Chapter 40
Alaric couldn’t sleep.
Hours had passed since the ritual, since the firelight had burned low and the last echoes of laughter had faded into silence. The lodge was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of settling wood, but his mind refused to rest.
He turned onto his side with a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face.
He could still feel the curve of Heidara’s waist beneath his palms, see the way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed, utterly unaware of how easily she’d disarmed him.
The memory clung to him, vivid and maddening.
He wanted her badly, and that want was beginning to feel less like desire and more like need. That was the problem.
But she wasn’t the only thing haunting his thoughts.
Even now, lying alone in the dark with the scent of smoke and damp earth clinging to the air, his mind kept circling back to the man at the trading post. The unsettling strength in his grip.
The way he stood slightly apart from the others, eyes fixed on the road like he was expecting something.
And that raised scar burned into the skin in a shape Alaric couldn’t shake.
He was sure he’d seen it before. Somewhere.
Then it hit him.
He sat up so quickly his vision swam. That scar. It wasn’t just a burn. It was a sigil. The Sigil of the Lost. A mark forged through blood magic, etched with purpose.
Dread crept in, slow and merciless, settling into his bones.
Something was wrong. Deeply, undeniably wrong. Who had that man been waiting for? Were there others nearby?
The answer came swiftly, as a familiar unnatural cold seeped into the room and crept beneath his skin. The same chill he’d felt when the Noskari dragged him from his tent and bled him dry. The same cold that had filled the air the night shadows twisted Reuben’s mind.
They were here.
His pulse pounded against his ribs as he shoved on his boots and tore out of his room, urgency fueling his every movement. He needed to find Evelyne and the others.
He was at Evelyne’s door within minutes, pounding hard enough to rattle the hinges.
“Alaric?” Her voice was groggy, heavy with sleep as she opened the door, rubbing at her eyes, her robe pulled loosely around her.
He pushed inside without hesitation, his gaze scanning the room. “Did Heidara ever come back?”
Evelyne’s expression sharpened instantly. “No, I… I don’t think so.”
She didn’t wait for more explanation. She rushed across the room, grabbing her clothes. Alaric turned without needing to be asked, giving her a moment to dress as he grabbed the map from her bag.
“Shit, shit, shit.” His voice was tight as he watched the ink bleed across the parchment, dark tendrils unfurling far beyond their location.
The Noskari weren’t just here. They were surrounded.
Then the screaming started. Bloodcurdling screaming.
Alaric grabbed Evelyne’s wrist and pulled her into the hall. “We have to go. Now.”
The streets were chaos. Townspeople ran, some dragging loved ones behind them, others frozen in terror.
Alaric barely had time to register the grotesque figures tearing through the market square, some flickering between shadows, others fully formed, their gray skin stretched taut over pulsing black veins, their mouths smeared red with fresh blood.
The Noskari were feeding.
Bodies lay strewn across the ground, drained and lifeless, their skin pale and waxy under the moonlight. Blood pooled in the dirt. The air was thick with the coppery scent of death.
“Where are the packs?” Evelyne whispered, her voice laced with terror.
Alaric didn’t answer. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows, pressing her back against the cool stone of the alley wall. The distant snarls and pounding of paws against the earth told him what he needed to know—the packs were coming.
But were they enough to fight off dozens of Noskari flooding the market square? Alaric guessed fifty, maybe sixty. Too many.
The wolves struck first, a blur of fur and teeth crashing into the Noskari. Alaric had seen them fight before, but never like this. The creatures didn’t just fight back; they overpowered the pack. Fast. Brutal. It took two, sometimes three wolves to bring one down.
Beside him, Evelyne trembled, but only for a second. Then she inhaled sharply, reached into her bag, and pulled out a dagger… and her father’s pistol. Her fingers fumbled over the weapon, trembling, struggling with the next steps.
“Let me,” Alaric said, taking it from her, trying to sound steady despite the pounding in his chest.
“I can shoot, I just—” She swallowed, eyes wide. “I can’t remember how to—”
“I’ve got it.” He dropped low and got to work. Muscle memory kicked in. He flipped open the frizzen, poured the powder, loaded the ball and wadding, and slammed the ramrod down the barrel. His hands moved fast, but not fast enough.
He was priming the pan when movement caught his eye. A shadow peeled from the alley wall, and the Noskari lunged straight for Evelyne.
Alaric’s heart stopped.
She didn’t.
Her dagger met the creature’s stomach, the blade sinking deep, but it barely recoiled. It staggered and smiled, a grin slick with blood and menace. It was toying with her.
Alaric’s grip on the pistol tightened. He rushed to finish.
Evelyne pulled the dagger free and struck again, this time to the throat. Still nothing. It raised a clawed hand toward her—
The shot cracked through the alley.
The Noskari’s head snapped back in an explosion of blood and bone. It crumpled at her feet.
Evelyne stood over the body, panting, streaked with red. “Is it dead?”
Alaric didn’t wait to answer. “Move.”
She grabbed her dagger and ran close behind him as they darted through chaos. Around them, wolves fought with everything they had, but they were losing ground. Fast.
A massive blur of white cut through the mayhem and barreled right into a Noskari pinned by two wolves. The creature had no chance to react before Kaldrek’s powerful jaws closed around its throat.
His wolf form was all muscle and feral dominance as he dragged the Noskari to the ground. With a savage shake, he ripped its throat clean out, then tore its head from its shoulders in one brutal motion.
Blood sprayed across the dirt as he lifted his head, his muzzle slick with crimson. Even amid the turmoil, his dark, focused eyes found Evelyne, but shadows closed in before he could reach her, devouring the light.
***
The mist swallowed them whole. One second, Evelyne stood near Kaldrek’s massive wolf form, Alaric at her side, and the next, darkness consumed everything.
A frigid, grotesque cold wrapped around her, seeping deep into her bones. Suddenly, hands, far too strong and far too many, clamped down on her arms and yanked her backward. She screamed, twisting and kicking, but there was no ground beneath her, no sense of direction or gravity.
Then, there was light.
She staggered as the shadows released her, boots scraping against blood-slicked cobblestones.
The air was thick with smoke and something far worse—a stench of rot and decay that turned her stomach.
Ahead, two Noskari stood, gripping a man by the arms with their black-veined hands.
His head hung low, chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.
He looked gaunt, beaten, stripped down to nothing but his undergarments.
Then she saw his abdomen, and nausea rolled through her. A fresh burn marked his skin, intricate lines woven into a twisted pattern. The edges were still raw, the flesh angry and red, making it difficult to discern the full symbol. But her heart pounded as recognition struck.
The sigil.
This wasn’t just an attack or a random act of killing. It was a message, a warning, and it was meant for her. For ignoring Vaelora’s first warning. And the second. Now, the price had been paid in blood.
The Noskari holding her sneered, one of them giving her a rough shove forward. Her knees nearly buckled as she stumbled closer, her eyes locked on the sigil, on the way the burned flesh still wept, the way the man’s shallow breaths barely stirred his ribs.
Who was he, and why were they doing this to him?
The second Noskari grinned, yanking back the man’s hair so his head snapped upright. Evelyne flinched as his face came into view. He was bruised and covered in blood, his eyes dull and distant. But his face was so familiar it struck her like a blade to the chest.
“No,” she whispered, horror twisting inside her, as a strangled sob escaped her lips. “Father?”
His head lifted slowly, weakly. His eyes, heavy with sorrow, locked onto hers.
They had beaten him, broken him, all because of her.
Evelyne’s chest heaved, her body shaking violently. “Please—please, let him go,” she sobbed, her voice raw and desperate.
A Noskari clicked its tongue in mock pity and moved closer, its ice-cold fingers curling under her chin, forcing her to meet its black, soulless gaze.
Kaldrek growled nearby, a deep, guttural sound that sent a chill down her spine.
She didn’t need to look to know he was ready to tear through them.
She could feel it in every fiber of her being.
But she was pinned in their grasp. And there were too many.
If he attacked now, they’d rip him apart before he ever reached her.
The Noskari curled its lip, blood staining its fangs. “Foolish little girl,” it hissed, voice slithering over her skin like oil. “She warned you to turn back, and yet…” It tilted its head, mock curiosity flashing in those hollow black depths. “You surround yourself with friends.”
It turned, arms outstretched, gesturing to the carnage. To the wolves and humans closing in. To all the warm, pulsing blood.
“Plenty for us to feast on.”
Bile burned in her throat. This was her fault.