Amara is the one who finally gives voice to the most obvious one.
“Why would they have come back? Were they acting on Cathal McNamara’s behalf, or did they return chasing something more personal against you, Fallamhain?” She pauses, thoughtful. “Or, least likely of all, did they believe they could return, admit their faults, and be welcomed back?”
Even if I had an answer for her, I know she’s not really asking for one.
Right now, everything feels like this—questions stacked on questions, a growing list of unknowns with no clear way to resolve them. It’s suffocating. And beneath the frustration, that familiar seance of failure starts to surface—the quiet fear that I’m not doing enough. Not for my pack. Not for my mate. Not to keep the people under my protection safe.
I shove these darkening thoughts and feelings away before they can take root and focus on what Icando right now.
“Amara, can you get Darran down? I don’t want someone else from the pack wandering by and getting an eyeful of this shit.”
The witch gives me a curt nod in answer.
I look to Canaan next, but he’s already two steps ahead of me. “I’ll get some guys to help me with the bodies. We’ll load them on the ATVs and take them to the cave.”
“Cave?” Rook repeats
It’s an old tradition—if you can even call it that—one my great-great-grandfather started when bloodshed between packswas common. Shifter land is considered sacred. Allowing an enemy’s body to decay in the soil is seen as contamination. A violation. So, he chose another way. The dead were placed in a cave away from the heart of the territory and left there as a kind of offering to the wild wolves we share this land and half of our souls with.
Canaan explains this to Rook, who blinks at me once. Twice.
“Sure, why not?” he starts with an exaggerated shrug. “You’ve got enchanted trees that impale people and magical sandpits off fuck knows where. Why wouldn’t you have a cave you leave bodies in for wild animals to feast on? Fits the aesthetic you’ve got going on perfectly.” Shaking his head, he claps Canaan on the shoulder and jerks his chin in the direction of the other man that died here today. “I’ll help you with the bodies. Then I’ll do one last sweep, make sure we’re only really dealing with two trespassers.”
Amara couldn’t be sure if there had been two trespassers or three. Everything we’ve found points to two, but until we know for certain, none of us are standing down.
Canaan nods, glancing at Amara as he tells her, “We’ll be back for this one once you get him down.”
Amara inclines her head and then my two friends move off together.
I watch their backs before turning to the High Priestess, dryly asking, “Should I bother asking what other traps you’ve set on my land?”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “And ruin the surprise?” she says mildly. “I don’t think so, Fallamhain. When that coven comes back for our people, and we both know they will, I want you just as horrified as they are when they trigger our spells.”
There’s bloodlust in her voice. Grief too. I don’t fault her for either.
If Noa had been taken from me the way Amara’s love was taken from her, I wouldn’t stop at retaliation. I’d raze everything in my path. I’d spill enough blood to drown in it, and I’d keep going until either my body gave out or the blade of grief finally cut deep enough to end it and finally bring me peace.
I’m about to tell her this, when a pressure ignites behind my eyes, sudden and familiar.
It’s a feeling that tells me I’m no longer alone in my head.
Her presence unfurls through my mind, filling all the shadowy corners with her light. Just as before, there’s no sense of invasion or a disruption. Having my mate link with me in this way is akin to warmth pressing to a bruise you didn’t know still ached.
Sweet one?I think to Noa, picturing her at home, pacing holes into the floor while she waits for an update from me.
Inky dread starts to spread through my limbs when she doesn’t answer me.
Despite the silence, I can still sense her there. Fumbling with the connection, still not fully understanding how this thing between us works, I nudge at it instinctively, trying to force my way deeper into the bond connecting us—trying to find her.Feelher.
Whatever I do shoves the door wide open.
And then it hits me—terror and pain flooding my system so violently I almost mistake it for my own. Except it isn’t. These emotions don’t belong to me, and that realization is somehow worse. The weight of it drives me nearly to my knees, fear crashing through my body like ice water.
I stagger, bare feet slipping on the packed snow as I gasp her name aloud. “Noa!” I’m too overcome and overwhelmed by these sensations to remember to reach for her the right way.
At my sudden outburst, the weight of attention snaps toward me. Concern, confusion, alarm from the witches and packhovering close, but I don’t look at them. I can’t. Everything in me is locked on one thing and one thing only. Noa.
I reach for her again, panic threading into my thoughts.Noa? Baby, what’s happening? I can feel that something is wrong.
