“Such a strong gate,” a ragged voice issues from Yarrow’s mouth, deeper than any child’s. “So starved.”
I sprint, snow exploding beneath boots. “Yarrow, fight it!”
He tilts his head, pupils still rolled away. “Yarrow is sleeping. We wear him awhile.”
I shift mid-stride, bones cracking, height pivoting down. Wolf form lands on four paws streaked with ember markings, a sign of the multi-shape gift my ancestors bargained for. I barrel into the possessed cub, knocking him clear of the ward-stone. We tumble, fur and cloth and darkness tangling.
Yarrow shrieks—no, the thing inside him shrieks—claws at my muzzle with little hands that suddenly bear talons. The talons connect, carve three lines across my cheek. Blood sprays the snow, sizzling where it lands. The ward immediately roars, sensing alpha pain.
I can’t allow more. I force the shift again—wolf to human to hybrid halfway. Long arms pin Yarrow’s small shoulders. My voice breaks from two throats. “Let him go.”
The shadow curls behind the boy’s eyes, a night tide against pale sand. “Open the stones. Feed us and he lives.”
Lies. Shadow spirits devour until only husks remain. I need to end this before the pack loses faith.
I drag Yarrow closer, ignoring claws slicing my forearms. My blood hisses, heals, hisses again. I press my forehead to the boy’s. “Little fang, hear me.”
Inside, something quivers. Tiny, frightened. Yarrow’s essence fights but can’t breach the tar smeared over it. I push harder, speaking the pack’s oldest lullaby.
“Earth beneath, sky above,
Wolf between, bound by love,
Night may bite and day may burn,
But pack is circle—always return.”
For one breath the shadow trembles, losing cohesion. Yarrow’s brown eyes flash through the white veil. He whispers, “Alpha?”
“I’m here.”
Then the darkness tightens again, vicious, angrier for the breach. Fingers change, bones lengthen—child turning into something lank and cruel. If the transformation completes, the entity will anchor and I’ll have to burn the body.
I set my jaw. There’s another way, brutal but merciful. The knife at my belt slides free—a silver-steel hybrid, forged for cutting spirit as well as flesh. Yarrow’s gaze resurfaces, panic dawning as he feels what I intend.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. I drive the blade through his sternum, quick, precise, straight into the small heart beneath.
The ward-glade erupts in wind. Shadows scream, unraveling into ribbon ash that swirls before the stone sucks them back beyond the boundary.
Yarrow sags. I hold him until the last tremor stops, then lower his body onto the snow. Steam curls from the wound; silver-steel cauterizes as it kills. The scent of cooked pennywort—little herbs he loved to chew—floats up and guts me.
Pack mates circle, heads low, ears flat. Rowan kneels opposite, lips moving through a prayer. No one touches Yarrow. Only alphas are permitted to close the eyes of lost pups.
I wipe my blade on my thigh, slip it home, then brush snow from the cub’s blond curls. Blood already freezes on them, tinyrubies in unruly straw. Trembling starts in my shoulders, travels down arms. I clench hands until knuckles creak.
“Rowan,” I rasp.
“Yes, alpha.”
“Search the body. Anything unnatural belongs to me.”
He nods, gently turns pockets. A twig flute, a quartz pebble, half a honey wafer. Then—charred parchment folded tight, edges still smoking though the wind should have snuffed every ember. Rowan offers it.
I unfold the paper. Half the map is gone, eaten by fire, but the remaining glyphs are unmistakable—Dragon language, ancient dialect. One symbol burns brighter than the rest: oracle.
Shadow entities don’t carry maps. Someone placed this on Yarrow. Someone breached my border not to steal, but to deliver. Fury blank and hot slides behind my ribs.
“Alpha?” Rowan prods.
