Chapter 13 Bleeding Through #2
“I'll come with you.” It wasn't a request. “The forest talks to me differently than it talks to you. I might feel something you'd miss.”
“Alright,” I said. “But you stay close. And if anything feels wrong—”
“I run and get help. I know the drill.” He grinned. “Evan's given me this speech about fifty times.”
“Evan's smarter than he looks.”
“He really is.” The fondness in Nate's voice was undeniable. “He's doing better, you know. Since everything with Calder. More confident. More willing to lead.”
“I've noticed.”
“Have you told him?”
The question caught me off-guard. “Told him what?”
“That you're proud of him. That he's becoming the Alpha you always hoped he'd be.” Nate's voice was gentle but pointed. “He needs to hear it, Daniel. From you. Not implied through actions or assumed through silence. Actually spoken out loud.”
I opened my mouth to argue. To say that Evan knew how I felt, that words weren't necessary between wolves who shared pack bonds.
But Nate was looking at me with those storm-gray eyes, and I remembered that he'd brought my son's voice back. That whatever magic he carried, whatever connection to the forest, part of it had been the simple act of seeing Evan clearly and loving him anyway.
“I'll tell him,” I said quietly.
“Good.” Nate clapped me on the shoulder with an easy familiarity that surprised us both. “Now let's go check those wards before whatever's pushing at them decides to push harder.”
We found the first ward stone a quarter mile from the waterfall. It sat half-buried in frozen ground, carved with symbols so ancient they'd worn almost smooth. Usually it glowed with soft green-gold light, the visible pulse of protective magic.
Now it flickered. Green-gold fighting against something darker, corruption threading through the carved lines like rot through wood.
“Don't touch it,” Nate said sharply. “I can see the... the wrongness. It's trying to spread.”
I crouched beside the stone, let my wolf rise enough to sense the magic. And underneath the familiar hum of pack protection, I felt it. Dark threads woven so deep into the ward that removing them would be like performing surgery with a chainsaw.
Someone had been sabotaging the wards.
Not all at once. Not obviously. Just careful degradation, patient weakening, the kind of work that took months or years to accomplish without detection.
“Nate. How far does this go?”
He closed his eyes, and I watched the green flare brighter in his irises. Connecting to something I couldn't see, couldn't feel. The forest answering his call.
“Three more stones,” he said after a moment. “That I can sense. All corrupted. All failing.” His eyes opened, and there was fear in them. “Daniel, the whole eastern boundary is compromised. If whatever's out there pushes hard enough—”
“It'll get through.”
“It'll get through,” he confirmed.
I pulled out my phone, found Gideon's number. He answered on the second ring.
“Daniel. What's wrong?”
“The wards on the eastern perimeter. They're corrupted. How fast can you get here?”
Silence. Then: “Twenty minutes. Don't touch anything. If there's dark magic involved, you could make it worse.”
“Understood.”
Gideon’s truck skidded to a stop on the forest road with the kind of reckless speed that said he understood exactly how serious this was. He climbed out carrying a worn leather bag that looked older than the pack house, tools clinking inside with sounds that weren't quite metal on metal.
“Show me,” he said without preamble.
I led him to the first ward stone. Nate hung back, watching with eyes that still flickered green at the edges. The forest leaning in through him, curious about what the witch would do.
Gideon knelt beside the stone, pressed both palms flat against the carved surface, and went completely still.
His magic rose like heat shimmer. Visible only at the edges, distorting air in ways that made my wolf's hackles rise. Not threatening. Just power, raw and ancient, the kind that predated pack bonds and territorial claims.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Daniel, step back. Now.”
I moved without questioning. Watched as his magic spread from his hands into the stone itself. The ward marks started glowing. Not the soft green-gold I was used to, but harsh white light that hurt to look at directly.
And around Gideon, things began to move.
Leaves lifted from the ground, spinning in slow circles despite the lack of wind. Small stones trembled, then rose, floating in orbit around him like planets around a sun. Even the air seemed to thicken, bending light in ways that made the clearing look like it was underwater.
The light from the ward stone spread, following carved lines that connected this marker to the next, mapping the entire protective network in brilliant white that made the forest look like it had been outlined in lightning. And everywhere the light touched, I could see them.
Dark threads woven through the magic like rot through wood.
Gideon's hands moved, fingers tracing patterns that left afterimages burning into my vision. The floating stones spun faster, leaves whipping in tight spirals, and the corruption began to pull away from the ward lines. Slowly. Reluctantly. Like it didn't want to let go.
Gideon said through gritted teeth. “Whatever did this, it's tied to a living source. The corruption keeps trying to reattach.”
“Can you remove it?”
“I can clear it temporarily. Give us breathing room.” He pulled harder, and the dark threads screamed. Actually screamed, high and sharp, a sound that made my bones ache. “Whoever cast this knew exactly what they were doing.”
The corruption fought for another minute before finally tearing free. It writhed in the air above Gideon's hands, dark and oily, reaching back toward the ward stone like it wanted to crawl home.
Gideon crushed it between his palms.
It dissolved into smoke that smelled like burnt hair and something rotting. The floating debris dropped. The leaves settled. The ward stone flared bright, then settled back into its normal gentle glow.
But the clearing still felt wrong. Fragile in ways it hadn't before.
Gideon slumped back on his heels, breathing hard. Sweat soaked through his shirt despite the cold. When he looked up at me, his eyes were sharp with exhaustion and worry.
“That'll hold. For now. But it's going to come back.”
“How long?”
“Days. Maybe a week.” He pushed himself to his feet, swayed slightly. “I can clear it again when it returns, but I can't break the connection permanently.”
“Do you recognize the signature?”
Gideon was quiet for a long moment. His eyes tracked to Nate, who stood silent at the edge of the clearing, still half-connected to whatever forest consciousness had been feeding him information.
“Hard to tell. It's dark craft,” Gideon said finally.
Nate stepped forward, and there was something old in his expression. Something that belonged to the forest more than the boy.
“The land knows something's wrong,” he said quietly. “It's been trying to fight back on its own, but it can't hold forever. Whatever's coming...” He shuddered. “It's bigger than just corrupted wards. I can feel it waiting.”
Gideon and I exchanged looks. The same thought passing between us without words.
“I'll start checking the entire perimeter tomorrow at dawn,” Gideon said. “Map every corruption point, identify any gaps we've missed. In the meantime, increase patrols. Trust nothing that feels wrong.”
He gathered his tools, headed toward his truck. He drove away before I could respond, taillights disappearing into gathering dark.