Chapter 10
The full moon had already risen, pale and ghostlike against a sky washed in rose and gold.
Evelyne tipped her head back to take it in, a quiet thrill passing through her.
For once, she was not the girl left standing at the edge of the clearing, watching the wolves disappear into the dark.
Today, she had shifted with them. Truly shifted.
And if her efforts had been marked more by enthusiasm than grace, at least she had managed not to trip over her own paws.
She had not hunted, not properly. That required skill and instinct she had not yet claimed as her own.
Instead, she ran at Kaldrek’s flank beneath the late-afternoon light, letting her newly sharpened sight follow the shapes weaving through the trees, her keen ears catching every rustle and crack of the forest. When the pack split off to bring down the stag, she stayed back and watched the way they moved: silent, certain, lethal.
She had a strong suspicion that charging in with all the elegance of a drunken goose would not have been well received.
Unsurprisingly, what Evelyne loved most was the running.
The ground striking beneath her paws, the cool air burning through her lungs, the forest rushing past in a blur of shadow and light all made her feel, if not entirely natural, then closer to it than ever before.
In that form, Kaldrek’s approval reached her more clearly too, his steadiness sinking deep beneath her skin until it anchored her.
She could sense faint currents of his mind reaching toward the rest of the pack, though whatever passed between them remained beyond her grasp, no more than the murmur of distant voices.
She had watched him and Holden track their prey with effortless focus, muscles shifting beneath fur and later beneath inked skin when they changed back.
Power clung to Kaldrek even in stillness; in motion, it was nearly blinding.
Day by day, she was learning what it meant to feel at home in her own skin, or fur, as the case might be, though she had not yet found the quiet confidence the others wore so easily.
Still, compared to the young lady who once fainted at the sight of blood, this version of Evelyne, racing through the woods with a wolf pack, felt like a rather extraordinary improvement.
They had been out most of the day, ever since she’d dropped breakfast at Cillian’s door.
He’d declined training as he always did, politely refusing any activity that hinted at claws, fangs, or general wolfishness.
But he had looked… settled. The cottage roof over his head, the proper bed, the four walls between him and the wild: these things had softened the tightness around his eyes.
If he preferred solitude, she would not drag him from it.
Cillian had always been that way—more likely to make friends with his own thoughts than with other people.
Now the sun was setting, sliding in ribbons of gold and amber behind the pines as shadows stretched long over the clearing.
Packs from each of the cottages and surrounding camps began to drift toward the central space, laughter and voices rolling through the air as preparations for the moon ritual began.
Someone already had a cask of ale open; the smell of roasted meat drifted on the breeze.
“The males are positively glowing,” Evelyne murmured, watching a group of young wolves jostle each other near the fire. “One might think the moon hangs in the sky solely to sanction their drinking.”
She linked arms with Heidara as they turned back toward the cottages to ready themselves. The warmth of Heidara’s hand through her sleeve was comforting amid the vast, strange world she’d stepped into.
“I pray Beau keeps his distance tonight,” Heidara said, voice dry as old parchment. “The last thing I need is a drunk wolf chasing my tail. No pun intended.” She cast Evelyne a sidelong glance.
Evelyne huffed a soft laugh. “Yes, well, beauty does tend to invite a certain… cacophony of attention. You cannot blame a moth for flinging itself at the nearest flame.” She arched a brow. “Even if the flame, in this case, would very much like to douse him with cold water.”
Heidara’s lips twitched. “If only I could catch the eye of the one I truly wanted,” she said, so soft the wind nearly stole the words.
That caught Evelyne’s full attention. She turned and truly looked at her friend then, taking in the tightness at the corners of Heidara’s mouth and the way she kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, as though looking anywhere else might betray too much.
“He will come back to himself,” Evelyne said gently, with just enough certainty to make it sound like truth rather than comfort. “This is not who he truly is. Men in pain are notoriously poor at being themselves. It is one of their more exhausting flaws.”
“Patience has never been my strength,” Heidara sighed.
“Nor mine,” Evelyne said. “But I am told some things are worth waiting for.” She tipped her head and offered Heidara a small smile. “Until then, you may think of Beau as excellent practice in the art of rejection. You are becoming rather skilled at it.”
Heidara’s smile finally broke through. “That is the kindest insult anyone has ever given me.”
They went on together, lantern light flickering from the old lodges ahead, the moon climbing brighter above them, and the promise of ritual, dancing, and perhaps one or two troublesome males waiting in the clearing beyond.
First, she would check on Cillian and remind him that the moon ritual did not count as “wolf nonsense” and that he ought to attend at least once. But when she reached his door, it stood half-open, the room beyond empty.
“Cillian?” she called softly.
No answer. The bed was unmade, breakfast plate thrown to the side of the room. His boots were gone, and his cloak was missing.
Perhaps he simply wanted air, she told herself. A solitary walk. A quiet place to think where wolves, rituals, and full moons could not press in on him. He was entitled to that much. Still, there was no time to linger on it. Heidara would already be waiting.
True to her word, she had chosen Evelyne something “practical” for the evening, though her idea of practical still leaned heavily toward heart-stoppingly dramatic.
Gone were the cropped skirts and tiny tops of warmer nights, replaced instead by sturdier leather.
She had already laid everything out across the bed: a fitted leather vest that covered Evelyne’s stomach while clinging to her waist and ribs, bracers for her forearms, and low-slung leather trousers that somehow still managed to flatter her figure.
Sandals were abandoned in favor of worn, comfortable boots, and dagger belts were soon buckled at their hips.
By now, Evelyne had finally mastered Heidara’s braiding techniques, though not without many failed attempts and a great deal of laughter.
So they worked side by side before the small, warped mirror, weaving matching braided crowns around their heads and pinning the rest of their hair back to keep it clear of both faces and fangs.
Heidara settled her leather pendant against her forehead, the one she always wore on full-moon nights. Evelyne lifted her own, a gift from Heidara, and adjusted it until it rested just so, cool against her skin and strangely grounding.
She applied her cosmetics herself now, her hands steady as she lined her eyes and softened the effect with a faint glow at her cheekbones.
For her lips, Aurelia’s voice rose at once in her mind.
Just a blush of pink, Evelyne. And so she reached for a softer shade, leaving the deeper colors to Heidara.
The thought of her sister struck like a stone breaking still water.
Aurelia. Seraphine. Even her mother. Faces she had not seen in far too long, waiting, she prayed, somewhere in Caltheris.
Guilt followed the thought as swiftly as shadow follows light.
Guilt for smiling here, for laughing with Heidara, for allowing herself the smallest pleasure beneath the stars while her family’s fate remained unknown.
She was traveling home to them, she reminded herself. That had been the purpose all along: to make certain they were safe, to place herself between them and whatever still lurked in the dark. Even so, the guilt kept its hold on her, tightening each time joy found her for more than a heartbeat.
“Why the frown?” Heidara asked, catching Evelyne’s reflection as she pinned the last loose strand of hair into place.
Everything about her seemed to fall effortlessly into order, reminding Evelyne of Aurelia.
Only Aurelia belonged to silk gowns and polished halls, while Heidara seemed made of moonlight and leather. Still, both possessed the same grace.
Evelyne blinked and forced her mind back to the room, the mirror, the friend at her side. “Oh. I…” She swallowed lightly. “I was just thinking of my family back home.”
Heidara’s features relaxed. She didn’t rush to fill the silence with reassurances; instead, she simply looked at Evelyne in a way that said she understood too well what it meant to miss people who were not here.
“You miss your mother very much?”
Evelyne almost answered yes. She did fear for her mother. Yet what ached in her was larger than one person alone. It was home she missed.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Heidara said in a rush. “I should not presume. I never had a mother, not truly. She died bringing me into the world, and after my father passed, it was only Holden and me. I suppose I have always admired what mothers and daughters share, and so I thought—”
“I do miss her,” Evelyne said softly, cutting in before Heidara could work herself into guilt. “But I miss others too. There are many at home I love, and many I fear for.”
It was more than Heidara had ever said about her childhood.
Evelyne had been curious, but she had never pried.
She trusted Heidara to share such things in her own time.
Still, a soft ache passed through her at the thought of Heidara as a bright, beautiful child growing up with no mother to call her own.
“Evelyne,” Heidara said gently, “joy isn’t a betrayal of what we’ve lost. It doesn’t erase the fear or the grief. It just proves they haven’t taken everything.” She held Evelyne’s gaze. “When the world is breaking, a single honest smile is not foolish. It is a reminder that you are still here.”
***
For a little while, Evelyne let herself dance, drink, and pretend the tightness in her chest was nothing.
But before long, the unease rose too loudly to ignore.
Laughter rang around her, drums carried on the night air, and torches burned warm against the dark, yet none of it quieted the prickling sense that something was wrong.
She refused to sink back into the terror that had once consumed her, the endless days when fear had governed every waking breath while Cillian was missing. Not again. Not when he was supposed to be only a few cottages away.
Kaldrek must have sensed the sudden sharpness in her thoughts, because he stepped beside her without a word, a steady shadow at her shoulder.
“I just need to see him,” she murmured, more to herself than to Kaldrek. “I need to know he’s all right.”
“Then we’ll find him,” Kaldrek said without hesitation.
They moved through the gathering together, weaving between members of Moonshade and Glaciermaw, searching every face they passed. Evelyne stopped each wolf she knew, asking after Cillian, but every answer was the same. No one had seen him.
In a village this small, how could he simply vanish? Her worry began to splinter into something more jagged. Her thoughts scattered; every sound felt too loud, every shadow too deep.
“Come here,” Kaldrek murmured behind her when she lengthened her stride again.
She ignored him, forcing her legs to move faster.
Evelyne. His voice carefully brushed against her mind. Please. Come here.
She halted, then turned to face him.
“Look at me,” he said gently, tilting her chin up with his thumb. His fingers traced a slow line along her jaw, grounding her. “Good. Now—breathe.”
She drew in a long breath and let it out in an exaggerated sigh, trying to shake loose the tightness coiled in her chest. Her hands settled against his bare chest, warmth pulsing beneath her palms. The night air was cool, but the males carried heat like banked fire, and for them tunics seemed more courtesy than necessity.
Ah. There we go.
He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She leaned into him, letting the circle of his arms close around her. The frantic edge of her fear dulled, her breathing easing in time with his.
When he finally loosened his hold, she whispered, “Thank you.”
He did not answer. Instead, his body went taut beneath her hands. A low, dangerous growl reverberated through his chest, rolling against her palms like distant thunder.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I sense something nearby,” he said quietly.
Then the crunch of a boot on packed earth split the night. Evelyne whirled, her gaze following the line of Kaldrek’s rigid stare.
A pale figure broke from the darkness and stepped into the fire’s dim halo. Gray features emerged, and Evelyne’s breath caught as she recognized him. Alaric.
One hand was locked around Cillian’s throat, dragging him over the ground as though he weighed nothing.
“Alaric!” Evelyne cried, just as Kaldrek thrust her behind him, shielding her with his body.
She barely felt the movement. Her eyes remained fixed on Alaric, on the terrible blackness that had swallowed his gaze whole.