I turn, relief flooding my system—and freeze. It’s Dane’s face, Dane’s body, but the smile stretching his lips belongs to someone else. Too perfect. Too practiced.
“You always come when called,” he says, voice layering into something dual-toned. “Like the good little weapon you are.”
I back away. “You’re not him.”
“No? Are you sure?” The false-Dane moves closer, head tilting at an angle Dane would never use. “Maybe this is who he becomes when you’re not watching. Maybe this is who he’s always been.”
My magic flares defensively, violet light threading through my fingers. “Changing faces doesn’t make your lies any more convincing, Faelan.”
The illusion shifts—Dane’s features melting like wax, reforming into a perfect mirror of my own face. My mouth, my eyes, my scars—but the expression is wrong, calculating and cold in ways I’d never allow myself to be seen.
“Is this better?” my double asks, circling me. “Your own voice telling you what you already know? That you were created, Nova. Shaped. You didn’t just stumble into your abilities—you weredesigned.”
I laugh, harsh and sharp. “Bullshit. Nobody designed me.”
“Nobody?” The double’s skin ripples, and suddenly it’s Faelan standing before me—his hair perfect, his clothes immaculate despite the chaos around us. “I’ve been guiding your path since before you took your first breath. Your mother was chosen. Your father was placed. Your birthright was written in blood I collected centuries before your conception.
“I spent centuries hunting royal bloodlines specifically,” Faelan continues, his voice taking on an almost nostalgic quality. “The rarity, the power, the perfect combination of bloodlines that nature so carefully guards. Royal fae-wolf combinations, wolf-dragon hybrids from the outer realms. So few, so protected. I thought exclusivity was the key.” His eyes narrow on me. “Until you proved me wrong.”
I keep my expression neutral, but inside, doubt gnaws. How much does he actually know about my origins? How much is fabrication meant to destabilize me?
“Every other attempt was messy, imperfect,” Faelan continues matter-of-factly. “But you—crafted from the precise bloodlines, awakened at exactly the right moment, bonded to exactly the right Alpha. You proved that engineered connections can be more powerful than anything nature provides. My perfect prototype for what comes next.”
The world shifts again. We stand in a laboratory I’ve never seen—glass vials of dark liquid lined neatly on shelves, strange symbols etched into the stone floor. Faelan moves between tables, touching instruments that look more like torture devices than scientific equipment.
“Your blood,” he says casually, “responds to my call. Always has.”
As if to prove his point, the cut on my palm throbs. Blood seeps out faster, rising through the air in dancing droplets that orbit me like tiny moons. My magic follows—violet threads spinning outward without my command.
“Stop.” My voice cracks.
“I’m not doing anything.” Faelan spreads his hands. “Your power knows its creator.”
Rage builds in my chest. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Don’t you?” He walks closer, and the laboratory transforms into the forest clearing where I first met Dane. “You ran straightto Ash Hollow—exactly where I needed you. You bonded with the Alpha—exactly as planned. You opened doorways with your blood—just as you were designed to do.
“My strategy has evolved from exclusive targeting to a broader net,” Faelan admits with something like pride. “Why limit myself to the handful of royal hybrids when I can pursue quantity over exclusivity? Every angelic bloodline has potential. Every bond creates energy. And every connection can be harvested.”
My magic lashes out—not at my command but in response to my anger. Violet light slices through Faelan’s image, cutting him into fragments that reform like smoke.
“Temper, temper,” he chides, his voice coming from everywhere at once. “You’re just proving my point. That wild energy of yours—half fae, half wolf—it’s unstable by design. A key needs teeth to turn the lock.
“And now I know exactly what to look for,” Faelan says with cold satisfaction. “Not just you, but others like you. That pack of yours is full of angelic bloodlines—most of them completely unaware of what they carry. Dane, Ben, Harper, Callum. A concentrated collection where I expected to find one isolated specimen.”
My blood continues to rise, the knotwork patterns growing more complex. I feel myself weakening, memories slipping away like water through fingers.
“What did you take from me?” I demand, struggling to recall the faces of people I know I should remember.
“Nothing you’ll miss,” Faelan’s voice whispers. “Just enough to ensure you’ll complete your purpose.”
Something snaps inside me. I reach out with both hands, calling back my blood. It hesitates, caught between Faelan’s pull and my command.
“I don’t care what you planned,” I spit. “I don’t care what you designed. You don’t own me.”
“I made you,” he counters, his form stabilizing before me. “Your power is my signature.”
“My power,” I say, feeling it surge within me, “ismine.”
