Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I ’ve grown used to the wild scene in the common lounge every night, but tonight, after surviving the Voice Trial, the other Rawbonds really let loose.
A celebration is in full swing, and all four packs are in attendance. Gone is the tension each of us carried into the arena earlier tonight. The other Strategos throw themselves into the party, drinking and laughing with abandon.
I still find this ghoulish, the way they party after so much death. Eight Rawbonds in total lost their lives, including two from Strategos that I didn’t know well. But I’d been so certain that I’d be one of them that I’m having some sort of adrenaline crash, and I can’t deny that I’d like to take the edge off too.
Following Izabel and Tomison to one of the couches at the outer edge of the room, I watch the party as they talk and laugh. Servants weave through the crowd with decanters of emberwine and trays of food.
Izabel puts a glass in my hand. It’s no sleeping draught, but maybe it’ll stave off the nightmares. The warmed, spiced alcohol steams slightly in the cool air, its rich scent driving off the lingering tang of blood and death.
It tastes fantastic—potent, too. A pleasant warmth spreads through my belly at the very first sip. After the third, a faint buzz of relaxation travels the length of my body.
Suddenly, the party doesn’t seem so ghoulish anymore.
Izabel and Tomison are flirting playfully. Venna joins us, hugging her sister and grinning with unmistakable pride; Venna ranked second today. One of Tomison’s friends from our pack, Kristof, comes to join us too, congratulating Venna warmly, and eyeing her with interest. Everyone seems to be here tonight—except for Nevah, who I saw slink back to the Strategos quarters after the Trial.
Over by the big fireplace, the pack instructors sit together, Egith among them, looking characteristically stern. She catches me eying her and her lips press into an even tighter line. Thought she’d be excited about my third place finish.
Guess not.
Samson, the Kryptos Gamma, says something that makes Egith throw her head back and laugh, the silver streak in her hair catching firelight as she toasts with him. Even the Phylax Gamma Elinor seems to have relaxed her usual rigid posture.
Only Stark maintains his distance, lounging in a shadowed corner like a predator waiting to strike. But he’s shed the stiff formal jacket he wore to the arena. His shirt underneath is unbuttoned at the top, offering a glimpse of his muscular, golden brown chest and the tattoos that flow down his neck.
A pretty young Rawbond approaches him, cocking her hip in blatant invitation. He dismisses her with a scathing glance.
As she retreats into the crowd, another woman approaches. Then another, and another. Each one is rebuffed with that same cold look of disinterest.
“He’s pretty sexy when he’s not bellowing orders at us, huh?” says Izabel, using her hands to sign it as well, since the noise of the party is making it hard for Venna to catch all our words.
I turn to her with a jolt, embarrassed to be caught staring.
Beside her, Tomison grins, his arm draped over the back of the couch behind her. Venna gives me a conspiratorial look, brows bobbing.
“Sure,” I grumble, “if you find murderous psychos sexy.”
“Do you not?” Kristof quips.
Izabel laughs.
“No,” I grate, face heating. “I definitely do not.”
Kristof shrugs. “I would ride that man from here to Astreona.”
Izabel laughs and interprets for Venna, who laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle.
“He seems more like the type who prefers to do all the riding,” Tomison drawls.
Izabel sighs wistfully. “He does, doesn’t he?”
More laughter. I’m happy they’re enjoying themselves, but I turn away as the conversation veers hard towards sex. I should probably make a break for the exit. It won’t be long before people start pairing off, and I really don’t want to see if all the instructors are going to join in.
At that thought, my gaze unwillingly returns to Stark—only to find him staring right at me.
Shit .
It’s the same look he gave me at the arena. The same one he always gives me—dark eyes burning a hole through me, full lips practically pulled back in a sneer. I’ve seen that look enough times from men in the ring; it’s full of the promise of future violence.
I glare back for a moment, then look away, draining my glass as an excuse to break the contact.
A servant appears immediately to refill it.
While I’m avoiding Stark’s gaze and trying to plan my escape from the party, Kristof gets up to join another group. Tomison, too, wanders away on the hunt for his nightly fuck-buddy.
My head starts swimming pleasantly as I drain my second glass, still sitting between Izabel and Venna. The memory of today’s anxiety begins to blur at the edges, replaced with a warm glow of good humor.
Raised voices draw my attention back to Tomison, now across the room and gleefully demonstrating a complex sword maneuver to a group of Phylax Rawbonds. Beside me, Izabel watches intently.
“What’s up with that?” I ask, smirking broadly. “You got a thing for Tomison now?”
Izabel stiffens. “What, that idiot? Never!”
I glance smugly at Venna, who smothers a smile and then signs something rapid at Izabel.
“She says ‘You’re one to talk,’” Izabel interprets. “‘Everyone here has been enjoying the mate search but you, Meryn. What’s up with that ?’”
Tongue loosened by the emberwine, I thoughtlessly let slip the truth. “I’m too busy nursing a broken heart.”
The sisters exchange a look, rolling their eyes.
“What, some commoner you left behind?” Izabel asks. “Come on, you’re not going back to that world. This is your world now. And what if your direwolf has a mate? It’s crazy not to try to help her!”
“No, you don’t get it,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially, and making sure to speak clearly so Venna catches my words above the clamor. “The guy who stomped on my heart is here. In the castle.”
Their identical expressions of shock turn quickly to gleeful interest.
“Who is he?” Izabel demands. “Is he a Rawbond? Which pack is he from?”
Before I can gather the words to respond, I realize my glass is empty.
Well, that just won’t do.
“Hold on,” I say, “I need more wine.”
I look around for one of those servants with the decanters. They all seem to be busy elsewhere, but there’s a serving table on the other end of the room.
I excuse myself to a chorus of protests from Izabel and Venna, promising to tell them everything later. The room tilts a bit when I rise, and Stark’s eyes follow me as I make my way to the table.
To my unpleasant surprise, he appears beside me just as I reach for the decanter of wine.
“Better pace yourself, princess,” he says darkly, standing much too close for comfort. His deep voice thrums against my ear. “Wouldn’t want you stumbling off somewhere dangerous where accidents could happen. Especially after your miraculous survival today.”
Fuck, why does he smell so damn good? Like wood and amber and some kind of musk, maybe.
I fill my glass with a calm I don’t feel, then turn to glare at him with emberwine throbbing in my veins.
“Your concern for me is just so touching,” I drawl. “But I don’t get into accidents—I cause them.”
I see in his eyes that he knows what I mean. The memory of that Daemos Rawbond I strangled with his own severed hand passes between us.
Stark’s expression hardens dangerously, but I turn away before he can speak, leaving him there at the table.
Weaving through the crowd, I toss back the wine, ditch my glass, and head for the exit. My happy buzz is gone, burned away by the veiled threat in Stark’s words. I’m shaky and out of place again amidst all this celebration.
Izabel and Venna will have to wait. I need to get the fuck out of here.
The wine was a mistake. Emberwine is always a mistake. I’m sure Last Night Meryn felt it was a great idea, but right now, I’m staring down into my plate of oats and imagining various bloody ways to murder her.
My head pounds . My eyeballs feel like they’re going to explode. I’ve managed a few slow bites, but nausea roils in my stomach. Even the smell of the bread is starting to get to me.
But the worst part of it is that despite the fogginess of most of last night’s memories, fucking Stark threatening my life is still crystal clear. So is my genius response.
Really great move, honestly, deciding to threaten him back like that. As if he doesn’t already want to kill me badly enough.
Someone at the next table drops their spoon into their empty bowl, and the clang of metal on porcelain is like someone shoving a dagger into my eye socket. I wince and hiss through the pain, rubbing my temple.
At least I’m not the only one regretting last night. Several of the other Rawbonds look like shit scraped off a horseshoe, which is a big deal for a bunch of people who generally care so much about appearances.
I can’t be marked as the weak one in the litter who can’t hold her emberwine if everyone looks a little green.
“Mer,” Izabel groans, flopping into the seat on my left. “Help,” she croaks. Tomison sits down on the other side.
I grin. “You’re hungover and you still find the energy to braid your hair like that?” I jut my fork at the elaborately coiffed black coils.
“I’d find a way even if I didn’t have hands,” she replies instantly, shoving my shoulder gently before turning to her food.
We eat in silence for about three seconds before Tomison says, “Anyone else really feel like barfing right now?”
“Always, when I look at you,” Izabel replies instantly.
I shake my head. “ Don’t talk about barf right now. I feel like wet paper.”
“So,” Izabel says, leaning in. She speaks quietly, but not quietly enough. “About this mysterious castle-dwelling heartbreaker you mentioned last night…”
I nearly choke on my tea, setting the cup down too quickly to avoid a punishing clink that penetrates my eardrums and stabs my brain.
“Not here,” I hiss at her. Tomison is oblivious, but anyone could be listening.
Even a mild rumor could ruin everything. I can’t have other Rawbonds knowing. Honestly, I don’t even want Izabel and Venna to know. It was a mistake. A drunken, stupid slip.
I lean closer to whisper to Izabel. “Forget about it. I was just drunk and talking nonsense.”
Judging by the exaggerated raising of a single brow, Izabel very obviously does not believe me and will not let it go for long. But for now, she very graciously gives me space to finish my breakfast. Maybe the hangover has just robbed her of all the energy she would use for nosiness.
Or maybe she realizes she needs what energy reserves she still possesses to torment Tomison, because she turns away from me and immediately starts bickering with him.
I’m thankful that she’s willing to drop the topic for now, but my own mind isn’t as merciful. My thoughts immediately wander back to Killian.
The genuine concern on his face last night was almost too much to bear. I could’ve died without ever resolving—well, all of this between us. The thought makes me a little sick.
My saliva turns to paste. My throat closes up as a swell of nausea takes me. Sweat prickles over the back of my neck.
Oh, no…
I bolt up from my seat and hurry across the room, hand over my mouth. I stumble out into the next hall and fumble with the window latch, barely getting it open before bending over and spilling everything I just ate right back up.
I pant, wiping my mouth, bizarrely thinking, I just suffered through breakfast for nothing . And then, harsher, Get it together, Meryn .
“Cooper,” barks a familiar voice.
Ugh .
Wiping my mouth, I turn to face Beta Egith, who’s staring me down with a stern, unreadable look.
“My office. Now.”
Stiff and aching from yesterday’s Voice Trial—not to mention blindingly hungover—I stand at attention in Egith’s office.
I’ve seen her private quarters but haven’t actually been into her office before. It’s just as large as Leader Aldrich’s, but instead of three stories of books, Egith has maps. Everywhere. It’s like a cartographer’s private storehouse exploded in here.
Most of the maps seem to be of the border between Nocturna and Astreona, where the front is situated. There’s one huge one behind her, though, that’s a detailed atlas of Nocturna itself. It catalogs every feature of the country, from the mountains here in the north to the river that slices down through the south of our country, and all the fiefdoms in between. I find myself wanting to get close, to study all of these places in our country that I’ve never been to or even dreamed about.
Egith sits at a small, scuffed table across from an empty chair, not looking at me as she pours herself tea from a delicate ceramic pot. She hasn’t said two words to me since cornering me in the hallway, and I cannot read her body language for the life of me.
I’m surprised when Egith pours me a cup. She hasn’t given me permission to sit, though, so I don’t dare touch it.
Finally, she sets down the pot and looks me in the eye.
“You fucked up.”
And there it is .
“I shouldn’t have puked out of the window,” I say quickly. “Sorry…”
Egith sighs deeply. “This is not about your… illness, Cooper. Do you want to survive this? Do you want to become one of the Bonded?”
Do I have a choice? I think bitterly.
I grit my teeth. “Yes.” It’s not a lie, exactly—I do want to survive and become officially Bonded so I can get to the front already.
Egith stares me down for so long that I have the urge to fidget like a nervous child.
“I don’t believe you,” she grates. “And neither would anyone who saw your performance yesterday.”
That gives me a start. “But I thought?—”
“What?” she snaps, eyes flashing. “You thought because you completed the exercises your performance was a success?”
“I did everything that was asked of me,” I say, bewildered.
Egith groans. “I didn’t take you for stupid, Cooper. Arrogant, maybe. Bull-headed. But not stupid. The purpose of the Trial was to test your ability to communicate with your wolf. To prove your growing bond—your ability to act as one in battle!”
“Didn’t we… do that?”
“No!” she shouts. “All you did was cooperate—and not even well! You looked like enemies who grudgingly chose to work together to survive. Every single moment betrayed your mental and emotional disconnection. Every instance of failed communication was obvious!”
She pauses and takes a sip of tea like she’s waiting for me to speak.
“We got third place, though,” I venture weakly. “Isn’t that?—”
“You survived ,” she says in a voice that could strip paint. “By the skin of your teeth! You think that’s enough?” She sets down her teacup with a clatter that makes me flinch. “Anassa chose, for whatever reason, to let you survive. To let you finish third! That’s not success—that’s barely avoiding death. Your lack of communication with your direwolf is a failure, Cooper.”
Frustration boils inside me. “I’m doing my best. I’m trying to?—”
“You are not trying,” she interrupts, waving her hand to cut me off. “In fact, I don’t believe you’ve fully accepted any of this yet. I know your driving force for being here is to find your sister, but this is your life now. If you want to make it to the front lines, you need to accept it. You are Bonded. This isn’t temporary. You can’t escape it. You are bound to Anassa for the rest of your life,” her expression turns dour, “however long that may be.”
I’m speechless for a beat.
For the rest of your life echoes in my head.
I already knew there was no way out, but part of me refuses to believe it, even now.
“I know this is a hard adjustment for you,” Egith says, her voice softening.
“Oh, yeah?” I snap. “What do you know about it?”
“My father was born a commoner,” she says, and the confession shocks me to my core. I never would’ve expected an exacting, perfect Bonded like Egith to have commoner blood, especially given how rare it is for commoners to succeed in the Trials. “He had to fight his way to survive in this world, and he never let me forget how tough it was.”
I’m genuinely speechless at that.
“You seem married to this idea that you’re an outsider,” Egith continues, a little calmer, “and you’re using it as an excuse to hold yourself apart from the other Rawbonds. But it’s time to face facts, girl. You are not an outsider.”
She stares me down again like she’s trying to drive the truth into me by sheer force of will.
“You’re one of them, Meryn. One of us . You’ve survived this long by being clever and tough, but you will continue to fail—and eventually die —if you don’t accept that this is your life now.”
I shake my head. “But most of them treat me like an outsider. They have from the very start.”
“They treat you like an outsider because you act like one,” she says with a huff. “They sense that you see yourself as one, and they behave accordingly—just as Anassa does. Why she’s chosen to cooperate with you when you keep rejecting her, I don’t know.”
Me, rejecting her ?
When Anassa forced me into this bond in the first place and has soundly refused to cooperate with me ever since?
“But you’re damn lucky she does, or you’d already be dead. I saw the way you lunged at her during the Presentation when she came to protect you. You don’t trust her at all, so how can you expect her to trust you ?”
I open my mouth to protest, but Egith holds up one hand in a sharp gesture of refusal.
“Listen to me, Meryn Cooper. I won’t give you this advice again. Accept Anassa. Accept this life—or you won’t make it through the next challenge.”
Egith’s warning is still heavy in my gut like a stone when I arrive at our joint History of War lecture an hour later. And it’s not just her. I recounted the conversation to Izabel after I left Egith’s quarters. She agreed with the Strategos Beta wholeheartedly.
“Look, I know this is hard for you,” Izabel told me gently, “but she has a point. You treat almost everyone but me and Venna like enemies, including Anassa. Half our training is about learning how to be part of a pack. You need to loosen up, hang out with the pack more. Show everyone that you want to be here.”
I promised Izabel I would make an effort to connect with the rest of the pack. I just don’t know how .
While I grapple with that, the Phylax Gamma instructor, Elinor Gardiner, starts class with a question that snaps me right out of my thoughts.
“Alright, everyone,” Gamma Elinor says loudly, drawing attention to the front of the room. She’s older than most of the other instructors, maybe in her early fifties, with long dark hair and olive-toned skin. “What do we know about our enemy, the Siphons?”
A Kryptos Rawbond raises his hand. “They’re blood-sucking vampires who steal life force and energy to extend their own lives and make themselves more powerful.”
The professor nods indulgently. “Well, yes. A little dramatic, but basically correct.”
A brief discussion ensues as other students volunteer basic information about Siphons.
“In the Siphons’ country, there are no humans left—they drained them all for power. That’s why they invade our lands. To find more prey.”
“Correct,” says Gamma Elinor. “There have been no humans living in Astreona for centuries. Anything else?”
One of my fellow Strategos raises her hand. “Siphons subsist on the spoils of war. They feed on our captured soldiers.”
Like my father , I think, clenching my hand. Drained and consumed like an animal.
Everyone in Sturmfrost knows that this is the whole reason the Nabbers have been taking children from our city. Children have the strongest life force energy and therefore give the Siphons the most fuel.
“Very good,” Elinor says, “but they don’t just feed on our soldiers, do they? Siphons use the blood of their captives to wield powerful blood magic. Can anyone tell me why?”
I lean forward, senses heightened. I knew that the Siphons wielded some sort of blood magic, but the details of what that actually entails have always been fuzzy.
“They use blood magic to control our minds and weave illusions!” somebody calls from the back. “They don’t have their own Bonded creatures, so that’s the only way they can fight us. They use their magic to turn drained humans into more Siphons as well.”
“Excellent,” says Elinor. “This is why the war has gone on so long. Through their blood magic, Siphons have achieved functional immortality and the ability to manipulate human perception. This is how they infiltrate our borders and defend against our Bonded attacks. And the older a Siphon is, the more powerful their abilities become. We don’t even know half of what they’re truly capable of, as we interact primarily with their youngest soldiers—the more senior Siphons are rarely part of their forward guard.”
I wonder if they use blood magic when they’re capturing our children. If they somehow trick them into coming with them willingly.
“The Bonded are the ultimate protectors of the humans,” Elinor continues, “and we are all that stands between the commoners and the Siphons. Without the direwolves and our bonds, humans would be extinct by now. Or bred like cattle in a world overrun by Siphons.”
“But the war has been at a stalemate for as long as anyone can remember,” somebody interjects. “So how can we win?”
Elinor lifts her chin, her eyes alight. “Only by finding a way to fully invade Astreona and eliminate every last Siphon in existence.” The way she said it makes me think that she fully believes we’re capable of this.
Oh , I think faintly, head spinning. Is that all?
As Elinor speaks of invasion and victory, my whirling thoughts crystalize around a single gut-wrenching truth.
Crossing into Astreona is my only hope of finding Saela. And the only way I’m going to get there—the only way I can survive invading Siphon territory is…
Anassa.
Egith and Izabel are right. I need to do anything within my power to get Anassa to accept me. Even grovel, if it comes to that.
Dusk settles over the castle as I approach the wide terrace that opens from the back of the Strategos common room, a bundle of dried mountain sage clutched in my hand. I overheard some of the other Rawbonds talking about bringing the herbs to their wolves as a treat. Apparently, it’s like catnip for Direwolves. They crave it.
The fragrant leaves crackle faintly in my anxious grip as I scan for Anassa. The time has come for a real conversation with my wolf.
Whether either of us wants it or not.
The terraces rise before me like giant steps carved into the mountainside, each one occupied by several lounging Direwolves. In the dying light, I can make out the shapes of sleeping wolves on the lower levels, too.
Anassa is nowhere in sight. I crane my head to look up at the terraces above, wondering if she’s in the caves. But then I spot her, identifiable only as a distant silver-white blob at the edge of the uppermost terrace.
Of course, you’re way the fuck up there , I think dryly.
It takes me almost half an hour to climb the narrow staircases connecting each terrace in a zig-zagging path.
The climb feels symbolic. Each step carries me further and further from the world I know and deeper into the one I hate and resent. It’s like I’m leaving something vital behind—some part of myself I’ll never get back.
But it’s worth it , I think, steeling myself. As long as I get Saela back .
Cold wind whips my short hair around my face as I reach Anassa’s terrace. It appears empty at first, the stone worn smooth by the scrape of countless wolf claws over countless centuries.
Anassa has moved from the terrace edge into the deep shadows at its back, as though she sensed my approach and wants to avoid me.
Not a good sign, but definitely not a surprise.
I settle cross-legged near the edge, careful to respect the distance she’s placed between us.
Without a word, I place the bundle of sage on the floor before me—a peace offering that seems trite and painfully inadequate.
Then, I reach out to her through our bond. The iron wall is there, immovable as ever. But I don’t press. Instead, I give it a gentle mental stroke, like coaxing a feral cat.
Instantly, Anassa’s energy shifts, prickling with interest—or perhaps hunger. Her body is a dim gray shape in the shadows, but I see it move. Yellow eyes turn to me, gleaming faintly.
“Hi,” I murmur.
Her gaze sharpens, catching the fading light as a flash of silvery night glow.
Slowly, she rises, emerging soundlessly from the darkness, each measured step a reminder of her lethal power. In the twilight, her fur looks like liquid silver, so similar to my transformed hair.
My heart pounds in my chest as her shaggy head comes into view.
A trickle of feeling travels through our bond. Anassa’s lips pull back from her fangs in what might be a snarl—or a chilling lupine smile.
There’s no welcome in her eyes. Not that I expected any. But there is something…
The iron wall cracks open. Not much—just enough that there’s a stirring of direct communication.
No words. Just a tangle of conflicting impulses.
Interest. Disdain. Ancient wisdom warring with primal fury.
Cold sweat gathers along my spine as she stalks slowly toward me. It’s a struggle not to cringe away when her head sinks down to my level, lips curling back over teeth the size of daggers.
As her hot breath gusts against my face, I get a clear pulse of feeling from her:
I rejected her over and over, and now I want to make friends?