of raw power.
The energy didn’t stop at the Wyrdmother. It spun out in fractal branches, arcing between the sisters, the trees, the standing stones around the altar. I swung toward them, hands still white with fury.
“And y’all!” I hollered, my voice bouncing off the clearing. “Not so funny now, is it? Not a dud anymore, huh?”
They cowered. Not a single one so much as reached for their own magic. They’d seen something they didn’t understand and never wanted to see again.
Before I could let loose another blast, I felt a presence behind me. Warm, ancient, peaceful and terrifying all at once.
A hand—cool and gentle—closed over my shoulder. I flinched, ready to turn my power on whatever it was. But his voice froze me faster than a spell ever could.
“You did well, daughter. But that’s enough for now.”
I turned. Archon stood behind me, taller than the pines, white hair glowing even brighter than my hands. His wings stretched out behind him, so vast they cast their own shadow, eating the firelight whole.
It was like waking up from a trance. The power snapped back, stinging my palms. I staggered a step; the world lurching back to normal speed and color. I nearly toppled, but he caught me, guiding me to the ground as if I weighed nothing.
Then the bond snapped back—hard and fast—and all I could think of was Papa.
I spun, still reeling, and saw him slumped on the altar. Blood pulsed in a dark sheet from the cut at his neck. His lips moved, forming my name, but no sound made it out. Archon was there before I could scream, his hand pressed against the wound. Light spilled from between his fingers, blue and gold, so beautiful it hurt my eyes.
“Stay with him,” Archon commanded, and I did, falling to my knees at the altar, grabbing Papa’s hand in both of mine as the chains had fallen away. The runes carved on his skin smoked, burning away under Archon’s touch. I wept openly, snot and tears running down my face, but I didn’t care.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” I whispered. “You promised. You’re my anchor.”
He smiled, even as he bled. “Sunshine,” he mouthed.
The clearing shook with a different kind of thunder—the sound of wolves tearing through brush. Gunner and his team burst out of the trees, armed and wild-eyed, ready to rip the world apart.
Bronc, breaking from his spell bellowed, “MOVE!” and Menace dove in, weapon drawn. But they both slammed to a stop when they saw Archon. Menace’s mouth actually dropped open.
“What the fuck was that?” Menace said, looking from the scorched patch where the Wyrdmother had been, to the coven sisters huddled on the ground, to me with my hands still flickering with light.
Archon didn’t even look up. “We can discuss later. Your friend needs to be stabilized.”
Menace nodded, all the bravado gone. “Got it.”
Bronc moved to my side, one big hand on my shoulder. I realized then that the coven sisters hadn’t moved, hadn’t even tried to run. They were frozen with terror. Maybe that was for the best.
Archon worked fast. The wound on Papa’s neck shrank under his palm, the blood stopping as if reversed by the touch of God Himself. Archon’s eyes went flat and bright, as though he was pouring everything into his touch. I watched the color return to Papa’s face, the wild hitch in his breathing evening out.
“He’s going to be fine,” Archon said, finally letting go. “But he’ll need rest. You all will.”
Bronc’s voice was low and grateful. “Thank you.”
Archon turned to him, all warmth. “The wolves of Iron Valor always seem to keep me on my toes. Gather your people. We’ll need to talk. In private.”
Bronc nodded, then looked at Menace. “Secure the clearing, including the grimoire. Make sure no one follows us.”
