Chapter 1
Gracie
Ivan Rivers will be a god of this world.
The words settled over the room like a crushing weight, pressure erupting behind my ribs. I’d spent so much of the past decade feeling small—afraid to take up space—but that feeling didn’t survive the thought of Ivan with divine power.
It burned away, replaced by something harder. Sharper.
Ivan Rivers couldn’t be allowed to transcend.
I wouldn’t stand for it.
I didn’t know how I would stop him. I’d been powerless in his shadow for so long, but I knew the strength of those around me. I knew how capable they were, how intelligent, how prepared. Maybe…maybe together, we could stop him.
The thought felt unreal. Not long ago, my only goal had been survival: keeping my head down, obeying quickly enough, and never giving anyone a reason to notice me. Power had always belonged to men like Ivan. Men who took and took until nothing was left.
But sitting here now, surrounded by people who waited for my thoughts instead of silencing them, I realized how much of that fear had been conditioned and cultivated.
Ivan didn’t believe in the gods the way my parents or the people of my village had. He believed in obedience and control. The faith he had in Nyxarra was twisted into a weapon that slaughtered those around him.
The windowless room fell quiet in the aftermath of Ravik’s declaration, all of us gathered around the circular table cluttered with artifacts and intel. Every piece hinted at a larger picture yet offered nothing solid to hold onto.
“Twenty days doesn’t give us much time,” Alpha Deegan said. His massive frame dominated the space across from us, dark hair and golden eyes lending him the unmistakable presence of a king. Although, I didn’t think that was how he viewed the responsibility of being the Alpha for Ironsun territory.
Malara stood to his right, her calm blue eyes thoughtful as her hand rested possessively on his shoulder. “And we have to trust that he won’t act irrationally or too suddenly.”
“We can’t trust that. He’s insane,” Thornar cut in, his tone deceptively casual. His deep voice drew my attention to where he stood only inches away, the steady presence of my three mates anchoring me in place.
“More than that, he views everyone in his territory as expendable,” Ravik added. “It doesn’t matter how many die or if all of them do.”
“Especially if the ritual gives him more power,” Basir said. My stomach tightened as fragments of my recent vision, a sacrifice of thousands under a blood red moon, pressed harder against my thoughts.
Elowen tapped the books laid out near her. Today, her willowy frame was clothed in dark wool that faded to cream at the edges, mirroring the pattern of her coiled hair—dark at the roots and honeyed at the ends. Her brown eyes, threaded with blue, remained fixed on the texts before her.
“I’ll do everything I can to identify the ritual he’s attempting—what he hopes to gain and who he intends to draw power from. Nyxarra, most likely. But I don’t understand how this is possible. Drawing on a god who is imprisoned…or under duress…”
Even the soldiers lining the back wall shifted at her unsure words.
One of them exchanged a glance with the other, his hand curling into a fist at his side. They and their brothers in arms would be sent in first if things turned violent. And the idea of one of The Eight being bound or somehow part of this potential conflict? It was horrifying.
The thought of Ivan even siphoning power from them left my stomach roiling, so I’m sure they felt similar.
Thornar inclined his head toward his sister. “Allies and force will help, but without more details…if we can’t stop the ritual…”
“All of Thornfell will fall,” I said quietly. “Borders will mean nothing to him.” He would justify any cruelty in the name of power.
“His goal is pure domination,” Deegan agreed.
“We can’t ignore the connection between your ritual being interrupted”—Solenne, Ravik’s sister, spoke up from beside Isara, her golden eyes intense beneath painted sigils that marked her as a priestess—“the god scar placed on your mating mark, and the ritual being bound to a captured god.”
Isara spoke up, dark braids framing silver-inked markings and an unreadable expression. “The four of you are connected to this as deeply as Ivan himself.”
My throat closed as I looked at the three men around me, guilt coiling tight in my gut. They were involved because of me. I had done this.
Ravik squeezed my leg gently, sending a pulse of warmth through my tense frame. “Breathe, Gracie. This isn’t something you can take the blame for.”
I nodded, though the words didn’t fully settle. This situation was layered with too many threats, too many moving pieces, and I had brought it into all of their lives.
Imprisoned gods.
Blood rituals meant to empower a monster.
An entire compound of enslaved shifters forced to serve the Cold Moon Pack’s cruelty.
Anxiety crept higher, tightening my chest, but I forced it back. Not now. Not with so many eyes on me and decisions this important being made. I might not have been as strong as all of them, but I was strong enough to stay present.
“It’s horrifying to consider—and not something he could do on his own,” Isara pointed out. “He would need help. Divine help.”
And somehow, impossibly, my bond was tangled at the center of it.
“Another god?” Deegan asked, concern flickering across his features.
“It’s not out of the question,” Elowen said. “In the past, there have been times when The Eight have fought one another…but they can’t normally touch mortals. I’m not sure how Ivan would have become entangled in any of this.”
“The one advantage we have right now,” Basir cut in, halting the speculation, “is that his movements suggest preparation, not open warfare. If we strike soon, he may not be ready.”
“So we prepare forces, then?” Ravik asked.
“Yes, but we don’t move,” Malara said. “We’re waiting for those troops to return, and we need more ritual schematics, specifically timing and location. We can’t act blind. We’re assuming he’s waiting until the full moon, but confirmation is necessary.”
“Ivan has never strayed from his ritual schedule,” I said.
“We know the compound is layered with fortified measures, and getting in will be much harder than before,” Thornar said, then glanced at me with a quick wink. “Nothing we can’t handle, though.”
That sliver of humor eased some of the tension in my shoulders. “I know it may be naive, but I want to save as many of Ivan’s prisoners as possible. Especially the children. Some of us escaped, but many didn’t.”
Isara and Solenne nodded as Malara added, “The goal would be to save everyone, while killing as many of his soldiers in the process. If Ivan is removed, there will be no one left to lead his men and they will scatter.”
“And they aren’t that large of a pack,” I said. “Just a lot of—”
“Power-hungry men at the top,” Elowen finished with a weary sigh. “I swear, history repeats itself in the most painful of ways.”
“Is there any way to negotiate with him?” Solenne asked. “To stop the violence before it starts?”
“No.” The word came out from me, both firm and unyielding. “No, there isn’t.”
“The only way to stop him is with force. And because of that, we can’t ensure everyone will live,” Basir said quietly, as if offering me a warning.
I looked up at him and nodded, squeezing his hand. I understood what he was preparing me for. War was rarely generous with survivors. Still, I accepted the reality he laid out. This wouldn’t end without violence.
Even so, my goal remained unchanged: to save everyone we could.
“But what after?” Deegan asked. “What comes after we wage this war?” His gaze swept the table without settling on anyone. “Say we stop the ritual. Say Ivan falls. What comes next?”
Silence followed, thick with thought. The first part was easy—we try to save everyone—but then what? Move them? Leave them? While Deegan was asking, I had a feeling he already knew what he would do. The question was addressed to Ravik, which was good because I didn’t exactly have an answer.
“We find a new leader, or we take over ourselves,” Ravik said. “The first makes more sense, if we can find someone willing to lead after being freed from captivity. Someone they’ll trust.”
“They’ll also need strength,” Thornar added. “Otherwise the Grimfur Skulk will steamroll them.”
“We could act as a temporary leading force,” Elowen suggested. “Until they can choose a leader of their own.”
“That means governance,” Deegan said. “Stability. Protection for civilians. Rebuilding. Their territory is halfway across Thornfell from us.”
Stopping Ivan wouldn’t be the end; that much was clear.
It would be the beginning of something much more complicated.
Responsibility. Reconstruction. Becoming what replaced him, whether we wanted to or not.
The act of stopping him suddenly carried a different weight, and that was if we could even stop him to begin with.
“We help remove him,” I said softly, “then step back and let them choose their own leader.”
Basir nodded in agreement.
“I don’t disagree,” Malara said.
“But if we’re committed to helping,” Ravik continued, his tone firm as he met his father’s gaze, “then this stops being a discussion of hypotheticals and becomes a matter of action. We need to talk about how we get ourselves into position for quick action, especially while we wait for more intel. We may not have much time for planning after that.”
“We don’t have the numbers to do it on our own,” Malara pointed out. “Even if everything goes perfectly.”
“And it won’t,” Thornar said flatly. “The ritual could alter the balance of power.”
“His generals used to shift on ritual nights and kill people,” I said, my voice weighted with memory. “I never realized they might have been stronger because of the ritual…but they killed many.”
Silence spread through the room. Basir’s posture went rigid, and though I watched him carefully, waiting for a larger reaction, he only reached out and took my hand.
“Ritual-enhanced strength changes the equation,” Isara agreed. “If Ivan gains even a fraction of what he’s seeking, we’ll be fighting uphill from the start.”
The truth settled deep, heavy but unavoidable. Even with perfect planning, even if every piece fell into place, even if Ivan was weaker than we feared—this would still cost lives. Too many lives. And if we failed…
I didn’t let myself finish that thought.
“Are there any other territories who’d be willing to help us?” The question left me before I could stop it, driven by the need for some kind of hope.
“We have many trade allies…” Deegan said.
“It just depends on whether they’re willing to go to war with us,” Ravik finished.
Why did it feel like the war had already started?