The elder’s attention swings to Sera with laser focus. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” she admits with a nod. “The visions started a week ago. I saw Llewelyn women standing frozen with dark magic coiled around their hearts. A voice warned me not to speak of it to anyone within our territory, said someone would stop me from finding the truth if I did.”
“And have you?” Isla leans forward in her chair. “Bonded with your true mate?”
The question lingers in the space between us. Sera’s face doesn’t change, but I see color creep up her neck.
“Yes. The bond is complete.”
“Then perhaps the legend holds more truth than I believed.” Isla settles back in her chair, suddenly looking every one of her two hundred years. “Perhaps the ice can melt after all. But you must accept the bond. Not just complete it.”
We spend another hour discussing the details of what Isla remembers, comparing her oral histories to the written records we’ve gathered. She shares more fragments—stories about women who tried to leave the pack and found themselves unable to form bonds elsewhere, tales of mates who grew frustratedwith the distance and eventually walked away, and whispers of children born without the ability to connect properly to their wolves.
All symptoms of the curse are working their way deeper into Llewelyn bloodlines.
By the time we leave, the sun has started its descent toward the horizon. Isla sees us to the door with a warning.
“Breaking what was done will not be easy or painless. If this is true, the magic has been growing stronger for three centuries. It will fight to survive, and you’ll bear the worst of that fight.” She looks directly at Sera. “Are you prepared for that?”
Sera draws in a shaky breath and replies, “I don’t have a choice. Either I break it or watch my pack continue dying by inches.”
“Then may your bond be strong enough to withstand what comes.” Isla closes the door, leaving us standing on her porch in the gathering dusk.
We walk back toward the border in silence. My mind spins with everything Isla shared, connecting pieces to the historical records and Evangeline’s documentation. The pattern is clear now—a curse designed to isolate and weaken, sold as protection to a matriarch desperate to keep her pack safe.
And Sera might be the only one who can break it.
I’m so focused on processing the information that I almost miss the scent. Almost don’t register the wrongness of it until we’re nearly at the border.
Thornridge.
Multiple wolves. Recent enough that the scent is still fresh. Far too close to Llewelyn territory for comfort.
I stop walking and eye the tree line, every instinct screaming danger.
“What’s wrong?” Sera asks, but I can already see her nostrils flaring as she catches the scent too.
“They were here.” I move toward the border, following the scent trail. “Thornridge operatives. Recently, based on how strong this is.”
The trail leads to a ridge overlooking the path we took earlier. Perfect vantage point for surveillance. I find evidence of their presence—disturbed soil, broken branches, and the unmistakable scent markers that pack operatives leave when they’re mapping territory.
They were watching. Waiting. Gathering intelligence about Llewelyn’s defenses and patrol patterns.
And now they know Sera came back.
Chapter 17 - Sera
The stench of Thornridge wolves haunts me all the way back to the border.
Reeyan handled the situation with Llewelyn’s border patrol—explaining what we found, arranging for increased surveillance, and coordinating with the warriors who looked at him with slightly less hostility after he reported the threat. But the whole time my mind kept circling back to one unavoidable fact.
Thornridge knows I returned to Llewelyn territory. They were watching. Waiting. Gathering intelligence about our defenses while we spoke with Isla about breaking a curse, they probably want to exploit.
I guess Reeyan was right. Staying with him is the safest option.
The drive back toward Grayhide passes in silence for the first twenty minutes. Frozen tundra gives way to scrubland, then gradually to the desert landscape that characterizes his territory. I watch the terrain change through the passenger window and try to organize the chaos in my head.
I’m the key to breaking the curse. Me. A Llewelyn woman with psychic abilities bonded to her true mate. The legend Isla dismissed as wishful thinking turned out to be real, and I’m apparently the one who’s supposed to fulfill it, just like the Hysopp coven said.
