Her breath misted as she whispered, “Please. Let me be right.”
The trail narrowed, the trees thinning as the slope steepened. Her muscles ached, but she kept going, pulling herself up by exposed roots and jagged rocks. In the distance, she could see the peak at last, a dark, jagged crown against the vast open sky.
The path wound ever upwards, lined here and there with old stones carved with faint, weathered sigils. She brushed snow from one as she passed and groaned to see the remaining distance etched into the stone. She was massively behind schedule.
By midmorning, the sun had broken through the clouds, thin and weak but welcome. The forest fell away behind her; only scrub and low, twisted trees remained. The wind was stronger here, carrying a distant hiss that might have been the sea, or the breath of the mountain itself.
Layla pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. Her fingers were numb despite her gloves, despite her spells, and the strap of her pack rubbed her collarbone raw. She didn’t stop. The physical pain was grounding, proof she was still real, still going.
She couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in. Theodore’s sharp disapproval, Julian’s steady, assessing eyes. She thought of Dominic most of all, his anger, his restraint. The madness that swirled in her mind whenever he was close. The bond between them hummed in pleasure at her attention, and she shoved the thought of him away, forcing the bond to silence again.
He would never have let her come here. Not because he cared for her safety, or at least, not only for that. It was control. The same control he exerted over everyone, regardless of their status. Himself most of all. He would have forbidden it, and she would have been forced to obey, and nothing would have changed.
But she refused to be controlled. This was hers. And if she couldfinallyfind a way to carve herself out a place in the pack, to earn it tried and true, then she would grasp it with both hands.
Her boots sank into thin snow as she reached a ridge. From here, the slope rose steeply toward the summit. The air was almost painfully clear. She could see her breath, feel her pulse in her throat.
Layla stopped for a moment and tilted her head back. The sky above was the palest blue, washed thin by altitude. Hours had passed; they’d probably noticed her absence by now.
Or not.
She told herself she hoped not.
She climbed the last stretch slowly. The rocks were slick with melting snow; twice she had to drop to her hands and knees to crawl. Her pack scraped against stone, her gloves tore, but she didn’t stop.
At one point, she slipped, her boot catching on ice. She stumbled and fell hard against the slope, her knee striking stone. Pain flared white-hot, but she pushed herself up, breath coming fast and ragged.
“Get up,” she muttered. “You’ve come too far.”
She reached the plateau just as the sun dipped toward the west. The summit wasn’t broad, just a stretch of flattened stone marked by a ring of weathered pillars, their surfaces carvedwith initials and other marks from successful climbers who’d summited in under six hours.
She groaned. All in all, it had taken her well over twelve hours to just climb the damn mountain.
Trying not to dwell on the fact that she was likely going to have to call her brother to come and pick her up, she sat down and leaned against one of the pillars, taking out her flask to drink. Her phone tumbled out, and she stuffed it back inside her bag without looking at it. She’d be brave enough after she’d accomplished what she came here to do.
It was raining in the town below. A thick bank of clouds had slouched its way over the sky, well below her, hiding it from view. She grimaced. At least the sky was clear this high up, despite the punishing cold. Not for the first time on that trek, she sent a muttered curse heavenward about her inability to shift. She’d be just peachy with a nice, thick wolf’s coat right about now. As it was, she would have to make do with her layers of thermals. Settling back against the freezing stone, she sighed and watched the darkening sky, waiting for the aurora to flame up the dark.
The place thrummed with quiet energy.
As she waited, she turned the old stories and legends over in her head. The humans had their own myths about this place, saying that if you sat beneath the northern lights, you’d be granted good luck. A shifter legend went further, saying that you’d be granted a wish from Lunarion himself. All unfounded nonsense, of course, but it was nice to think about. She’d been up this way once before, a hiking expedition with her school as a teenager. There had been no aurora borealis, but she’d made a wish all the same.
It was the same one that had echoed through her head for years now.
Please, whatever deity exists above me, let me shift.
At the time, she had thought herself resolute. And yet, even now, she could still remember the way Dominic’s face had flashed across her mind as she made her wish. A creeping desire. A longing too shameful to speak into words.
But it had been there, buried deep.
Please let him finally see me the way I see him.
She scoffed, shifting her position.
Neither wish had come true. And neither seemed likely to.
She turned her attention back to the sky.
For a long time, nothing happened. Only the fading light, the sound of her heartbeat, the steady whisper of the wind.
