Anger flares hot, sharp enough that my wolf roars, the sound bursting from my throat before I can hold her back. “You think I have no idea what he is? You think I forgot the chains? The cage? The nights he stood guard while I fought myself bloody trying to break free? I remember every breath of it.”
“Then why defend him?” Darius steps closer, the floor creaking under his weight, his voice hard. “Why put yourself between us when I should have ended him? You stood in front of me, Mary. In front of me.”
“Because he saved me.” My voice comes out rough, almost breaking, but I don’t flinch. “When Roman would have gutted me, Silas turned. He stood between me and his own blood. He broke the chain when no one else could.”
Darius’s lip curls, his teeth flashing. “Or he did what Roman ordered him to do. You think foxes don’t play long games? You think he’s not already planning how to break you when you’re weak?”
I step into him then, chest to chest, my wolf snarling, my voice a low growl that vibrates through the air. “You think me blind? You think me weak? I am wolf, Darius. I am your blood. And if you believe I cannot tell when a man means truth, then you know nothing of me.”
For a moment, silence hangs, sharp as a blade. His breath heaves, his fists clenched, his wolf pushing against mine in a clash that rattles the walls.
Then, slowly, he steps back. His gaze softens for a heartbeat, then hardens again, the fire returning. “Don’t let your heart blind your wolf,” he says, low and warning. “Or you’ll doom us all.”
He leaves, the door slamming hard enough to shake the glass.
I stand alone, my chest heaving, my wolf still snarling and restless. She presses against me, claws raking, ears sharp, tail high. Without Silas, she is wild, untethered, her growl carrying through my blood like thunder. The ache in my chest deepens, hollow and hot, a wound I cannot close.
That night, the visions come.
I sit by the fire, the flames burning low, the cabin humming with quiet. The others sleep, their breaths steady, their wolves at rest. But my wolf will not settle. She prowls, restless, pulling my eyes into the flames until they blur and twist.
Smoke curls upward, shapes forming in the dark. Wolves, dozens of them, their paws pounding earth older than mountains. Their howls weave together, not in rage, not in war, but in harmony, in something stronger than dominance. And then I see light—silver and gold, threads wrapping them together like cords of moonlit silk.
The vision pulls deeper, dragging me down. I see foxes among them, their amber eyes glowing, their shadows running with the wolves instead of against them. Witches too, their hands raised, their power flowing not as chains but as bridges, binding strength to strength. A circle forms, wide and unbroken, wolves, foxes, witches, healers, all clasped together. The air thrums, not with fear, not with blood, but with something older, something truer.
Love.
The word pulses through me, heavy and undeniable.
This is not the old Pact, carved in blood, sealed with death. This is something new. A Pact reforged not in fear, but in bond. Not in war, but in love.
The vision cracks, the cabin rushing back around me. The fire snaps, sparks flying, the smoke thinning. My breath comes ragged, my heart pounding hard against my chest. My wolf howls, the sound shaking through me, her voice carrying not just pain but recognition.
She knows. She understands.
I press my hand to my chest, my palm hot over my heart. “Silas,” I whisper into the silence. His name trembles in the air, swallowed by shadows.
The door creaks.
Tessa steps inside, her pale eyes catching the firelight. She studies me a long moment before speaking. “You saw something.”
I don’t answer at first. My throat is tight, my wolf still pressing forward, wild and raw. Finally, I nod. “A Pact. A new one. Not born in war. Born in something else.”
Tessa tilts her head, her voice steady, curious. “And you believe you have a part in it?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” I admit, my voice low but firm. “But my wolf does. She howls for it.”
Tessa’s lips curve, not in mockery but in quiet acknowledgment. “Then trust her. The old ways are breaking. What comes next will not be forged by those who cling to blood alone.”
She leaves me with that, her footsteps fading into the night.
I sit alone by the fire, my wolf restless but sure, her growl humming low in my chest. I don’t fear the ache of not knowing where I belong. Because maybe my place is not behind them. Not even beside them.
Maybe it is ahead, carrying a vision that will tear down the old world and build something stronger.
22
SILAS
