I tried to move. Tried to stand despite broken ribs and magic-exhaustion and the bone-deep certainty that I was so far out of my depth that drowning was the kindest possible outcome. But my body wouldn't obey, wouldn't let me do more than crawlacross churned earth toward the ritual circle where Nate still knelt.
My son. Still breathing. Still bleeding. Still trapped in a spell that was using him to fuel whatever Silas had planned next.
I reached for the moon again.
Please,I thought at the moonlight still struggling to shine through Silas's corruption.Please, I'll pay whatever it costs, just help me save him.
The moon answered again.
Moonlight touched my hands, and I felt the ritual circle's geometry. I saw where Rafe had anchored it, where Silas's power fed into it, where Nate's blood had been twisted to fuel resurrection magic that shouldn't exist.
And I saw the weak point. The place where if I pulled just right, if I poured enough power into disrupting the pattern?—
I reached for Nate with moon magic instead of hands. Silver light extended from my palms like threads, wrapped around him gently, and I felt his druid power flare in response.
Dad?Not words. Just recognition across pack bonds and bloodline magic and the absolute certainty of parent and child finding each other in the dark.
I've got you. Hold on.
Nate's druid magic rose to meet mine—green and silver braiding together, earth power and moon magic creating something neither of us could have managed alone. Together we pushed against the ritual circle, found the weak point I'd seen, and pulled.
The pattern shattered.
Not cleanly. Not completely. But enough that the carved lines flickered and died, that the dead luminescence faded, that Nate gasped and fell forward no longer held by corruption magic.
And Silas paused.
Turned away from the pack he'd been systematically destroying. Looked at me and Nate, and his expression shifted from casual dismissal to something that might have been interest.
His smile was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. “How delightfully unexpected.”
He moved toward us, and every step made the ground crack. Made moonlight dim. Made the air taste like grave dirt and old malice.
I threw everything I had at him. Moon magic, ward disruption, desperate fury shaped into silver light that should have been enough to at least slow him down.
It splashed against his defenses like water against stone.
Nate added his power—druid magic pulled straight from the forest's heart, green light that made trees bend toward us and earth shift under Silas's feet.
Together we created a barrier. Fragile, incomplete, held together by nothing but determination and the absolute refusal to let this monster take my son.
It held. Barely. Just long enough.
Silas stopped. Looked at the barrier like it was a curious puzzle, then at us with something that might have been approval. “Interesting. Very interesting. You're stronger together than you should be.” He glanced at Gideon, who stood frozen at the clearing's edge. “Your bloodline, my craft. Perhaps there's symmetry in that.”
Then he smiled, and it was a promise. “We'll finish this another time. When I have what I need.”
He dissolved into shadow.
Not a retreat. Not running. Just choosing to leave because he'd gotten what he came for—two hearts devoured, power stolen, and a pack broken by grief and exhaustion.
The clearing fell silent except for labored breathing and the wet sound of blood dripping on frozen ground.
I crawled to Nate, hands shaking, and pulled him into my arms. He collapsed against me, breathing hard, blood soaking through his shirt and mine and I didn't care, couldn't care about anything except the fact that he was breathing.
“I've got you,” I said roughly. “I've got you, you're safe, I've got you?—”
“Dad—” His voice cracked. “Alaric—he killed?—”
