The power beneath my skin stirs, restless and hungry. It’s responding to him—to the memory of us.
Not real, I remind myself, grinding my teeth.
Malrik’s voice slides through the static in my head. “He’s calling for you, Rowan. Can you hear his pleas?”
The imposter-wolf growls softly, low and mournful, and my knees nearly give in.
“Stop this,” I snarl, torn between tearing this artifice to pieces and weeping against his body.
“Stop what?” Malrik’s tone is mild and clinical. “You can end this whenever you wish. Justlet go.”
I hate him. I hate this house. I hate what I’ve become. Worse, I hate the part of me that knows Malrik is right.
I have to let go. I have to control whatever’s in me because I can’t ever hurt the people I love again. I can’t put them in danger merely because I’m a risk. If I can master this, even if it benefits this dark stranger, then maybe it will be worth it because it will also keep the others safe.
Maybe there will be peace at the end of all this instead of destruction.
Yet, something is still holding me back, and the more I resist, the louder the pulse within me becomes, like something inside recognizes the pull, begging to be used.
I am safe. I can’t hurt anyone I love from here. I have to do this. For me. For them.
I repeat the words over and over again until the terror of what I am starts to diminish.
Pressure builds throughout my body, beginning in my chest and spreading out. If I don’t release whatever this is, there’s a decent chance that I might actually explode.
Possibly out of sheer self-preservation, I finally find the detonate button. Deep in my core, I understand that Icanlet go. More importantly, I have no choice.
The power slams through me, the intensity making me wonder if my veins might actually burst from the force, but somehow, I’m still standing. The runes, as Malrik finally called the etchings beneath my feet, flare, causing fire to lick up my legs. The not-Cade wolf starts to tremble, his form dimming as warmth rushes through my extremities, wild and alive.
Finally, I reach forward and touch him, reminding myself this isn’t my mate. I would never hurt Cade. I’m not the monster the others feared I’d be.
I can’t be.
I refuse to be.
Yet, the moment my fingers skim over his fur, I latch onto his energy. It drives into me. Like I’m siphoning the core of who he is.
Not real, nothim.
I close my eyes because I can’t watch myself destroy even the façade of my mate, and that helps in more ways than one. Not only do I avoid the torture of seeing the task at hand, but I also put my attention on my other senses.
There’s a tether within me that wraps around my chest and extends through my outstretched arm. A black rope-like tendril exits from my palm, and I can picture it wrapping around Cade. Only it’s not out to destroy. It wants to heal.
Confusion fills me, but before I can dissect the emotions, I taste something smoky. It hits my senses like a slap to the face, and it’s enough to prove to all aspects of my brain that I truly am okay.
In fact, the tighter I tug on this energy, the more I realize I’m also latching onto Malrik. There’s no other possibility because no one else is in this room.
I keep myself rooted to the moment, analyzing his magic.
He’s definitely Ashmark like he said before, but he’s not like me. He’s more made-magic than born-magic. I don’t know how I know this, but I can taste the truth. It’s right there, and if I can just pry a little deeper, maybe I can?—
Like a fragile branch breaking beneath the weight of a storm, the connection snaps. I open my eyes, expecting to find a furious Malrik given I was snooping, but instead he’s…slow clapping? Seriously?
“Very well, my dear,” he applauds. “You’re learning faster than I anticipated.”
I swallow hard, trying to catch my breath and pay closeattention to what he’s not saying, but his face is a shield. I see nothing other than approval in his eyes.
Fake Cade is also gone. I don’t know if I actually destroyed him, but I don’t care. I’m tired and ravenous, and I’ve had enough.
