I drag on my jeans and tug my shirt over my head before heading out after her a couple of minutes later. My neck muscles are still tight, body humming with the aftereffects of what just happened in the cabin. But something’s wrong—I can feel it before I even reach the clearing.
The air feels strange, heavy with potential. Like the moment before lightning strikes. I quicken my pace.
By the time I get there, the wolves have already formed a wide perimeter around the clearing. None of them stands closer than twenty feet from where Nova kneels at the center. Their faces tell me everything: fascination mixed with primal fear.
Nova doesn’t look up when I approach. Her pale charcoal hair hangs differently now. Limp against her neck where it usually moves with that chameleon-like shimmer.
The violet undertones have deepened to something darker. More unnatural.
She’s focused entirely on her task, fingers tracing symbols into the dirt with precise, practiced movements. A circle of salt surrounds her, dotted with small black stones at cardinal points.
“Give her space,” Lyanna murmurs from somewhere to my right. “She knows what she’s doing.”
I’m not convinced.
Nova looks wrong. Her movements are fluid but somehow mechanical, like she’s running on muscle memory rather than conscious thought. Her hands move with surgical precision, but they’re not quite right either. Fingers too stiff. Too controlled.
The set of her shoulders is too rigid, spine too straight. Even her breathing seems different—deeper, more deliberate, like she’s fighting for each inhale.
More concerning is the energy coming off her. Her usual signature, wild honey and citrus magic, now pulses with something darker. Oily. Foreign. The scent makes my wolf recoil, hackles raised.
She begins the ritual without ceremony. First, the salt line glows faintly blue. Then she draws a small blade across her palm, letting blood drip onto the symbols she’s drawn. The scent hits me instantly; metallic, yes, but with that same wrongness underneath.
When she lights the small pyre of herbs at the center, the flames leap up unnaturally high, curling around her fingers without burning them. The fire shouldn’t be that color: deep purple with flashes of something that looks almost black.
My muscles bunch as every instinct screams at me to pull her out of that circle. To stop whatever the fuck is happening. But I hold my ground.
Across the clearing, Ben shifts uneasily, moving a half-step closer to Harper. It’s instinctive, protective; he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. Kari takes a step back, nostrils flaring. Even Rafe looks concerned, his usual calm mask slipping just enough to show what’s beneath.
Nova begins to chant. The language isn’t one I recognize—not Latin, not the old tongue of the wolves, something older and sharper. Ancient Fae, probably. Her voice rises and falls in a cadence that makes my stomach clench.
The air around her starts to distort, rippling like heat waves over pavement in summer. The magic builds, pressure increasing until my ears pop. Several wolves whine low in their throats, backing away further.
I take an unconscious step forward.
“Don’t,” Lyanna warns. “Breaking the circle now could kill her.”
Nova’s body jerks suddenly, back arching. The symbols around her flare bright enough to leave spots in my vision. Her chanting continues, but something changes—her voice shifts mid-word, taking on a resonance that doesn’t belong to her.
The dual tones send ice down my spine. It’s still Nova’s voice, but layered underneath is something else. Something that makes my wolf want to bare its teeth and charge.
The wolves at the treeline shift nervously, some dropping into defensive crouches. I can feel their fear, their confusion.
Nova’s head snaps back, eyes wide open but seeing nothing. Her violet eyes have gone completely black. No iris. No gold flecks.
Just endless dark that reflects the unnatural fire like polished obsidian.
The foreign voice grows stronger with each word she speaks.
I take another half-step forward, hands clenched into fists so tight my nails break skin. Every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to spring.
Not into the circle. Not yet.
But close enough.
Chapter 33
Dane
