Chapter 2
CADE
Every room in NightShade still smells like Rowan.
Jasmine and a warm summer storm, threaded with that smoky undertone that only ever came from her strength.
But there’s something else, too—something soft that doesn’t belong in a place built for war.
That quiet sweetness I’d tried to ignore when she first arrived.
It’s fading now, thinner with every breath I take, and I fucking hate it.
Still, I cling to the scent as I stalk through the corridors toward my room, her memory caught in the cracks of broken stone and in the blood that’s dried across my hands.
I should clean up the sight of death. It’s not helping to clear my head and come up with a plan, but this mess is a reminder of what I have to fight for. Of what’s at stake if I don’t find my mate.
Of what I already failed to protect.
Eight hours. That’s how long it’s been since Rowan vanished.
Eight hours of silence where her heartbeat used to echo through mine.
Eight hours of our bond becoming cracked and splintered, gnawing at me.
And every second of it has been hell.
My hands ache from too many partial shifts in too few hours. The claws of my wolf have shredded through my skin without warning at least a half dozen times, raking across stone and tearing through furniture that never stood a chance.
Now, I stand in what’s left of my room after Liz brought news I didn’t want to hear.
Not a single one of the survivors we captured from the attack remembers who they were working for.
Hearing that snapped one of the few strands of hope I’d been clinging to, which resulted in my bedframe being broken clean in half.
Iris can bill me.
Waiting on information from the captured is the only reason I’ve stayed back at NightShade as long as I have.
I thought the answers I needed would be here, buried among the wounded or in the minds of the cowards we caught.
But every single one of them acts the same way—blank stares and trembling voices, like the memories have been carved out of them.
All they remember is following orders. Orders from something—or someone—called The Keep.
And no one knows what the hell The Keep is.
I’ve got one last chance at a lead, and it’s with the Shadowyn Alpha. Three of the wolf council members were at the fight. Two are dead—Milo from Glacier Crest and Eamon from Thornwell—from the storm Rowan unleashed. The third, Taren from Shadowyn, has been unconscious ever since.
Rowan’s surge of power knocked out everything in its path.
She didn’t kill me or the people she cares about, but I have no doubt that she could have.
I woke long enough to see her disappear into the night with that cloaked bastard.
By the time I could stand again, it was well past midnight, and she was gone.
I kick the splintered leg of a broken chair, watching as it lodges into the wall. Yet, there’s no satisfaction in the destruction that lies around me.
Only wrath—slow, steady, and corrosive—building in my chest until I can taste the charcoal of it in the back of my throat.
We have to get her back, my wolf snarls, pacing under my skin.
We will, I answer, because I refuse to believe otherwise.
Either I bring Rowan home, or I follow her into whatever hell she’s been taken to. No matter what it costs. No matter who I have to break to get there.
Shattered glass from a vase crunches under my boots as I pace the room, waiting for word that Taren, the council member, has woken.
She’s been out the longest, but she’s also the strongest among those present.
I haven’t spoken to her in decades, but even my mother respected Taren.
A fact that I need to mean something soon.
Because Taren is the last shred of hope I have to cling to before I run from this place, tearing apart the world until I have my mate back in my arms.
There’s a knock at my door. Elias. He’s been by to check on me too many times since the battle ended. Normally, I’d be annoyed, but there’s a fraction of control left in me that knows I need this. I need someone to support me right now before I lose myself to the darkness.
A choice I can’t make unless I’m doing so with my mate.
Elias opens the door at my grunt. He stands beneath the frame, jaw tight, watching me like I’m one twitch away from tearing the entire manor apart.
He’s not wrong.
“Nothing?” I bite out.
He shakes his head once. “No trace. The scouts are doing another sweep of the perimeter, though. And Stephanie’s—”
“What is she doing back here?” She’d left before, seeming to have only been around to piss me off, and I’m not sure I want her around now.
Elias holds up a hand as if that will calm me. “She’s the reason members of the Solara Pack are here right now, and she’s been surprisingly helpful.”
Interesting. I thought we had extra help because Elias facilitated it.
“She tried to be back sooner, but convincing some of them to come with her wasn’t easy.”
I don’t take offense to that.
He continues, “But they showed up, and that’s what matters. And Stephanie’s been tracking through the eastern ridge. She swears she can smell the magic that took Rowan, but—”
“But it vanishes.” I finish for him, crossing the room with a force that has my boots scuffing the floor. “Same as every fucking time before.”
The air is heavy, thick as wet wool. NightShade used to thrum with life: the steady pulse of magic, a sense of peace for those looking, a place of rest. Now it’s hollow, an echo chamber of nightmares and decisions that won’t unmake themselves.
“She’s alive,” I add, the words more a threat than a reassurance. “I’d know if she wasn’t.”
Elias exhales through his nose, but he doesn’t argue. “No one’s saying otherwise, Cade. We’re just—”
“Not fast enough.”
He looks away, muttering something that sounds a lot like you’re not helping either.
He’s probably right, but I don’t care.
The wolf under my skin paces, coiled and hungry, snapping at the edges of whatever restraint I pretend to have. Every time I close my eyes, I see her—Rowan’s mouth parted in shock, the flash of darkening colors in her eyes before she took that man’s hand and disappeared.
I should have been faster. I should have run for her. I should have…done my fucking job.
This is my fault.
I’m her mate, and I didn’t keep her safe.
A sound tears out of me before I can choke it back—something between a snarl and a howl. The walls absorb it, trembling faintly with the echo.
Elias doesn’t move. “Taren’s vitals are stronger. She should wake any moment. Maybe we’ll—”
“Why didn’t you start with that?” I cut him off again, hard enough that my voice catches in my throat.
I don’t wait for him to answer. I shove past him, almost running Liz down in the corridor. She’s wrapped in leather and fury, eyes like polished knives dripping with crimson. Vampires are most dangerous when they’re pissed, and this one is well past that.
“Did you find something?” she hisses, not going for subtlety. She hasn’t been tearing the place apart the way I have, but I don’t mistake that for her being less angry. If anything, her demeanor is colder—more methodical.
“Taren’s almost awake,” I say, not slowing. I can’t stop to plan or explain. Not now.
I need answers. I need to get my mate back.
Liz falls into step behind me. “I’ll come with you.”
Part of me wants to tell her to stay behind.
This could blow up, and I don’t want anyone else bleeding because of my mistakes.
But something in her expression tells me she won’t be kept out.
She’s hungry for the same things I am, and I don’t doubt for a second she’ll mind if more blood has to be shed to get it.
We move fast.
The manor’s quiet in the way that means it’s listening. The halls that used to purr with voices and laughter are now still. Every step sounds too loudly against the marble floors.
Liz walks beside me, her strides short but precise. She doesn’t speak, and I’m grateful. The silence between us feels safer than words right now.
We descend the staircase, my hands barely touching the edges where my claw marks have scarred the railing.
The first floor is worse—toppled over statues, scattered vases, and broken tiles from things being thrown to the ground.
I should feel bad for the wreckage I’ve left behind in my wake, but I don’t.
Not in the slightest. NightShade should be up for the task of repairing itself once I’m gone.
I glance around. Iris and Archie are here somewhere—neither of them okay. Hell, the ferret can’t even change back to normal size. But for the most part, the four of us have given one another space to do what we each do best.
I know Iris has been on the phone a lot. Archie has been attempting to track Rowan’s trail by scent and the odd connection they share. All while Liz and I have opted for destruction in our own ways.
Something that isn’t likely to stop now unless I hear what I need to once Taren fully wakes.
A spelled room that Iris revealed to us after the battle is where Taren’s being held.
It sits at the far end of the main hallway, behind a plain wooden door that looks laughably ordinary if you don’t know better.
The magic woven through it by one of NightShade’s past patrons whispers against my skin, faint but constant, like a heartbeat under the surface.
It’s containment magic—old, expensive, and dangerous to the wrong people.
Liz’s gaze flicks to the lock etched with runes hanging against the door. “Still in place,” she murmurs.
I grunt, twisting the handle. Pinpricks of energy surge through my palm, identifying me. The magic pulses once, recognizing me, thanks to Iris’s approval, before unlocking with a faint click.
Inside, the room is bare except for a single bed and a small light on the ceiling. There aren’t even any windows here. Taren lies motionless on the bed, her wrists bound in the dull metal cuffs that shimmer faintly with spellwork.