No one answers immediately. Everyone listens.
Something shifts beyond the cottage wall, pacing...hunting.
Harper’s voice breaks the silence, small and shaking in a way I’ve never heard from her. “Something you don’t want to meet.”
HARPER
The Fetch’s rasp coils through the cottage walls like a venomous whisper, its claws dragging down the wood in leisurely strokes, savoring the dread it creates. “I smell Shadeborne blood.” The hiss vibrates in my skull, tugging a tremor down my spine. Sebastian immediately shifts in front of me, shielding me with his body; Ares watches the motion with a tightening fury that ripples across his face. The moment Sebastian’s hand meets my hip, something sharp and territorial flickers through Ares’s posture. I feel myself step away from both of them, needing space to breathe, needing my wand, needing clarity I do not have. My mind is a storm of tonight’s chaos, Ares collapsing in the forest, the blood siphoning from my veins, the story he told me, the story I can suddenly remember in piecesthat feel like splintered glass forcing their way through sealed doors in my mind.
I shut my eyes and try to replay it, every broken sentence, every pained curve of his voice, every time he looked at me as though waiting for me to forget him again. Something inside me cracks just enough for another sliver of truth to slip through. When I open my eyes, Sebastian is gripping my chin, forcing me to face him, panic hardening his voice. “Harper, what is that?” All I can do is look past him, searching the cottage for anything, my wand, a plan, any corner of safety that hasn’t been tainted by shadow.
Althea moves with speed born of necessity, rummaging through jars and drawers before pulling out a serrated knife long enough to make my heart jolt. “It’s a Fetch,” she answers, thrusting the blade toward Liam. “One of Andrew’s mutts. Hard to kill without Shadeborne blood magic.” The disgust in her tone is palpable, her gaze briefly flicking to me as though gauging how much I can handle. Liam turns the weapon over, confusion clouding his face until she taps the engraving on the hilt with a single finger. “Black silver. It was your favorite.” The lettersL.S.gleam dully as he frowns as if he’s staring at someone else’s life.
“How silly of me to think you’d remember your own weapon,” Althea mutters, rolling her eyes before arming herself with a smaller blade. Sebastian looks between all of us as though the ground has tilted beneath his feet. “What is she talking about?” His tone barrels into me like a demand. The block in my mind squeezes tight enough to make my vision scatter.
Lie.
“I’m not sure,” I force out, and Ares cuts me a pointed, knowing look that seems to slide right under my skin.
The Fetch cracks its skull-like face into the window’s frame, its empty sockets dripping with hunger as it staresstraight at me. “Come out,” it croons. Althea doesn’t flinch. “My ward will hold it off for maybe twenty minutes,” she warns, eyes darting toward Ares. “After that, it’s in here with all of us.”
Ares straightens, calculating the room, the doors, the distance, the people he clearly does not trust. “I’ll lead it away,” he decides with clipped certainty. “Liam, take Harper and get her out the back. Harwood and Theo...stay here and guard the house.” He doesn’t wait for objections. His voice becomes command, not suggestion.
“Ares, don’t,” I say, gripping his arm, the thought of him falling again scraping against every nerve I have left. “It’s not worth another bleed-out.” His attention flicks not to me, but to the place where Sebastian’s fingers slip under the hem of my shirt as he pulls me back protectively. That tiny touch ignites something in Ares, resentment, betrayal, something brittle and dangerous.
“I have a little more motivation this time,” he says, low and sharp, and my hand falls from him. His meaning is unmistakable.
Liam pulls Theo close, kisses him once with trembling urgency, then peels away with the knife gripped tight. “Stay safe,” he breathes to them, and maybe to all of us.
Ares doesn’t wait. He shoves the door open and bolts into the night, Althea right behind him. The Fetch jerks its head toward the movement and screeches, charging after them with bone-rattling speed. Liam barely gives me time to inhale before yanking me toward the back exit. The cold air slaps against my lungs, my steps uneven as we break into a run. Every breath I drag in feels thin, shredded; blood loss claws at my stamina with merciless fingers.
“There’s a trail-” Liam pants, but his words cut off in a violent snap. Something hooks around my ankle and yanks, slamming me face-first into the dirt. The impact stealseverything, air, sound, thought. I claw at the ground, trying to scream his name, but my voice is muffled as a heavy hand presses my head deeper into the earth. Liam is launched backward into a tree with such force it steals his breath. He fights against invisible pressure, muscles trembling, teeth bared.
“There you are,” the Fetch hisses, lowering itself over me with sickening delight. Its wrist beneath my fingers feels nothing like flesh, only bone, slick and cold. I thrash harder, but it forces my cheek into the soil until my mouth fills with dirt.
“Don’t fucking touch her!” Liam snarls, straining against the Fetch’s unseen grip, rage and fear coiling through every syllable.
The Fetch tilts its head, curious. “Does he know the truth yet?” The words drip with a poisonous sweetness that curdles my blood. My mind jolts to the photo Althea showed me, five young witches and warlocks, smiling, connected, whole. The image burns behind my eyes.
“What truth?” I choke out, dirt scratching down my throat as I try to breathe around the creature’s weight.
“About who he is.” The Fetch’s empty gaze drags over my face. “Whoyouare.”
Something cold and electric rips through me. “And you know the truth?” I dare to whisper, though my voice shakes uncontrollably.
“I know everything you want to,” it seethes, leaning close enough for its rotting breath to cling to my skin.
“But you can’t tell me,” I say, watching confusion flicker across its fragmented features.
“And why,” it asks, voice dripping venom, “do you think that?”
“Because you’re Andrew’s mutt,” I breathe,forcing the words through the fear crushing my chest. “What he says goes. You have no free will.”
A distorted laugh rattles out of it, too loud, too delighted. “I am not owned by anyone,” it snarls, and its claws dig into my scalp as it shoves my head deeper into the dirt.
The Fetch studies me as though deciding which part of me it would enjoy tearing apart first, but I refuse to let the fear take root. A trembling breath steadies in my chest, and I force my voice into something bold, even reckless. “Really? Do you normally take this long to kill someone? Or are you under orders not to break me yet?” Its skull-like face pulls into a grotesque frown, the expression almost… offended.
“Maybe your father has offered me something in exchange for my services-”
