Chapter Seventeen
Shaw Black
“Keep up, shifters,” Zola said. “Come on, we’re almost to the trading post. We need to find a safe place to make camp before night sets in.”
Neera and I shifted into our animal forms, but still, Zola was faster. She leaped from the shadows, keeping a lookout on the route ahead while Neera and I fanned out behind her, taking note of tracks and the scent of humans, hunters, and mages.
The forest changed as we ran deeper into the woods.
The trees here seemed older, their trunks wide and dark with moss, roots clutching at the earth like buried claws.
I padded beside Neera, our paws and hooves whispering over damp leaves in a familiar rhythm.
Above us, jumping in the shadows, Zola was little more than a pale blur, her silhouette glinting through the canopy like a phantom.
But something didn’t feel right.
I slowed, nostrils flaring. The breeze carried hints of smoke and iron. It was unmistakably human, faint but recent.
Neera caught it too. She veered closer, her deer form silent. “You smell that?” she asked.
I gave a low growl in reply.
Zola dropped from a tree ahead, landing in a crouch. Her shadows curled around her before vanishing. “What is it?”
“Humans,” I said, shifting back to two legs, voice low. “A patrol passed through here not long ago. Half a day, maybe less.”
Neera shifted as well, her midnight hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes bright and wary. “They’re heading southeast,” she said softly. “I can feel the churn in the ground—their boots trampled the fresh moss over here.”
Zola’s mouth tightened. “Then it isn’t safe to rest for the night in the trading post.”
“We could head south,” I said.
Zola looked at me. “Straight to where we know they are instead of where they might be?”
I nodded. “It’s what we came here to do, isn’t it?”
My mate’s gaze sharpened. “Lead the way.”
I turned, muscles rippling as the change took me again—bones morphing, senses alert until the forest came alive in color and sound. Behind me, Neera’s hooves clicked lightly as she followed, with Zola sprinting ahead and jumping to the shadows along the treetops once more.
The scent of humans thickened as we crept closer: smoke, sweat, iron, and oil. But laced through it was something older, colder. A shimmer of power that raised the hair on my arms.
The trees thinned until the forest peeled back to reveal a ridge overlooking a broad clearing.
From our vantage, the human stronghold spread below like a wound in the earth.
Torches flared along its perimeter, throwing orange light over sharpened stakes, spiked barricades, and rows of tents arranged with methodical precision.
Neera crouched beside me in her deer form, her eyes wide and glinting in the dark. “That’s not just a patrol camp,” she whispered. “That’s a stronghold.”
She was right. Siege carts waited near the far side—massive constructions of oak and iron, their wheels half-buried in mud. Each cart held a battle ram, its head forged like a wolf’s snarl. Above them, half-built towers rose on creaking scaffolds, ready to give archers the high ground.
And then, at the center of their camp were the cursed abominations of the wilt.
I swallowed heavily, watching the creatures float across the grounds, black tendrils of mist clinging to them.
They hollowed out faces a mask of terror that still sent chills along my spine, even from a distance.
My jaw nearly dropped as I watched a group of human soldiers pass by a fallen, giving it a wide berth, as it seemed to drift between the tents.
Neera’s sudden inhale told me she’d seen it too. She was frozen beside me, her eyes wide with shock. I could almost feel the fear bleeding off her, quiet and pure, the kind that comes from realizing the stories were real after all.
A shrill cry rang overhead, followed by the sound of wings, as a harpy swooped over the canopy, landing at the northern line of tents.
Neera flinched. “They shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice trembling.
I tightened my grip on my emotions, forcing down the familiar weight in my chest. “No,” I said. “They shouldn’t. But they are.”
Zola crouched ahead of us. Her breathing was steady despite the flicker of apprehension I could sense through our bond. She turned, eyes sharp with a silent command.
“Stay here,” she signed, then slipped away into the dark. In seconds, she was gone, only a faint shimmer in the air where she’d been moments before.
Neera leaned forward. Her gaze was fixed on the camp below. “There, see the carts? Two, maybe three. And those towers, they’re braced for height. They’ll carry at least thirty archers each.”
I nodded grimly. “And the scent—” I drew in a breath, tasting the air. “Iron dust. Crossbow bolts tipped for shifters and High Fae alike.”
Neera stiffened. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been.” I gestured toward the far tents, where shadows moved too deliberately to be mere soldiers. “This isn’t the only camp.”
“How do you know?”
“Do you see the Aelius High Fae?” I asked.
Neera narrowed her eyes to scan the tents. “No. What does that mean, Shaw?” Her head brushed my shoulder. “We shouldn’t be this close to the camp.”
I gave a low growl of agreement. “Come on.”
We slipped back into the cover of the trees, every step deliberate, every sound swallowed by the whisper of the forest. When the first breath of river air reached us, cool and damp, I finally released a caged breath of tension.
The water shimmered in the half-light, winding between roots and stones. Shifting into my human form, I knelt at the bank, watching the ripples distort the moon. My mind raced with the layout of the land, trying to think one step ahead and figure out where the Aelius fae could be.
“They’re building for war,” I muttered. “Not defense.”
Neera knelt beside me on two legs, her voice low. “And they’re not working alone. The Heart’s magic… I can feel its power. Its influence, here.” She tapped her chest.
I nodded, recognizing the same sensation in my center.
“It flows into the land,” I said, reaching my palm to the earth. It vibrated faintly, alive with something wrong. I could feel it, the weight of stolen magic bleeding into the land.
Zola should have been back by now.
The river murmured between us, carrying the smell of rain and metal downstream. Somewhere far off, a horn sounded in warning.
A flicker of shadow moved against the moonlight, and Zola dropped from the trees, landing in a crouch so silent it hardly startled the night birds.
Her eyes found mine immediately.
“Well?” I asked, my pulse already braced for her answer.
Zola straightened. Her face was shadowed, but her voice remained steady. “There are more of them than I thought. Two full companies. Mages, hunters, and a stronghold of garmr—”
“Garmr?” Neera asked.
“Demonic-looking hounds, with a paralyzing bite,” I said.
“There’s also a horde of harpies that appear to be at their command. The one that landed was just their scout. The rest are hiding in the eastern mountains, from what I overheard.”
She glanced toward the river, then back to me. “They’re not only building a stronghold. They’re preparing to march.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
“What do we do?” Neera whispered. “Skylar and Daxton need to know. They’re likely meeting with the human king right now.”
Before I could answer, a foreign pressure crawled across my senses like ice under my skin. Then it struck. A blinding, piercing screech tore through my skull, not a sound but a presence, clawing at the edges of my mind, trying to dig its way in.
I staggered, palms clamping over my ears. My magic surged on instinct, flaring outward to form a barrier around my thoughts. The noise dulled, but my vision swam. I forced a breath, blinked my eyes open, and saw Zola staring at me.
The color drained from her face as her hands shot to the daggers at her belt.
“Run!” she shouted.