I turn my head back to the makeshift battlefield. Cathal’s wolf steps out of the chaos, and the rhythm of the fight shifts with him. The ruddy fur at his chin is dark with my pack’s blood. His tongue drags through it, savoring it, like he thinks its taste is already proof of his victory.
His gaze focuses on me and nothing else. He doesn’t look at the battle. Doesn’t spare Mercer or Canaan a single glance. I’m the only one here he thinks worthy of his attention.
I step forward.
This ends here.
I thought I’d buried my father’s legacy once before. I was wrong. His hatred outlived him, kept alive by those who refused to let it die. Cathal stands in the center of that more than anyone.
I won’t let it continue. I won’t let it reach into another generation or poison the future I’m building here.
My wolf doesn’t think in legacies. He thinks in what was nearly taken. He remembers Noa’s life slipping away over several weeks, remembers how close we came to losing her. He remembers the role this bastard played in that. The memory burns hot and bloodlust surges as I steady my stance. Demanding what he’s owed, my wolf seamlessly slides forward and takes the reins.
Cathal lunges.
My wolf meets him.
Chapter 45
Noa
The first warning our waiting game was over wasn’t the rush of dark magic that ripped through the trees and lit everything with a green hue.
It was the sound of Tanith’s coven and a few unlucky members of Pack McNamara fighting their way through the protective spells the Ashvale Coven placed all around the territory. It was the wet, unmistakable noise of bodies being ripped apart by magic joined by the symphonies of screaming. It was these noises that told Siggy and I during our walk back from our supply run to the healer’s cabin that something horrible was about to happen.
We heard the warning sounds of wolves in the distance. Unfamiliar. Dangerous. We didn’t hesitate from there. We slipped off the dirt road, out from open, and into the dense tree line, choosing cover over speed as we began making our way back toward Rennick’s house as quietly as we could.
It was during our stealthy trek—staying low, flinching every time a twig snapped or another pained howl split through the night—that dark magic flooded Amara’s ward, forcing it into a shape it was never meant to hold. The air shifted around us, corrupt and stifling, and then the green glow flared to life.
For a while, our plan seemed to be working. The trees closed in around us, their branches and trunks masking us from sight, and we were lulled into thinking we’d bought ourselves time. That we’d stayed unseen.
We were wrong.
The howls behind us shattered that illusion.
Close enough that my stomach dropped.
They caught our trail and just like that, the forest stopped being our shelter and turned into a hunting ground.
I don’t know how long we’ve been pushing ourselves like this. Long enough that direction stopped having any meaning many minutes ago, my bearing so twisted that I couldn’t tell you where we are even if I had time to stop and think about it. Long enough that every step is now a chore, my muscles screaming, my lungs burning as I drag in air and force myself to keep going anyway.
The trees blur as we run, all of it washed in the ward’s unnatural green light—the ward that was never meant to be a visible force. I can feel it from here, wrong and corrupted, and my magic recoils the way any living thing does to poison. It screams inside my veins, a frantic warning that can’t be ignored.
Siggy’s hand is locked around mine, her grip unyielding. She’s the one pulling us forward, choosing our turns, seeing paths in the terrain I can hardly process. Her senses are sharper, her wolf fully present, and she knows this land in a way I can no longer compete with.
Each time the deep snow trips me, she hauls me upright and keeps us going.
Behind us, bodies crash through brush and powder, the sound of wolves closing fast.
Siggy’s voice slips into my mind, strained and breathless despite it only being a thought.I know who they are, I recognize their scents. They’re pack. Ours.
She tells me their names next, explaining how both men had been figures in the pack since before she was born, and my stomach drops as the truth settles.
I know those names because they were scribbled below the printed pictures taped to the board in Rennick’s conference room just days ago. Only suspects then but confirmed traitorsnow. Wolves who are supposed to be locked in the reinforced holding cells beneath the lodge.
They’re free now.
Someone let them out. Cathal. Tanith’s coven. Or the other ones Rennick hasn’t uncovered yet. I don’t know who opened those doors, only that the consequences are crashing through the snow and nipping at our heels. Our own pack mates helping the coven do exactly what Cathal promised.
