“He did,” I murmur.
For a long moment, Kade says nothing. The wind tugs at his dark hair. “My father banished him,” he mutters. “And now I owe him a debt.”
“You owe him Finn’s life. You can never repay it.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Do you think I don’t know that?”
We stand amid scorched ground and smoke-stained ghosts of shadows. Kade’s gaze flicks to the treeline, to where Rowan vanished.
At last, he says to Jax: “Send word. The Rogue King of Nightfell will be received as a guest of Silvercrest—under treaty law.”
Even Nyx stills, stunned by this action. ‘He invites the storm inside,’ she whispers.
Maybe. But for once, I see no arrogance in Kade’s eyes—only reluctant recognition that power no longer bends solely to him.
The King of Rogues saved the future Alpha of Silvercrest.
And Kade Thorne, for the first time, owes a debt he can never repay.
And he may not know it, but by doing this, he has just ruined the High Council’s plan of getting rid of Nightfell using Silvercrest.
MOONSHARD
Freya
Brin’s fingers move precisely, dabbing salve over Finn’s shoulder. The scent of crushed mint and lace-moss stings the air. My son hisses, his small fists clenching at the sheets.
“I know, pup,” Brin murmurs. “Almost done.”
I hate that werewolf pups can’t heal on their own. They must be eighteen and have to merge with their wolf minds to gain the healing ability. Seeing him in pain breaks my heart.
Finn’s skin is blotched where the shadows had burned him. Thin marks—blackened veins that fade and pulse faintly. Ivy curls tighter in my arms, half-asleep, her thumb between her lips. I stroke her hair, soft and damp against my palm, as if the rhythm could soothe all of us.
Brin glances up from his work. “Tell me what happened, Luna Freya.”
I exhale slowly, feeling Nyx’s restless energy pacing inside my ribs. “It wasn’t an attack from rogues. It wasn’t even real wolves.” My voice shakes. “They were shadows. Like living smoke. They rose from the ground and—burned.”
He stills. The color drains from his face. “Shadows that burn?”
I nod. “They multiplied when I tried to fight them. I—I couldn’t touch them without blistering. Even the guards froze. Only Rowan’s sword could cut through them. I think it’s made of Moonshard.”
Brin sets down the salve pot with a sharp click. “That sounds…” He trails off, brow furrowed, eyes wide with a dawning horror.
“Sounds like what, Brin?” I press.
He hesitates only a heartbeat before speaking. “Something similar happened about fifteen years ago.”
My heart races. “Go on.”
He swallows. “Alpha Draven—Alpha Kade’s father—was attacked by shadows exactly like you described. It happened in the courtyard, in daylight. No one knew where they came from until the investigation traced the magic back to a woman. A blood-witch named Nyssa.”
Finn hisses again, turning. I pat his head to comfort him. “Mama,” he whispers.
“I’m here, darling,” I tell him, then turn my gaze back to Brin, urging him to continue.
“Draven had been using her,” Brin says grimly, “for covert dealings. Spellwork, poisons, control charms—things he didn’t want his own Small Council or even the High Council to know. But she turned on him. Wanted to take the pack for herself.”
“And?”
