Chapter 4
RAANA
Raana awoke in a cocoon of darkness, heavy and suffocating, laid thick over her body like tar. In the confined space, her hands went to her throat, finding her skin clammy yet freezing beneath her fingertips.
She’d been dreaming again. Of the dying queen, the king kneeling at her side. Of pushing her own magic too far as she tried to heal her.
Raana hacked, trying to gasp down air, but the shadows pressed in further, lapping at her skin, as cold as ice, colder. Not trying to hurt her, but not understanding—
Her voice was a rasp as she commanded in the common tongue, “Let me out.”
Raana’s skin prickled and pulled in response to the shifting black. Soft streams of moonlight greeted her from the outside world, but barely.
They will kill you if you don’t keep them under control.
She winced at Helene’s voice flooding her head, the words not said out of concern but as a demand. Leash this power that no one understood, least of all herself, or be damned to die by it. Be damned to curse them all.
Heart thundering, lungs constricting, Raana lifted a hand to the unrelenting dark and braced the other below, tangled in her sheets. An anchor, a reminder in case things got… complicated. She commanded again, “Go.”
Like old paint, the shadows peeled away, a patchwork of light fully gracing her skin.
The tendrils slithered along the edge of her threadbare mattress, over the hardwood floors.
They bled and blended into the corners of the room, where they’d wait, she knew, like little beasts for her next order.
The shadows as extensions of herself weren’t anything new.
But them being so responsive, as volatile as her emotions, even while she slept, was entirely new.
Tears stung Raana’s eyes as she panted, the night air bloating her chest. Sweat coated her blankets and every inch of her body as she tallied the cracks in the ceiling, timing each count with her heartbeats, focusing on the strength of each pulse. Alive… beat… awake… beat… real.
She was no longer in those tunnels.
The rusted lantern on her bedside table had been snuffed out, leaving only the faint glow of cinders to accompany the aura spilling through her bedroom window.
As she lifted her head to sweep over the tiny space, she realized the few sparse pieces of furniture within it had moved, as if a wild gust of wind had swept in and blown them over.
Her grip constricted on her sheets as she forced herself to rise, slowly pulling her bare legs up until her knees touched her chest. She pictured it, the shadows rushing towards the bed in a wave of ebony from every crevice of the room, devouring her, protecting her.
A threat was a threat, even if it was her own mind.
Even if it was these nightmares… or rather, memories.
That night, within the hidden underground tunnels of wolf territory, she’d saved the life of Isla of Deimos.
She’d been dying—the luna, the queen—teetering just on the edge of oblivion while the king, the alpha, her mate, watched on, unable to do anything to help her.
Raana still heard his broken plea when she was quiet enough, still felt that overwhelming anguish of his when she fell into her own despair.
Bile rose in her throat as she looked at her hand.
Her knuckles strained, and her brown skin paled from her tight grip on her bed’s damp fabric.
Her iron ring, enchanted and carved with delicate but powerful runes to suppress parts of her magic, seemed to absorb the embers' faint glow and the moonlight's softness as she stared into it.
You’re fae.
The alpha’s voice echoed in her mind. Kai figured the truth out much faster than she’d expected—before her glamor could even fall away. It had taken everything in her, then, not to vomit on the stones.
After a decade of hiding what she was from the world—after sacrificing a life full of friendship and family—in that moment, it became for nothing. She’d risked everything.
With a shaky breath, Raana released her hold on the sheets and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She needed a bath. A hot one. Needed to wash the night away. A drink wouldn’t hurt either… maybe a good book, too.
Relit lantern in hand, Raana padded barefoot to the threshold of the room. She opened the door and looked upon the darkness of her living room, dining area, and entry hall…
The cottage wasn’t a grand space, but since her thirteenth birthday, this had been her home. Though hideout and prison may also have been suitable descriptors.
While most young girls worried about their first bleed, the swelling of their breasts, and maturing into a woman, she’d had to worry about her ears becoming arched, the sharpening of her teeth, and the shifting of her eyes to something brighter than their usual earthy brown hue.
Becoming ethereal, otherworldly… becoming a monster.
She had no knowledge of who her father was, and her mother, before her death, hadn’t left any trace of his identity behind either. Raana hadn’t even known she was part fae until she began changing, and then Helene had finally told her the truth.
Raana was a child born of mortal and immortal blood, something unheard of, beyond the fact that the fae “no longer walked the world.” It just wasn’t possible.
And yet, her mother, a mortal witch, had carried her in her womb for a year, a babe of eternal shadow and broken promises with the stars. She’d held her in her arms for one fleeting moment before…
No wonder Helene couldn’t keep the resentment from her voice when she’d laid out her confession. She was forced into solitude, to care for Raana all these years out of loyalty to a ghost.
A quick match to the hearth in the sitting room brought the cottage to life with light.
Raana crouched beside it for a moment, letting its heat seep into her skin and banish the shadows’ chill.
They were a taunt along the wood-stained walls, but she ignored their draw, their murmuring, as she rose and took the few strides to the kitchen.
She hung her lantern on a hook beside two cabinets—one containing a sparse supply of food and the other holding a myriad of special herbs, roots, bones, ash, and the blood of varying animals.
The fundamentals of potions. She’d never been particularly great with brews.
She could read a recipe, but feeling the preternatural draw to the perfect mix of ingredients for her desired result—a poison, a salve, any remedy—was beyond her. Not beyond those of her past, though.
Her eyes slid to the tome on the scratched-up countertop, the worn leather-bound book opened to pages cornered by a raven and serpent before the sun with passages about cloaking spells and suppressing brews.
All things she’d tried and all that had failed in hiding her immortal features as the power of her iron ring began to wane.
Aside from potions, her ancestors, Scornn witches, were skilled in divination. If only they, or her mother, could’ve foreseen what would befall her and helped her out. Left some extra notes behind in the yellowed pages of the family grimoire.
With a sigh, Raana closed the book, tracing its cover, etched with the same raven and serpent with a finger, before going into the cabinet.
She pulled out a bottle of wine, some crisp bread, and cheese.
The sheen of a spider’s intricate web caught her eye as she closed the door, the little black beast perched in its center, watching her, waiting.
A soft smile passed her mouth, though she felt something in her chest ease in a pathetic way. “I won’t hurt you.”
As if it had understood and acknowledged the kindness, the creature began its leisurely climb across its terrain.
Raana’s smile fell.
Spiders, creatures of the surrounding forest, and the shadows—those were all she had for companions in these weeks Helene had been gone. Not that her being home meant for joyous company, but it was… a body. Another living, breathing person. All she’d known her entire life.
When Raana had returned from her time within the wolves’ territory, all Helene had left behind was a note saying she’d gone to the mainland to look for some better work, more clients in need of her healing gifts.
It wasn’t unusual as their land on the edge of Morai fell to ruin, and more took the leap of moving to Cataea, even if a life of poverty was their likely fate.
She wasn’t sure when Helene planned on returning since she’d taken many of her things.
Raana popped a piece of bread and cheese into her mouth before taking her bottle and glass to the bathing room.
They teetered on the edge of the sink while she gathered other supplies: another lantern, some lavender salts, her opalescent crystal conduit on its silver chain, and one of the books she’d gotten from the local bookseller.
A Dalliance with Defiance, a less-than-chaste tale about a princess swept up by a castle guard for several nights of “forbidden passion.” Perfect for a night of escapism.
When her bath was filled, Raana took hold of her conduit again, the feeling of her magic simmering in her blood, migrating, focusing into the stone in her grasp.
She held it beneath the surface, muttering the incantation she’d memorized in the mother tongue of the First Witches, invoking the magic of the Spirits to take what she’d offer and give her something in return.
Power crackled at her fingertips before steam began to rise.
She pulled her hand—and the crystal—from the water, looking upon her reflection as she had when she was a child and had first harvested the stone herself.
So much had changed since then, and Raana would do anything to protect that hopeful little witchling from the harsh truths she’d come to learn about herself.
After peeling off her gown and releasing her dark curls from their tie, Raana let out a relieved sigh as she sank into the water’s heat.
It burrowed deep beneath her bare skin, loosening her muscles in tandem with a swig of alcohol.
She slipped down until she was entirely submerged.
It was so quiet down here, but also so… loud.
Her thoughts roared, the rush of her blood in a constant battle for dominance.
Witch. Fae.
Mortal. Immortal.
Ever since she’d taken her ring off that night to heal Isla, ever since she’d pushed her magic too far, it was as if she’d awakened, revitalizing the immortal blood in her veins.
And she had no idea how to dampen it again.
Mortal spells were useless. Fae lore—true lore, beyond the eerie stories and tall tales—was scarce.
They will kill you if you don’t keep them under control.
Gripping the slick edges of the tub, Raana yanked herself up, sending water flying over the washroom. She was lightheaded as she gasped for air, harshly wiping the water from her face and eyes. Her fingers gently glided over the edges of her ears. Smooth, not pointed.
Mortal. Immortal.
Witch. Fae.
She shook her head, having half a mind to go back under the water and scream, but she wouldn’t let the feelings consume her. There would be no more darkness tonight.
No. Tonight was for these words of scandal and seduction.
With a heaved sigh, she dried her hands on her scratchy towel and took hold of her book, settling back against the edge of the tub and thumbing through the pages until she snagged on a sentence about the dashing knight removing his tunic.
Raana had only gotten through a few stolen kisses and lecherous touches when the sound came.
Thud.
A knock on her front door.
She nearly dropped the book into the tub as the pounding fist rang out again. Again. Again.
Her body locked up, and darkness gathered at the corners of the room. Raana acknowledged the shadows with a glance, as they crept in closer. Ready to protect, ready to attack at her whim.
What the hell was happening? Who had gotten up here? No one was supposed to know about this cottage, let alone make their way up to its door. She had wards for miles through these peaks to at least alert of any intruders.
Raana slowly lifted from the bath, took hold of her conduit, then quietly returned to her bedroom to grab a new nightgown. The knocking had stopped, but she knew the person or thing on the other side hadn’t left.
She sought the best weapon she could on her path, the steel fire poker from beside the hearth, and clutched it in one hand between paling knuckles while the other held her crystal.
Her damp curls dripped a path behind her as she crept towards the door, muttering an incantation beneath her breath.
Offensive spells, as with potions, weren’t her strong suit, but hopefully she’d muster enough to stun them and knock them on their ass for her to use her weapon.
The shadows were her last resort. The crystal seared and glowed within her grasp as she continued her chant.
After a few breaths, Raana took hold of the door’s knob and wrenched it open. Then she was left dumbstruck, jaw hanging open, as she stared at the man on her doorstep.
The Prince of Wolves.