Chapter 43
Evan
Static charge buzzed in my fingertips as I poured magic into the small quartz crystal.
The energy surged through my veins in a rising wave that prickled across my skin, but not all of it reached the stone.
The excess cycled back into my system, building pressure until my nerves hummed with the surplus.
Gregory stood inches from my spine, watching the infusion with an intensity that raised the hair on my neck. Muscle memory guided me with the technical knowledge for channeling and pushing, but nerves made my grip tremble. Gregory’s proximity was the only thing keeping me grounded.
“Easy,” he murmured, his fingers feathering over mine to correct my hold on the gem. “Don’t force it. Let it flow.”
This morning, he infused the sword for the King of Valoren with effortless grace, fire dancing along the blade as if it were breathing. He made the steel drink his magic without hesitation. Replicating that control was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.
I let out the breath I’d been holding as the final drop of power drained into the crystal. The stone pulsed a few times before stabilizing into a constant green glow.
Done.
The armory stretched around us, all granite walls and low ceilings, and narrow windows near the rafters let in weak slivers of moonbeams. The atmosphere stifled us, thick with the heat of the brazier and the warmth of too many bodies packed into one space.
Sweat slicked Gregory’s skin, plastering dark strands of hair to his brow and making them shine in the fire’s glow like polished obsidian.
He wore no armor, neither steel nor chainmail, just his tunic and the raw violence carved into his body. He didn’t require a metal shell because he was the weapon itself.
Rusted swords, chipped axes, and massive war hammers heavy enough to shatter skulls lined the walls. Alongside them, dented breastplates stood like silent guards, marked by scorch marks and deadly gashes.
Men had died inside those suits.
The taste of oil and old iron coated my tongue.
I clawed at the stiff collar of my leather armor, dampness gathering at my nape.
We’d settled on it after a disastrous attempt with chainmail earlier.
The moment Gregory draped the metal links over my back, my knees buckled under the crushing weight, and I couldn’t move, let alone fight.
The plate was even worse, like an iron coffin pinning my arms to my sides.
So, leather it was. Lightweight for mobility, sure, but compared to the tailored suits I used to wear, it was suffocating. The straps bit into my shoulders, and the chest piece restricted my breathing in the sweltering heat.
The metallic clack of William’s gauntlets cut the silence.
He and Adam locked themselves into full suits of steel, helmets already secured, while Harren adjusted the golden sun embossed on his chest. Blue fabric hung from their waists.
The whole armor transformed them into faceless tanks built for war.
Nicolai loomed behind Harren, a dark, silent shadow that refused to give him space. He hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Hadn’t spoken. He stood too close, invading Harren’s space, fixed at the back of his neck. Unblinking. Unmoving.
His werewolf form was terrifying in a way I hadn’t prepared for. I’d never imagined what an actual werewolf would look like. The movies got it wrong. This was real. Massive. Monstrous. And I’d accepted it as my reality now. Maybe I’d gone a bit mad at this point. I must have.
Goosebumps crawled across my skin. There was something wrong about Nicolai that I couldn’t pinpoint.
Harren feigned ignorance, fussing with the straps on his gauntlets, but the tension wiring his frame gave him away. He knew.
William and Adam kept a wide berth, their nostrils flaring in distaste. Nicolai’s pheromones made the other men bristle and stiffen whenever they turned their backs to him.
The stench made me gag, but my pulse didn’t jump. My body didn’t recognize the command in that scent. I was glad it remained indifferent, rewired to answer only to one call: Gregory. Sandalwood and smoke.
Gregory had assured me Nicolai wouldn’t act unless Harren faced a threat.
It didn’t make the predator’s proximity any less unnerving, but Harren seemed to welcome the danger.
Perhaps he sought repentance for his lies, or maybe he simply craved the violence for himself.
Whatever the reason, make no mistake—Harren held the leash.
A sudden lurch rattled the floorboards beneath my boots, forcing me to shove the unease down.
The entire room bucked, and dust rained from the wooden rafters overhead. Weapons clattered against the walls. A helmet toppled from its stand and hit the slate floor with a deafening clang.
I stumbled forward, my balance gone, arms flailing, but Gregory moved before gravity could claim me. A solid wall of heat and muscle caught me before I hit the ground.
“What the hell was that?” I gasped, clinging to him.
“Genevieve and Alaric,” Gregory said. He tilted back, staring toward the ceiling as if piercing through the wood to the sky beyond. “She and the Elders are raising the walls.”
Another violent tremor rocked the room. The crystal I’d just finished rolled off the table, but Gregory caught it midair by pure instinct.
“They’re infusing the perimeter with holy magic and a protection spell,” he explained, setting the stone back down. “Creating a stronger ward. If we fail our mission, nobody will be able to breach Mossfen without a fight. It’s our last line of defense.”
I nodded, the motion shaky and unconvincing. “Okay. That’s good. That’s smart.”
Gregory crouched until we were eye level, his massive frame folding down to meet me. The size of him always stole my breath, but seeing him lower himself like this, making himself smaller and less threatening, made my chest ache.
“Are you alright with Alaric coming?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning my face.
“It doesn’t bother me. The more people that can help, the better.” I adjusted the strap on my wrist, meeting his gaze evenly. “Besides, he isn’t doing it for us. He’s doing it for the village. That’s enough.”
Regret churned in my stomach. I missed my chance to apologize to Alaric—to look him in the eye and admit I wasn’t the Evan he once knew.
He likely knew the truth by now, since Genevieve or Adam probably told him.
Still, I should have been the one to speak those words.
If I had faced him man to man, maybe he wouldn’t have been so furious at the assembly.
Gregory studied me for a second longer. He captured my hand, pressing his lips against my knuckles with a tenderness that didn’t belong in a room full of death.
“You still have time, my sweet Evan,” he said against my skin. “You can say no to this madness. We can take these crystals and leave. You don’t have to go down there. You can stay with Genevieve.”
I studied our joined grip. His palm scarred and calloused, mine still soft despite everything.
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m sure. Even if something feels wrong, we have to do this. I have to do this.”
Pain flashed across his face, sharp and immediate, as if I’d driven a knife into his neck. His eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat, jaw clenching hard enough that teeth ground together.
The memory of Gregory pressing his nose to my belly in the guest bedroom flashed through my mind.
The way he’d breathed me in and the look on his face after.
He wasn’t telling me something. The thought crept in, absurd and too quick to be real, but it lodged itself anyway.
Was I already pregnant? No. It was too soon.
But the way he fought me about doing this, the desperation in his resistance, made me wonder if I was risking more than I should.
Something warm unfurled in my belly at the thought.
The possibility of creating life with Gregory, of creating something that was ours.
He pulled back, reached into his pocket, and withdrew an object wrapped in dark cloth. When he unfolded it, firelight from the nearby brazier caught the blade.
The dagger we’d forged together.
He placed the hilt in my hand, then wrapped his fingers around mine, cradling them with a reverence that belied his size.
“I infused it with my draconic fire,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine.
“The blade carries the heat of my blood. It won’t break.
It won’t dull. And it will burn anything it touches… even Mordaine’s shadows.”
My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic beat matching the terrifying finality in his tone.
He paused, his throat working as if the next words physically hurt to say. “If anything happens, if I fail, if I’m not with you, you need to use it.”
“Gregory, stop.”
“No. Listen.” His grip tightened, desperate and bruising. “I don’t want your hands marred by blood like mine. I wanted to keep you clean of this world’s violence. But if it comes down to you or them…” His voice splintered, shattering his composure. “You use this. You survive. Do you understand me?”
A stabbing sting pricked the corners of my eyes, and tears swam in my vision, threatening to spill over. He wasn’t just giving me a weapon; he was preparing me for a world without him. The thought twisted the very same blade in my gut.
“I will,” I choked out, cutting him off before either of us could spiral further. “I promise.”
Breath shuddered through my lungs as I dropped my gaze to the blade resting in my palm. It glinted through unshed tears. Sniffling softly, I swiped the back of my wrist across my nose. “Where… Where can I put this?”
Gregory took the blade from my trembling grip and knelt before me. He secured a leather sheath to the strap encircling my thigh, and the buckle clicked into place.
“Here,” he said. “Easy to reach. Quick to draw.”
I nodded, hurrying to scrub the dampness from my face in an attempt to hide the evidence of my breakdown.
A sudden rap echoed against the door, but before I could compose a response or even drag in a steady breath, the iron handle turned. The door swung open, revealing Lyra framed in the entryway.
“You were thinking of leaving without me?” She sounded bright, a forced chirp.
Gregory straightened, his hold firm on my arm as he hauled me upright. The activity in the room ceased. William and Adam froze mid-motion, and Harren went still as a statue.
She marched forward, her long braid swinging like a pendulum, until she collided with me.
Her armor differed from the men’s—sleek, fitted to hug her curves, and constructed from a lighter, reinforced material that allowed her to move. Hard leather met hard leather. Her embrace was clumsy and stiff, the padding getting in the way, but I wrapped my arms around her anyway, clinging to her.
A wet laugh bubbled up from my throat, mixing with a sob until I wasn’t sure which one was escaping. “I’m sorry,” I managed, my throat tight. “I’m so sorry for not telling you.”
“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” she muttered into my collarbone, squeezing tight.
She pulled back, her attention snapping to Harren. The guard flinched, avoiding her gaze. Her focus shifted to the shadow looming behind him. She shot a venomous glare at Nicolai, and he gave her a slow, jagged grin that spread across his face. Lyra’s expression contorted in pure distaste.
Lyra didn’t push further. She lifted her chin, squaring her shoulders as she addressed the group. “We are family. And family fights together.” She sniffed, waving a loose hand at the others. “Besides, someone has to watch your backs. Uncle William cried over a mere paper cut, and Father… well.”
A startled chuckle rippled through the armory, and even Adam cracked a smile, shaking his head. The suffocating tension fractured, letting us breathe for the first time in hours.
When the laughter faded into an uneasy lull, we all stood there, a ragtag group of fighters pretending we weren’t terrified of what came next.
The door opened again, and Alaric stepped inside. He wore light armor—boiled leather with steel reinforcements across the chest. A sword hung at his hip, and a medical satchel was strapped across his back.
His gaze collided with mine across the crowded space, and a cold spike drove itself between my shoulder blades, freezing the air in my lungs. Torment swirled in his irises, bleeding misery that mirrored the agony Gregory had carried.
Alaric turned his face away; the muscles in his jaw jumped as he forced his composure into place to address Adam.
“The perimeter is sealed,” Alaric said. “Genevieve has the Elders in position. The wards are active. Everything is ready. We wait for full dark.”