Looking at Callum, I feel hope strengthening within me. Time is brutally tight, but we’re no longer fighting blind.
Chapter 25
Callum
The evening air carries something wrong.
I pause at the tree line, letting my senses expand beyond the immediate perimeter. Behind me, the Lodge glows with warm light—Lyanna still inside with Dane, processing what Evren’s alliance means for our case. I should be in there with her. Should be planning next steps, coordinating with Derek on evidence compilation.
Instead, I’m out here because something in my gut won’t settle.
My wolf has been restless since the surveillance briefing. Nyxiana’s clinical description of fae observation methods turned theoretical threat into visceral reality. They’ve been watching. Documenting. Building profiles on every member of this pack.
On Lyanna. On me. On what we are to each other.
The wind shifts, and I catch it—faint, almost masked, but unmistakable. Fae magic. Not the warm honey signature of Lyanna or the crisp frost of Nyxiana. Something sharper. Artificial. The chemical tang of glamour layered over presence.
Someone is out there. Right now. Watching.
I don’t signal Ben or alert the patrol. If I’m wrong, I’ve wasted resources. If I’m right, any communication could tip them off. My wolf surges forward, eager and deadly, and for once I don’t hold him back.
The shift takes me between one heartbeat and the next.
Bones reshape with familiar agony that’s become almost comfortable over years of practice. My spine elongates, shoulders dropping as my center of gravity changes. Clothes dissolve into the shift—a Guardian trick passed down through angel bloodlines, the same magic that lets us call them back when we return to human form. Fur erupts across my skin, silver-gray in the fading light.
I hit the ground on four paws, already running.
The scent trail blazes through the underbrush like a neon sign. Whoever this is, they’re good at magical concealment but terrible at understanding wolf senses. The glamour masks their visual presence, making them invisible to casual observation. But it can’t hide the displaced air currents, the crushed pine needles, or the sour undertone of fae corruption beneath the spell.
I know that corruption signature. The same taint that saturated our pack during the contamination, the same dark magic threaded through Caelynn’s death. A growl builds low in my chest before I can stop it.
One of Faelan’s people. Here. Now.
Rage floods my muscles with supernatural speed. The forest blurs past me—trees, rocks, fallen logs cleared in single bounds.My paws barely touch the ground before launching again. The prey scent grows stronger with every stride.
There. Movement ahead. A shimmer in the air where reality doesn’t quite match itself.
I don’t slow down. Don’t give warning. A Guardian wolf in full hunt doesn’t announce itself to its target.
I leap.
My jaws close on something solid—an arm, I think, wrapped in spelled fabric that tastes of copper and old magic. The glamour shatters on impact, revealing a fae male in dark clothing, his face contorted with shock and pain. He’s young, maybe mid-twenties in human terms, with the sharp features and too-perfect bone structure of court breeding.
An observer. A spy. One of the eyes Nyxiana warned us about.
He screams something in old fae—a defensive spell that crackles against my fur and accomplishes nothing. Guardian bloodline gives me resistance to minor magics. His panic tells me he didn’t expect that.
I release his arm only to lunge for his throat, stopping with my teeth just pressing against his pulse point. Hot breath fogs between us. His blood pounds against my fangs, rabbit-fast with terror.
Talk, I think at him, knowing he can’t hear me, knowing my wolf’s message is clear enough in the way my jaws could close at any moment.
“Please—“ He’s gasping, hands raised in surrender. “Please, I’m just—I was just watching—reporting—”
A growl rumbles through my chest, vibrating against his throat. He whimpers.
“Lord Faelan,” he babbles. “Lord Faelan sent me. To monitor the healer. Document her movements, her connections, her—“ His voice breaks. “Her relationship with the Guardian wolf.”
The confirmation hits like ice water. They know. They’ve been watching us specifically. Every stolen moment, every careful touch, every time we thought the wards protected us—they’ve been building a case.
