She did. This time, I caught a blur in the left corner of the frame—a flicker of movement, just as Papa turned his head. The motion was wrong: too fast, too smooth. Not a wolf. Not human.
Oscar leaned forward, his nose nearly pressed to the laptop screen. “Miss,” he said, “that is witchcraft. He has been taken.”
The world narrowed to a single, painful point.
I stepped back from the table, my knees weak. I tried to reach for the mate bond, but it was muffled, like trying to hear someone shout through a concrete wall. I knew he was alive, because I could feel a faint echo of him—fear, not for himself, but for me. That made it worse.
Bronc came through the door, his face dark with concern. “Report?”
Wrecker briefed him in two sentences. Bronc listened, then turned to me. “We’ll find him, Aspen. I swear to you.”
I nodded, but my heart was gone. I’d spent months thinking I was the target, that the witches of Verdant Hollow would come for me first. But Papa was my anchor, my whole world. I’d never considered that, in their twisted logic, they might strike at him instead.
Bronc barked orders, sending search teams into the woods and along the highway. Parker fired off a string of texts to the other packs. Within minutes, the entire compound shifted from party to war room, everyone moving with grim purpose. But I felt frozen in place, my entire self a hollow, echoing shell.
Juliet found me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered, holding me tight.
But it was. It was my blood the Wyrdmother wanted, my magic. If I hadn’t come here, none of this would have happened. I’d do whatever it took to get him back.
I’d changed out of the party dress into black leggings, tall flat boots, and a borrowed MC sweater that hung down past my butt and left my arms free to move. I’d cinched my hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of my face more than anything. I needed every neuron focused, every sense sharp, nothing falling into my eyes to distract me.
Wrecker’s place was barely contained chaos. I stood just inside the door, pulse high and hot, as Parker flitted from one screen to another, her fingers blurring over the keyboard. They’d transferred their tech room to the living room. It had been gutted for this: coffee table banished, all furniture shoved against the walls to make room for a folding table packed with laptops, monitors, and charging cords. At the center, a flatscreen TV displayed a live grid of security feeds, each windowlabeled in all-caps: BARN, ENTRY RD, SOUTH TREE LINE, BUNKHOUSE, and more.
Juliet and Maddie hovered near me like an ad hoc honor guard, but I barely felt them. Every cell in my body was screaming for JT—for Papa—and the mate bond was no longer a lifeline but a noose cinched tight. If I could have reached through space and yanked him home, I would have.
The air in the house vibrated with the kind of tension you get in the last seconds before a tornado touches down. Arsenal and Gunner had been pacing the entryway, but they’d stopped now, arms folded tight across their chests, eyes pinned to the screens. Even the enforcers looked spooked; this was not a drill.
Kazimir stood near the window, backlit by the outside security lights, a presence so cold he seemed to pull the heat from the room. Every now and then he let out a low, almost-growl rumble, but mostly he watched the activity in silence, his jaw clenched like a bear trap. King Rafe, who had to duck to clear the ceiling fan, was camped out near the kitchen, arms crossed, feet planted like he was bracing for impact.
Oscar, in his best “crisis” waistcoat, had a front-row seat atop Parker’s monitor, standing at attention. His fur was so puffed it looked like he’d stuck a paw in a live wire. He barely glanced at me when I entered, but I felt the faint nudge of his familiar magic at the edge of my senses, an extra buffer against the panic in my veins.
I tried to count the people in the room, tried to anchor myself in their presence, but my attention kept boomeranging back to the screens. Every time the outside cam flickered, my heart would jerk—hoping for a flash of blond hair, a telltale stride. I looked again and again, as if sheer force of will could conjure him back.
Parker muttered a string of curses at her monitor, then stabbed the enter key like it owed her money. “I’ve got the lasthour of footage parsed, but he’s just gone. One frame he’s there, next frame he’s smoke. This doesn’t make any fucking sense. And there’s not another person or presence anywhere to be seen. Not outside the fences, not on the highway.”
Wrecker hovered behind her, eyes red, jaw set. “Rewind and scrub again. Look for any energy signatures—heat, electromagnetic, whatever.”
Parker glared at him but did as told. “I’ve run six spectral filters already. There’s nothing. No visual disturbance, no energy spike, no nothing. It’s like he walked into a goddamn black hole.”
Kazimir paced the window, steps silent even on the tile. “Witchcraft,” he said, biting the word in half. “It’s always power plays with these witches. Always want more.”
King Rafe nodded, arms still crossed. “That bitch wants something that will position her above the rest of us. You can bank on that.”
“My mother’s grimoire. She wants my mother’s grimoire.” My words stilled the room as all eyes turned to me.
I licked my lips and took a deep breath. “She’s obsessed with magic. Old magic. She wants to be the most powerful witch in North America—maybe even the world. But she’s already top-tier. There’s only one thing she doesn’t have.” My fingers fidgeted, nails scraping my thigh through the leggings. “She wants the grimoire. Or my blood. Or both.”
Parker spun around in her chair, chair legs shrieking on tile. “Do you know why?”
“I’m pretty sure,” I answered. “Oscar says there’s a spell in the grimoire—one my mom hid—where a witch can drain magic from anyone, and make it their own. If the Wyrdmother had it, she could become a goddess.” I paused, realizing the room was holding its breath. “Or burn the world down.”
Juliet’s hand found mine. Her palm was soft, but her grip was iron. “Aspen. Tell me you have the grimoire.”
“I… It’s in the safe at the house,” I said, voice gone small.
Rafe grinned, all wolf, all menace. “She’ll make contact with you, little witch. When she does, you bring the book. We’ll take care of her then.”
“Can we?” I asked. “She’s way more powerful than me. Than any of us.”
