Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Kieran
I watch Daciana sleep, curled on her side in the pre-dawn darkness.
She hasn’t slept much since we arrived in Silver Stone Pack territory—none of us have—but exhaustion finally claimed her an hour ago.
Her face is peaceful now, a sharp contrast to the devastation I know waits for her when she wakes.
Once my mate was asleep, I combed through the entire house. Traces of magic were everywhere. I was not surprised.
I rub my hands over my face. I know the feeling of loss all too well, but I never wanted Daciana to experience it.
Light creeps through the windows, and her eyes flutter open.
“Kieran?” she mumbles softly.
“I’m here.”
She sits up, and for a moment, I see hope flicker in her eyes, like maybe it was all a nightmare. Then, her face crumbles before rebuilding itself stoically.
“They’re really gone,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
She doesn’t cry. Not yet. But I see the way her hands tremble as she dresses, the careful blankness settling over her features like armor. I know this kind of grief, the kind that goes too deep for tears, that hollows you out from the inside.
After I performed a conservation spell on the bodies, Lucian’s people brought them into the house and laid them respectfully in the main room.
Daciana’s parents. Her two youngest brothers.
All four are now wrapped in white cloths.
The scent of death still clings to them despite having been buried in dirt.
Daciana stands in the doorway, frozen. I move to her side, close enough that our shoulders touch.
“How long?” she asks.
“Ten days. Maybe more.” Around the time they went missing.
Her jaw clenches. “I should have come sooner.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have felt it.” Her voice cracks. “I should have—”
“Daciana.” I turn her to face me. “This isn’t your fault.”
She doesn’t answer, just pulls away and walks toward the bodies. She kneels beside the smallest form, one of her younger brothers, and pulls back the sheet. I want to stop her, to spare her this, but she needs to see. She needs to know this is real.
I watch her touch the boy’s cold face, trace the curve of her mother’s cheek, rest her hand on her father’s chest. She’s not crying, but her heart is breaking. I can feel it fracturing in the silence.
She stands, her voice a ragged whisper. “I want to know who did this.”
“I can help with that.”
She turns to me, eyes shining with unshed tears. “How?”
“The same way I did before. When I went to the grave of the female alpha wolf and discovered that the necromancer had used her against you.” I keep my voice steady, matter of fact. “I can ask the dead what happened.”
“Is it safe?”
The question hangs between us. I could lie. I probably should lie. But I promised her: no more secrets.
“It’s forbidden magic,” I admit. “But it should be fine.”
Her eyes narrow. “Should be?”
I can’t lie to her, but I can’t tell her the whole truth, either. “Daciana, please. Let me do this for you.”
She studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “What do you need?”
“Privacy. This kind of magic requires focus.” I glance toward the door. “Wait outside. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
She hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave, but then she nods and heads out of the room. I wait until I hear her footsteps fade before turning back to the bodies.
The spell requires blood. Always blood. I draw my knife across my palm, letting the crimson well up and drip onto the floor in a pattern. The old words come easily. I learned them long ago, though I swore I’d never use them again.
The magic rises fast—too fast. It latches onto me like hooks in flesh, pulling. I should have prepared better, should have—
My throat closes. I double over, coughing violently, and blood spatters across one of the white cloths. Not good. This isn’t supposed to happen so quickly.
The door slams open.
“Kieran!”
Daciana rushes in, Artisem right behind her.
Damn it. I told her to stay away.
“Stop!” Artisem’s eyes are wide with recognition and horror. “Kieran, stop the spell!”
I can’t. I’m too far in now. If I stop, I’ll learn nothing, and Daciana will have no way of knowing the truth. I thrust my hand out, erecting a barrier around myself. The shimmering wall of magic snaps into place, cutting them off.
“Kieran, no!” Daciana slams against the barrier, but it holds. Barely.
“The magic he’s using”—Artisem grabs her arm, his voice frantic—“it saps his life force! Every second he maintains it, it’s draining him!”
“What?” Her face goes white. “Kieran, stop! Stop right now!”
I shake my head, focusing on the spell. The dead have stories to tell; I just need to reach them, to pull the truth from them.
Suddenly, the barrier shatters.
I stumble backward, the spell breaking in a cascade of failed magic. Impossible! I have years of experience, decades of practice. No one should be able to break through my defenses, especially not…
Daciana grabs me by the front of my tunic, shaking me hard enough to rattle my teeth. “What were you thinking?!”
I stare at her, still reeling. For a moment, I’d forgotten: the gypsy witch blood in her veins. Magic that doesn’t follow the rules I know.
“Do you want me to lose you, too?!” Her voice breaks on the last word. “Is that what you want?”
“I want to get revenge,” I say. “I want to find who did this to your family.”
“I’ll track the killer using old-fashioned means.” She’s still shaking me, her grip fierce. “You’re not trading your life to find out who killed my family. Do you hear me? You’re not.”
I see the tears gathering in her eyes, threatening to spill over. My heart clenches.
“I won’t lose you, too,” she whispers. “I can’t.”
The tears fall, and I pull her into my arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She weeps against my chest, her whole body shaking. All the grief she’s been keeping locked up comes pouring out, and I hold her through it, my arms tight around her.
“I promise,” I murmur into her hair. “You won’t lose me. I promise.”
The guilt sits heavily in my stomach. I should have told her what the spell would cost me. Should have been honest instead of trying to be her hero.
Artisem clears his throat as he backs toward the doorway. “I’ll give you two a moment.”
We stand there for a long time, until her tears slow and her breathing steadies. When she pulls back, her eyes are red but determined.
“We do this the right way,” she says firmly. “We ask questions. We investigate. No forbidden magic.”
“As you wish,” I say, pushing strands of her hair away from her face. “Whatever you want.”
Her eyes fill again, and she rests her head against my chest, her hands gripping my upper arms as she tries to compose herself. I give her the time she needs.
We spend the rest of the morning talking to the neighbors. Daciana knows most of them. But no one remembers seeing anything unusual the night her family disappeared.
“I’m sorry, dear,” says Mrs. Petrova, a gray-haired woman who lives two houses down. “I wish I could help, but I just don’t remember anything from that night.”
“Nothing at all?” Daciana presses.
“It’s the strangest thing. The whole night is just…blank.”
I exchange a glance with Daciana. This is the third neighbor to say something similar.
Next, we try the house directly across the street. The woman who answers is middle-aged, her face drawn with worry.
“About ten days ago?” She frowns, thinking. “The night they went missing…That whole night is a blur, actually. I can’t remember anything, and when I try”—she presses her fingers to her temples—“I get this strange headache.”
My instincts sharpen. “A headache when you try to remember?”
“Yes. It’s very odd.”
“Thank you,” Daciana says. “You’ve been helpful.”
We visit four more houses. The pattern repeats itself each time. Blank memories, strange headaches when they try to recall that specific night.
Back at Daciana’s family home, I pace the main room while she watches me.
“What is it?” she asks. “You look grim.”
“The neighbors’ memories were tampered with. Strong magic, expertly done.” I run my hand through my hair, frustrated. “But necromancers can’t practice proper magic. They can raise the dead, manipulate death energy, but this? This is different.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Shifters can learn necromancy,” I explain, “but proper magic, the kind witches use, the kind my people use—you have to be born with it. It’s in the blood.” I meet her eyes. “Which means our necromancer might be like me. Or they might be a witch.”
Her face pales. “A witch working with necromancy?”
“It’s rare, but not impossible.” I hate what I have to say next, but she needs to hear it. “Daciana, if you’d let me try the spell again, just once more, I could discover the killer’s identity. I’ll be more careful this time. I’ll…”
“No.” Her voice is steel. “Absolutely not.”
“Daciana—”
“I said no, Kieran.” She crosses to me and takes my hands in hers. “I won’t risk losing you. Do you understand? I won’t.”
The steadfastness in her eyes steals my breath.
“Promise me,” she demands. “Promise you won’t do anything that will put you in harm’s way.”
I’m touched by the fierceness in her voice, the way she holds my hands like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
“I promise,” I say. “No forbidden magic. No life-draining spells. You have my word.”
She exhales shakily, then pulls me into a brief, tight hug. When she releases me, some of the tension has left her shoulders.
We bury the bodies the next morning.
The whole pack turns out for it, even the Alpha, an older man with wise eyes full of regret that he couldn’t prevent this. They dig four graves in the small cemetery at the edge of the territory, beneath the oak trees where Daciana says her grandparents are buried.
I stand beside her as the bodies are lowered into the ground. She is composed again, her face blank, but through our bond, I can feel her grief like a heavy stone in my chest.