I release him. I step back, my chest heaving, my fox trembling inside me.
For a heartbeat, silence. He stares up at me, disbelief carved into his face.
Then he moves.
With a roar, he lunges, claws flashing, his fox-fire bursting, striking for my back.
Before it lands, the night splits with a wolf’s howl.
Darius crashes into him, his wolf massive, his jaws snapping shut on Roman’s shoulder, dragging him down. Roman screams, his claws raking, but Rafe barrels in next, his bull’s form tearing through snow, horns goring deep into Roman’s ribs. Malek’s lion pounces, his claws tearing into Roman’s chest, his roar shaking the night. Cassian follows, his bear massive, his paw crashing down with the force of a landslide.
The Original Pact. Wolf, bull, lion, bear.
They fall on him together, their strikes unrelenting, their fury ancient, their unity unbreakable. Roman howls, his fox-fire bursting high, scorching the trees, searing the snow, but it falters, weakens, sputters. Their claws tear, their teeth rend, their power crushes until his fire gutters, his body broken beneath them.
I stagger back, blood running down my skin, my breath ragged, my fox shuddering inside me. The air reeks of iron and smoke, the fire dimming at last.
Roman lies still, his chest heaving once, twice, then no more. The Pact stands over him, blood streaking their bodies, their breaths sharp and fierce. Darius shifts back to flesh, his eyes locked on me.
“You should have killed him,” he says, his voice steady, cold.
My own voice comes low, raw. “I already did. Just not with my claws.”
Snow falls soft, the battlefield stills. My fox exhales, trembling, no longer bound by shadow.
Roman is gone.
At last, I am free.
27
MARY
The sky is the color of ash.
Smoke churns into the heavens, blotting out the stars, painting the moon a sickly shade of orange. Below, the Syndicate fortress burns, fire roaring high, timbers collapsing under their own weight, stone walls groaning as if the earth itself is trying to shrug them off its skin. The night is alive with screams—some fox, some wolf, some too human to name—and my wolf paces inside me, ears pinned, hackles raised, demanding I move, demanding I fight, demanding I save.
We’ve won. I know this in my bones, in the scent of Roman’s blood still wet in the snow, in the way the Syndicate’s ranks scatter like leaves before the storm. But victory has its price, and it is heavy.
“Mary!”
Tessa’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp as a blade. She stands near the south wall, her hands raised, threads of vision-light weaving through her fingers, guiding wolves through falling rubble. Her eyes catch mine, wide and urgent. “There are innocents inside!”
My chest tightens, the words cutting like claws. Innocents. Not fox soldiers, not Syndicate loyalists, but the ones Roman kept bound—witches, servants, those with no choice but to serve his fire.
“I’ll get them!” I call back, already running, my wolf pushing forward, my lungs burning as smoke sears my throat.
The fortress looms ahead, its gates shattered, flames licking high into the night. The air inside is suffocating, thick with heat and ash, the floor beneath my boots groaning with every step. I shove aside beams, leap broken stone, my wolf’s instincts guiding me through collapsing corridors.
A cry reaches me—high, sharp, desperate.
I turn down a narrow hall, the fire closing in on both sides, the heat blistering my skin. At the end lies a chamber half-collapsed, flames clawing up the walls. In the center, a woman lies pinned beneath a fallen beam, her face streaked with soot, her hair tangled, her eyes wide with terror. She claws at the wood, coughing, her voice breaking.
“Please! Please!”
My wolf surges.
I drop to my knees, my claws extending, sinking into the heavy timber. My muscles strain, fire biting at my arms, my lungs searing as smoke thickens. The beam creaks but doesn’t lift, the heat pressing down, the fire roaring closer.
