The wind rushes through the trees, carrying the scent of pine. “How long have you known? Why tell me now?”
He sighs. “I have known it for a while…. Nightfell holds a lot of truths, a lot of secrets. There are many reasons why wolves are cast out, Freya. I saw the mark on you once when we were young. We were bathing in a stream. And then I saw it again at the cave library in Nightfell after my arrival there. I asked some exiled elders about it, and then I knew what it meant. I should’vetold you earlier, but I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as I figured out that you were being poisoned, I sent my raven.”
“High Luna,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Why me? Why would the Moon Goddess choose someone so weak and incapable of even protecting herself?”
Rowan doesn’t look away. “Only the Moon Goddess knows why.”
My knees nearly give at his words.
Rowan steps back into the mist, shoulders squared. “Think on it, Freya. You must reclaim your strength before Kade decides to sever the bond at the Blood Moon Conclave. He will do it, won’t he? And without your wolf, you know you won’t survive the separation. You have just twenty-nine days.”
“Rowan—” I call, though I don’t know what I mean to say.
But he’s already gone, his shadow swallowed by the forest.
I stand there trembling, clutching my chest, feeling the burn of the mark on my back.
High Luna.
The words echo through me, more dangerous than poison, more impossible than freedom.
RUST AND FIRE
Freya
Brin’s hut smells of bitter herbs and smoke. I sit hunched on the cot, sweat dampening my hairline, my palms clammy. The tonic he gave burns down my throat. It tastes like metal and feels dry like ash, choking me. Then the shaking begins.
Nyx howls inside me, but her voice is muffled. The silverdew in my veins claws for dominance while the tonic tries to burn it out. My stomach churns, bile rising.
“Stay with it,” Brin orders, setting a cold cloth on my brow.
“I—” My voice breaks. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
Nyx growls, louder now, no longer smothered. I claw at the blanket, my body jerking as if lightning rips through me. Pain grates my bones, my chest, my throat. Then, with a violent shudder, I cough, the taste of iron flooding my mouth.
Brin holds me by the shoulders. “Breathe,” he says firmly. “It has to leave you. Every trace of silverdew.”
“It feels—” I gag again, bile mixed with blood spilling onto the floor of his hut. “Like I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying. You’re fighting. Do not stop.”
“It didn’t feel like this yesterday!”
“Today’s dose is stronger,” he says, rubbing my back.
I clutch my ribs, trembling, vision dimming as sweat drips down my face. Nyx snarls louder, pacing inside me. Her presence is jagged, painful, like chains tearing apart, link by link.
“Let her through,” Brin urges. “Don’t fight your wolf. Ground yourself in her.”
“I can’t—” My words break into a scream as heat sears through my blood. My nails dig crescents into my palms, reopening the previous cuts.
“You can,” he insists. “Repeat after me: The wolf is me and I am the wolf.”
I choke out the words, half-sobbing. “The wolf… is me and… I am the wolf.”
The world shudders. Nyx’s wild, furious growls fill my head.
