Chapter 18 #2
“I’m not interested in anything you have to offer.” I let my gaze travel down her body, deliberately slow, deliberately insulting. Let her feel what it’s like to be reduced to a transaction.
She flushes, humiliation staining her cheeks red.
“I know you’ve been lying,” I say, stepping closer. My wolf pushes forward, and I let gold flash in my gaze. “And your lies are going to cost your family everything.”
The color drains from her face. For a moment, she looks young and terrified.
I move to walk past her, but her whisper stops me cold.
“You don’t know my father. He’s a very dangerous man. He knows how to get what he wants.”
I glance back at her, but she’s not looking at me anymore, just staring at the floor. What she said was not a threat. It was a warning.
I keep walking. A dangerous man? He may be a necromancer with a vendetta against my mate and me, but he’s not the only one who has been amassing power over these past centuries.
Lucian looks up when I enter his study. “Any luck with Daciana’s brothers?”
“No.” I drop into the chair across from him. “Your men haven’t found anything?”
“Nothing.” He rubs his temples. “I don’t understand how the Alpha of the Silver Stone Pack didn’t notice an entire family was missing for ten days. How none of the pack members contacted Daciana.”
“Given how much dark magic I could sense in that pack’s territory?” I shake my head. “It was woven throughout, Lucian. Down every lane, around every house. Someone went to great lengths to make sure no one asked questions. Whoever got rid of that family wanted to keep it under wraps.”
Lucian stands and moves to the window. He looks tired, thoroughly exhausted in a way I haven’t seen before. “I’ve gotten word,” he says quietly. “The noble families are amassing private armies.”
I go still. “How many?”
“Enough.” He doesn’t look at me. “The war is no longer inevitable, Kieran. It’s here. We’re just waiting for the first sword to swing.”
“There’s still time left,” I say quietly.
“Is there?” He turns to face me. He holds my gaze for a long moment, then sighs. “And what brings you here?”
“I need you to look into Theodore. His family lineage. Everything.”
“Why?”
“From the information I’ve received, he may be our necromancer. Or he may not be. But we need to be sure. I want to know where his wealth comes from, why he’s so influential, how far back his lineage can be traced, how many witches are under his command.”
Lucian studies me, and I can see the questions forming. “I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you.”
I leave before he can press for details I don’t have. The hallway is quiet, most of the palace settling in for the evening meal. I should find Daciana, make sure she’s alright after everything we learned today.
Then, I feel it.
Magic. Faint, indistinct, but wrong. It pulses from the direction of the forest, a sickly thread of power that makes my wolf bristle.
I change direction and follow the sensation. It’s not dark magic, not exactly. This is something else.
The palace grounds give way to the tree line. I shift partially, letting my enhanced senses take over. The magic grows stronger as I move deeper into the woods, and beneath it, I catch hints of something else.
Blood. Not fresh, but recent enough.
And fear. The scent of it lingers like a stain.
I move faster, tracking the source. My wolf pushes harder, demanding I hunt, demanding I find whatever caused this disturbance so near the palace. So near my mate.
The trail leads to a clearing I don’t recognize. Someone was here recently—branches are broken, undergrowth disturbed. But there’s no one here now.
Just a symbol carved into a tree trunk.
I step closer. It’s crude, cut with a blade, but unmistakable.
The Ravelholt sigil.
But that’s impossible. That family is dead. Has been gone for nearly three decades.
I press my hand against the carving. The wood is still bleeding sap. This was done today. Maybe just a few hours ago.
“Someone knows,” I mutter. “Someone knows we’re looking into them.”
The magic pulses again, stronger this time, and I spin. There, in the shadows between the trees: a figure, too far away to make out clearly, watching me.
I lunge forward, but they’re already moving, dissolving into darkness that shouldn’t exist in the fading daylight. I chase after them, crashing through underbrush, following the diminishing trace of their power.
But they’re gone.
I stand alone in the forest, my wolf snarling with frustration.
This is a message. A warning, maybe. Or a taunt.
Either way, we’re being watched. And whoever is watching us knows exactly what we’re investigating.
I need to get back to Daciana. Now.
The strange magic is gone, but the unease it left behind crawls under my skin as I run back to the palace. Every shadow feels like a threat. Every whisper of wind sounds like an omen.
The Ravelholt Clan was supposed to be a dead end. A tragedy from the past with no bearing on the present.
But nothing about this is past tense anymore.
The next three days pass quietly. Then, on the fourth day, Daciana receives an invitation from Astra to join her for lunch. “Selene is also going to be there,” she says as she braids her hair.
I watch my mate from the doorway, my wolf restless beneath my skin. Three days of tension, of investigating the Ravelholt Clan, of watching shadows. Something feels off about today, though I can’t put my finger on what.
“I really don’t want to let you out of my sight,” I murmur, the disquiet settling heavier in my chest.
She finishes her braid and turns to face me before crossing the room to press her hands against my chest. “Relax, Kieran. I’m going to be in the most protected place in this palace. Nobody’s going to be able to get to me.”
She’s right. Logically, I know she’s right. The Queen’s private garden is surrounded by guards, by magic, by every protection the Kingdom can offer. And yet…
“Will you be okay while I’m gone?” she asks, studying my face.
“I’ll survive a few hours without you.” I catch her waist, pulling her close and breathing in her scent. Lavender and honey. Mine. “Go. Enjoy yourself.”
She smiles up at me, then presses a kiss to my jaw. “What will you do?”
“Paperwork. Reports from my pack. The usual, boring, alpha business.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I do have reports waiting. But as I watch her leave with her guard, an idea sparks in my mind.
This is my chance. Daciana is safe, occupied, surrounded by guards and royalty. And the Umbra Council is meeting “secretly.” Theodore’s estate will be as defenseless as it’s going to get.
My men have been trying to infiltrate it for three days. They’ve mapped every entrance, tracked every guard rotation, noted every vulnerable point. But there are sections they can’t access, areas so heavily secured that even my best spies can’t get close.
They can’t, but I can.
I find Artisem in the training yard. “I’m going to Theodore’s estate,” I say without preamble. “Now.”
Artisem’s brow furrows. “We don’t have enough information yet.”
“We’ll never have enough information. They’re too well protected.” I keep my voice low. “But I can get in. You know I can.”
He studies me for several seconds, then nods slowly. “What do you need?”
“Just silence. If anyone asks, I’m in my chambers, resting.”
“And if you don’t come back?”
“Tear Theodore’s estate apart until you find out why.”
I cloak myself in the stealth enchantment before I even reach the estate grounds. The world dims, colors muting to shades of gray as I slip between the visible and the invisible. It’s like pulling on a second skin, familiar and draining in equal measure.
Theodore’s estate is obscene. All white marble and gold fixtures, columns that serve no purpose except to scream wealth. I ignore the main house entirely and head for the eastern section. The abandoned wing.
My men identified it two days ago. Overgrown courtyard, crumbling walls, windows dark and empty. But there are guards. Always guards, standing at the only entrance.
I see them now. Two men, posted at the courtyard gate. They stand perfectly still, faces blank, staring forward.
Too still.
I move closer, studying them. Their chests don’t rise and fall. Their lids don’t blink. But they’re not dead. I can sense life in them, twisted and wrong but present.
Puppets. Someone has turned them into puppets.
I reach for my magic and weave a sleep spell between my fingers. It’s elegant and simple, and it should drop them where they stand.
I cast it.
Nothing.
The guards don’t even flinch. My wolf snarls. Magic won’t work on them. They’re not properly alive enough to be affected.
Fine. Steel, then.
I draw my sword and move.
The first guard goes down silently, my blade through his throat before his puppet strings can make him react. The second turns, finally registering the threat, but I’m already behind him, breaking his neck with one sharp twist.
They crumple, and I feel the dark magic holding them up snap like a frayed thread. The stench of it makes my wolf recoil.
I step over their bodies into the courtyard.
It’s neglected, choked with weeds, the stone cracked and broken. Like no one has set foot here in years. But there’s a path worn through the overgrowth and footprints in the dirt. Recent ones.
Someone has been coming here. Regularly.
I follow the trail to a small hut at the far end of the courtyard. The wood is gray and weathered, one window cracked, the door hanging slightly askew. It looks abandoned. Forgotten.
I push the door open.
Inside is exactly what I’d expect. Dust thick on every surface, cobwebs hanging from the rafters, broken furniture scattered around. Empty.
Except, my wolf is screaming that it’s not.
I scan the room more carefully. There, near the center, under a table. A spot where the dust is disturbed. Not just disturbed—gone. A perfect rectangle on the floor.
I shove aside the old table, revealing what’s beneath.
A trap door.