Chapter 8
The day was cool and bright, sunlight spilling across the rolling hills as the packs moved together toward Wrenford.
The air carried the faintest bite of autumn, crisp and invigorating against Evelyne’s skin.
She fell into step beside the Ironwolves, her gaze sweeping back toward the rearguard where the Moonshade pack followed.
It was a wise enough placement. Beau was kept well away from Heidara, and she had given him no chance to corner her since their last encounter.
The land stretched wide, the kind of open ground that made Evelyne ache to shed her human skin and feel the earth beneath her paws.
The memory of shifting still thrilled her: the rush of power, the sharpened scents, the sense that each breath anchored her more deeply to the world.
More than anything, it had drawn her closer to Kaldrek.
In that form, what lay between them seemed to sing, until she could feel not only his strength beside her, but the steady pulse of his spirit woven with her own.
They were nearly to Wrenford now. Evelyne let her thoughts drift back to that morning’s training, to the sparring and swift exchanges, to how much surer and quicker she had become with each round.
Disarming no longer felt awkward, but natural.
Much of that was thanks to Kaldrek’s patient instruction…
though the extra practice in their tent the night before had taken on a rhythm all its own.
Wrestling had turned playful, then heated, and the memory of his hands at her waist, his lips against her throat, sent warmth unfurling through her even now.What are you thinking about, love?
Evelyne startled and bit her lip, then cast Kaldrek a look from the corner of her narrowed eye.
She walked beside him now, not as someone in need of constant guarding, but as a leader in her own right.
Some might credit her place to the fact that she was the alpha’s mate, but Kaldrek had asked her to stand with him and named them equals.
And Evelyne knew, without doubt, that she could hold her own if the moment required it.
You know perfectly well, she sent back, warmth rising to her cheeks and spreading through her chest.
Kaldrek’s smirk was immediate. Mmm. Then by all means, keep thinking about it. I enjoy when your thoughts wander there.
Incorrigible, she muttered.
Only for you. His voice in her head was all velvet and mischief, and the answering rush of affection across the bond was enough to make her forget, for a moment, the long road ahead.
“Is it common for three packs to travel together?” Evelyne asked, needing to change the subject and calm the thoughts stirred by her mate’s strong, skilled hands.
Kaldrek turned toward her, his dark eyes moving over her face as though committing every detail to memory. She could not help but marvel at how beautiful he was.
“Not common,” he admitted, “though not unheard of. Why do you ask?”
“I can’t help worrying that it might draw the Noskari.
We’ve done so much to avoid them. We know they’re out there, but something feels wrong.
Yes, we’re well protected, but we don’t know how many of them there are.
We only glimpsed Vaelora’s Noskari in the northern woods…
and in her dungeons.” Evelyne shook her head, fumbling for words.
“What if she’s hiding more? She could have an army watching us right now. ”
“You’re not wrong to think it,” Kaldrek said. “A true leader always weighs the dangers that could harm the pack. I’ve spoken with Ravena and Obren and we’ll likely part ways in Cindermoor after gathering supplies.”
“Oh.” Her reply was quiet.
“I meant to tell you sooner, but nothing’s settled yet. Obren and Ravena are set on hunting the Noskari down, and truthfully, I’d gladly see them wiped from this world. But—”
“But you’re headed to Caltheris because of me,” Evelyne broke in, guilt rising. She knew how much he wanted to rally the packs and fight, yet he also knew how badly she needed to return home.
“Not because of you,” Kaldrek said, his voice gentling.
“For you.” He wove his fingers through hers and traced slow circles over her thumb.
“Your safety and your happiness mean everything to me. Even more than my pack, difficult as that is to admit. But it is the truth.” His eyes held hers, steady and full of love.
“You are my mate, my everything. If it’s your family and home we must protect, then that will be our mission.
Until then, we travel with Moonshade and Glaciermaw, and stay under constant guard. ”
Evelyne smiled faintly, looking back to the path. “I know there are things you can’t share as an alpha, and I’ll always respect that. Just promise me you’ll tell me if you think our path is wrong.”
“Protecting innocent lives will never be wrong,” he said, then added, “But if it puts you or my pack in danger, I’ll change course.
” She believed him, though fear still tugged at her.
He seemed to sense it, because he went on, “I know your family is your soul’s anchor.
But you are mine. I’ll never apologize for keeping you safe, even if you grow to hate me for it. ”
Evelyne knew too well the fierce pull to protect one’s mate. Family had always been everything, but Kaldrek was her family now too.
“I understand,” she whispered. “And I could never hate you.”
“You can. I’ve witnessed it,” Kaldrek said, his smile dimming, as though the memory of that night in Vaelora’s dungeon had brushed a shadow across him.
Hate is a heavy word, Evelyne sent into his mind, pouring a wave of love along with it so he would feel, beyond doubt, how much she cherished him. I was hurt, yes, but I never hated you.
His gaze snapped to hers, then dropped to the mark at her throat, the bite he had left there to claim her as his. That slow, arrogant smile returned to his mouth, the one that always left her knees weak.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said aloud, his voice rough enough to carry, as though daring anyone close enough to hear to challenge it. “But I fucking love that you’re mine.”
***
Alaric woke to the thin cry of a bird beyond his tent. Dawn had not yet broken; the sky lay washed in gray, with the sun still hidden beneath the horizon.
His eyes opened, but he did not move. Then he heard it. A voice. Thoughts that were not his own.
Get them to Velenshire, it whispered, winding through his mind like smoke. The leader of strength must be brought to the source. Only he can endure it.
Alaric went still. Was he dreaming? Yet the words did not fade.
They clung to him, pressing against his chest until his breath felt tight and shallow.
He swung his legs from the cot, dragged on his leathers, and laced his boots with stiff fingers.
When he stepped outside, the air was cool, and the bird cried again, louder now, sharp enough to pierce the hush.
Then his body moved, faster than thought. In the space of a blink, he was crouched low, shadows winding along his limbs. Another heartbeat, and black, mist-like hands lashed upward, closing around the bird’s neck. It thrashed wildly, its fragile bones creaking beneath the grip.
He looked down and saw not flesh, but smoke, a shape of living shadow in the dim wash of dawn. Terror tore through him. Have I changed completely? His mind still felt like his own, his thoughts, his fear, his will, yet his body had become something else entirely, a vessel for moving darkness.
How many times has this happened without my knowing? The question left him hollow. His memory snagged, then faltered. Gods… am I losing myself?
A sound broke through the panic: movement in the nearby tent. His body recoiled before he could think, collapsing back into itself as the bird slipped free. It beat its wings once, weak and frantic, then vanished into the gray hush of morning.
Cillian emerged from his tent, rubbing sleep from his eyes, stretching as if nothing at all were amiss. He did not notice Alaric standing rigid in the half-light.
You wake early to train. The boy will not question it. The demon’s voice curled through him again, low and muttering, as though speaking only for its own benefit.
Alaric’s pulse pounded. Perhaps, if he dared, he could answer it. Test whether it would respond. But if the creature realized he was still conscious, would it hurl him back into that black void and leave him trapped there once more, silent and unseen?
For now, he said nothing.
“Alaric?” Cillian’s voice was quiet as he approached, careful not to wake the rest of the camp.
Alaric gave the smallest nod, enough to acknowledge him.
“I hadn’t realized you rose this early,” Cillian went on. “I like a bit of quiet before the sun crests, though I don’t mind company.” He gestured toward a scatter of larger rocks, suggesting they sit.
“I wake to train,” Alaric replied, though the sound of his own voice felt strange.
“Yes, of course.” Cillian smiled faintly, then his expression tightened as his gaze swept the slumbering tents. “Still a little early for drills. Perhaps you enjoy the silence as well.”
Alaric only inclined his head.
Cillian studied him for a few long moments, then cleared his throat. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” He offered a polite nod and moved away toward a tree at the edge of camp, seeking his own quiet beneath its branches.
Relief loosened the tightness in Alaric’s chest. Thank the heavens he had not pressed further. Cillian was a man of few words, and Alaric had never been more thankful for his silence. Alaric’s eyes followed him as he went.
If I reached for him… if I touched him… would his light sense the rot beneath my skin? Would he see the truth of what lives inside me? The thought curled through him as he locked his hands into fists, forcing himself to remain motionless in the pale gloom before sunrise.
***
Kaldrek and Obren led the packs through ground drills, Glaciermaw insisting that pairing off in combat would sharpen trust and coordination.
The training field at Wrenford rang with shouts, the slap of bodies hitting earth, and bursts of laughter whenever someone was thrown harder than expected.
Obren lunged for Kaldrek’s legs, but as he dragged him down, the Ironwolf alpha twisted and whipped a shin into Obren’s cheek with a crack that made those nearby wince.
Alaric squared off with Thorne of the Glaciermaw pack, a man who towered over him by several inches and looked nearly as solid as the alphas themselves.
His pulse quickened. The darkness still stirred beneath his skin, a restless presence he did not trust, but if it granted him speed or strength, he would not waste either here.
Even so, his thoughts kept straying. To Beau.
The dark-haired male who had seemed far too interested in Heidara.
Alaric hated him, and he did not even know why.
But he had seen the wounded look on Heidara’s face the other night, and that was reason enough.
If she did not want Beau near her, then neither did he.
Worse still was the sharp, ugly surge of jealousy that rose in him each time his eyes found the male.
They circled. Thorne feinted, then drove forward.
Alaric ducked beneath the first grab, hooked a leg, and with a sharp twist sent the bigger man staggering.
They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, Alaric scrambling into top position.
He pinned a forearm across Thorne’s chest, knees braced tight against his ribs. For one brief heartbeat, he had him.
Thorne bucked hard, hips snapping upward. Alaric lost his balance, and the wolf reversed, dragging him down beneath him.
Thorne came fast after that, all weight and motion, slamming Alaric flat onto his back. His shoulders struck the ground with a heavy thud. The demon inside him shifted, eager to roll them and take control, just as Alaric’s palms pressed into the grass.
The blades were damp with morning dew, bending under his hands.
And something surged. Not a sensation, but a force.
It coursed upward, threading into his arms and spine.
The chill raced through every nerve, and for a moment the ground seemed to breathe beneath him.
A cool breeze stirred the dawn air, brushing across his cheek like a voice just out of reach.
The darkness within him fell quiet. The demon seemed to retreat from the power now thrumming through Alaric, recoiling like some startled beast that had suddenly remembered fear.
The wind whispered again, not in words he could fully grasp, but in a feeling clear enough to understand. Lightning, wind, rain. A storm is coming.
Alaric’s mind reeled. He had no time to dwell on it before Thorne’s arm locked hard around his neck.
The hold tightened, iron-strong, cutting off his air.
The demon offered nothing in response to the danger.
It did not fight. It only stayed hidden.
And then his vision darkened, the world collapsing to black as Thorne’s weight bore him down into the grass, pinned and swallowed by silence.