Panic presses hard against my ribs and I force it back down.
I try Rennick next.
His mind is shut down tight, barricaded in a way that feels deliberate, but he’s still here. I catch the rush of his vivid and very alive fury through the bond and I cling to that truth becauseit’s the only thing that matters right now. He’s still fighting. He’s still out there somewhere on the other side of this nightmare.
I reach again, just in case, and the same unyielding barrier doesn’t weaken. It strengthens. But there’s a steady rush of reassurance sent down the bond before it seals again. This isn’t rejection. It’s protection, like he’s shielding me from what he’s doing, or shielding himself from being distracted and pulled under by my presence. I can live with that for now.
I switch targets again.
Seren.
Nothing. She’s too far away for my gift to latch on to, which should terrify me. Instead, it gives me hope. Rennick’s house sits more than a mile from where we were taken. If I can’t reach Seren, maybe it’s because she’s where she should be—hidden with Ivey behind a reinforced steel door.
I go for Rhosyn next.
For a split second, I swear she’s nearby. My mind grazes the edge of hers, just enough of a flicker to make my chest tighten, and then it’s gone, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.
Trying to reach them all makes the drive pass in a blink.
The road bumps beneath the tires, the car rocks, the green light growing brighter as it flashes through the trees and into the windows. Then we stop. Doors open, cold air rushes in, and hands grab for us.
Siggy and I are hauled out by the waiting McNamara wolves. My boots hit mud and half-frozen dirt, and I anxiously take in the narrow dirt road that leads to the runway clearing.
It’s cut off by the green wall of flames that used to be Amara’s ward, rising high from the dirt and thrumming with dark corruption. It’s blocking the last stretch to the clearing. A locked gate they can’t pass until the magic holding it falls. Which means everyone is being held here until it does.
And the road is already full.
Dark coven members move through the shadows of the road, some watching, others stalking between the lines of kneeling people. McNamara wolves, some shifted and some not, do the same, helping guard the omegas dragged here from across the territory. The ones they plan to load onto a plane like everyday cargo.
The omegas are on their knees in snow and mud, mouths taped, hands bound in front of them with heavy-duty zip ties. They can only breathe through their noses, each exhale puffing white into the cold. Some cry without sound, shoulders trembling. Others stare straight ahead, eyes fixed and glassy, like turning their heads or letting themselves really see what’s happening would be the thing that breaks them.
I count as I’m dragged closer, eyes scanning faces.
Hattie’s familiar features catch my eye and my heart sinks.
She’s kneeling with a few other omegas I know well. They were part of Lowri’s pack and came here because we thought it would be safer. Now they’re huddled together, their eyes wide. When Hattie’s find mine, I force my mouth into the smallest smile I can manage and aim it at her. It’s reassurance that feels far too thin, almost dishonest, but it’s all I have to give right now.
Noting the remaining faces, relief on my shoulders when I confirm Seren isn’t among them. Elio neither. Not yet, anyway. For all I know, they’re already in a car headed this way.
As if I summoned it, a car pulls in behind us, and I turn just as traitorous Fallamhain wolves begin to yank two more omegas out of the back seat. I recognize one immediately. A friend of Fiona’s. I remember her from the heat kit making party at the healer’s cabin, a moment that already feels like it happened a lifetime ago.
Now she’s being hauled along by the ex-pack council member and saying something I can’t make out. Then she’s spitting in the middle-aged woman’s face.
The council member doesn’t hesitate. She rears back and strikes Fiona’s friend, the crack of it harsh and final as the omega’s head whips sideways and her mouth splits at the corner. She loses her footing and goes down hard, bound hands and knees slamming on the muddy road. She’s still trying to blink her vision clear when the councilwoman lifts her foot and starts kicking. Once. Twice. Again.
I’m moving before I remember why I shouldn’t.
Yelling, I wrench against the McNamara wolf’s grip, trying to get to her.
He changes his hold, slips his arms under mine, and drags me backward until my feet scrape uselessly through the dirt, my thrashing and shouting doing nothing against his brute strength. I twist and kick, fighting the pull, until my resistance becomes more trouble than it’s worth.
For a sick, weightless second my feet leave the ground. I come down on my side, the road slamming into me hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Pain flares through my ribs and shoulder as mud and half-frozen dirt soak into my clothes and rocks bite through the fabric.
Disoriented, I’m still fighting for my next breath, but I force myself up anyway. Palm sliding through the cold muck, I only make it to my knees before a shadow falls over me.
A cold blade touches my throat.
Curved. Serrated. Shaped like a claw.
