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“You’re sure?” she asked when the men were far enough away to not overhear.

I carefully brushed my knee, and the magic sank back down to my ankles, giving me freedom to adjust my stance. Her eyes caught on the movement, and then she nodded.

“Yes, certainly just for you then,” she said. She held out her hand and looped her fingers around my wrist in a quick, polite gesture. “May it lead you to the correct choice, then, Callum.”

Once she was out of sight, I turned toward where the bird had disappeared. The earth quieted under me, returning to the uneasy absence of when we’d first arrived. When I paused, the tendrils slowly wrapped around my ankles, tightening when I turned to divert my attention to a new path within the towering ludian trees. It felt like the strangest game of fossicking I’d ever played, and I resented the way it put my nerves on edge. I was tempted to pull Phoebe’s coin just to block out the magic to have a reprieve from its interference so it no longer felt like I was a beast on a collar.

Just as Vincent said, the rain started, the sun not even halfway to its peak in the sky. It began as a light mist, small droplets dissipating as they hit the small shield I conjured around me, ignoring the advice I’d been given to keep my magic unused while here. If the earth was reacting to me this way, it would just have to give me grace in breaking that custom. I could handle either the continued provocation of the tendrils around my feet or the cold, wet rain soaking me through, but not both.

The droplets coated the muddy, barren floor all forests held while in the heart of winter, the mud freezing over the course of several minutes. The pull of the island grew stronger, separate from the tendrils still crawling up my legs. The spirits living here were incredibly old—and haunted, it seemed. It was nearly impossible to ignore the oppressive sensations as I continued on the path the tendrils opened for me.

An acora called from my left, the hard clacks of its beak cutting through the quiet forest. There was a scream, and then the telltale snaps of branches breaking. I frowned and changed my trajectory, intent on knowing what happened with the bird. The tendrils tightened but did not prevent the new steps entirely, and so I resisted swatting at them again. I was so focused on trying to find the bird without tripping over the swirling magic that I nearly missed her.

She sat near the center of a small clearing, the ludian trees rising around her, casting the sunlight that same odd pink hue as before. As I watched, she stripped her travel cloak off and covered her leg, her hands shaking and her breath escaping in rough sobs. The ceremonial dress she wore was soaked through, streaks of mud discoloring much of one side and coating both her arms. Her hair was done in the traditional braids, but pieces stuck to her neck and shoulders from the rain.

The tendrils swirled around me, pulsing and impatient. I cautiously took a step closer to the clearing, and they leapt in satisfaction, the uneasiness they’d carried the last two days falling away. I could have dropped to my knees in utter relief except in their absence the need to claim the woman—press her to me, smell her perfume, and take her as my own—roared through my blood, so much stronger than any hint of the instincts I’d ever felt before. Not once had those innate needs of my alpha designation roared so loudly, clawing underneath my skin. I sucked in a breath as my scent surrounded me in one great wave.

All at once, I knew that she was what the earth had been reacting to, had been drawing me toward. She was an omega participating in the Grand Rite, crying and alone on Magefall.

And she was mine.

9

AMETHYST

My head throbbed in time with my heart. Whatever Lillian and the others had done for my concussion had definitely been undone with my fall. The dull gray light of the cloudy sky filtering through the canopy of red leaves hurt, but each time I moved my head, the forest blurred and spun around me. It took every ounce of stubbornness to keep from being sick.

With shaking hands, I tied my cloak around my leg to keep from seeing the break again. My movements were clumsy, and with every small movement pain shot up my leg. I bit into my lip to keep from screaming. I tried to shove all my emotions back into a box, but I couldn’t manage it this time. I dropped my head to my uninjured knee, all of the pain making the fear sharper, starker.

Sloane was gone, my leg was shattered, and this island was the creepiest place I’d ever experienced. The rain fell in small, frozen pellets now, hitting and bouncing off of me instead of soaking into my thin dress, leaving small welts along my arms. Oh, and my concussion was definitely back and worse than before.

“Fuck,” I whispered again, wiping away some of the tears.

A twig snapped. I jerked up my head, swallowing a moan as everything blurred out again. When I could manage to see again, someone stood just on the edge of the clearing. They were still in the shadows of the giant trees, so all I could tell was that they were well-armed, a sword hilt peeking above their left shoulder. I tried to settle my breathing so I didn’t appear like a complete mess when they got closer. Except they didn’t move.

I closed my eyes and counted to five, willing the world to make more sense when I opened them.

The shadowy figure was still there, entirely still.

“Please don’t be having a psychotic break,” I muttered, wiping my cheeks again. “There’s no one who can help you through it.”

I closed my eyes again, the light becoming too much. My head was pounding like a jackhammer now. Maybe I could just fall asleep? Except I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to sleep with a concussion.

The person was still there when I looked a third time.

“Hello?” I called out.

The person’s shoulders moved with a heavy breath and then they stepped out of the shadows. He stepped out. His gold eyes cut through the gray light, slowly swirling like smoke beneath glass. His blond hair hung pin-straight and brushed his shoulders. A circlet sat atop it, resting against his temples. The metal wasn’t quite silver but not black, either, some amalgamation of the two I couldn’t name. Resting in the middle of his forehead, nestled between the metallic vines of the circlet, sat a lotus with an opal at its center. It reflected the light. Was there enough light to even have a stone sparkling like that? I wasn’t sure.

And then it was out of my mind as I noticed the large set of scars that ran down the left side of his face. One nearly ran into his eye while another cut straight through his eyebrow. The third ran down the side of his face, nearly temple to jaw. The spacing reminded me of claws.

As he made his way toward me, I forced my focus off the brutal scars. His tunic was a deep indigo, the laces done right up to his neck, covering even the hollow of his throat. His skin was a golden tan even in the gray light without being true olive. His pants were a deep black that blended with black boots that hit mid-calf. A sheath sat high on his right thigh, and two more were barely visible, just the very tips of them poking out from underneath his tunic.

He was nothing like the man who’d picked Sloane.

Every inch of his clothing screamed elite. This wasn’t an outfit worn by someone going about their day-to-day but rather something worn by an aristocrat, designed to show off their wealth and influence—like the wool togas for the senators in Rome, distinct even from a distance.

His gaze caught on my cloak as he paused a few feet away.