Chapter 36
He came for her. He found her. And she was alive. Holden was alive.
Only after arguing with Kaldrek and insisting she could tend to Evelyne’s wounds did Heidara finally kneel beside her, hands moving carefully over skin torn and bruised but already beginning to mend.
The sight of those dark marks had nearly broken Kaldrek when Evelyne shifted back into her own body.
The healing was slow, but it had begun. Her body was doing what it had always done: surviving.
She needed water. Food. Warmth. She needed to scrub the putrid smell from her skin until the memory of those tunnels no longer seemed to cling to her.
But they had done it. She and Holden were getting out.
All of them were. She would not let the pack leave the other prisoners behind.
Around them, wolves moved through the chamber, dragging the Noskari into piles.
Someone struck flint. Fire caught. Kaldrek’s voice carried over the noise as he ordered the bodies burned.
No risks. No remains. It had to be done before anything else returned.
Flames spread across the fallen creatures, and the bloodroot veins along the tunnel shrank from the heat, slipping back into the walls like frightened things. Evelyne watched them withdraw with a grim satisfaction.
Perhaps only minutes had passed, though the moment felt stretched into something heavier than time.
Prisoners stumbled past her in dazed clusters, murmuring quiet thanks as they went.
One brushed her hand in gratitude. Another lowered his head.
She made certain the others still chained in the farther tunnel were freed as well.
Shifters, Kaldrek had said, every one of them. All grateful.
But where was Aurelia?
Evelyne looked around, and dread dropped hard into her chest. “Where is she?” she demanded, panic cutting through her exhaustion. “Where is my sister?”
“Holden and Alaric are with her,” Heidara answered calmly, catching Evelyne before she could fall. She wrapped an arm firmly around her waist. “Easy.”
“She’s all right,” Evelyne breathed, more to herself than anyone else.
“Yes,” Heidara said softly. “She is. And she has you to thank.”
“Take me to her. Please.”
Heidara adjusted her grip and guided her forward, Evelyne’s arm draped around her shoulders for support. Each step felt unsteady, her body weak from blood loss and shock.
Then she saw her.
Aurelia was being carried from the chamber where she had been held.
Her once-pristine hair hung in tangled strands.
Her limbs dangled limply at her sides, strength utterly spent.
Her head rested against Holden’s bare chest as he carried her carefully, protective even in his exhaustion.
He got them out, got her out. And for that, Evelyne would be eternally grateful.
“She’s alive, Ev. She’ll be all right,” Alaric said gently, stepping forward to steady Evelyne before she could sway again.
“Holden nearly knocked me flat getting to her. Didn’t even slow down—just pushed me out of the way and took over.
” A faint, almost disbelieving smile touched his mouth as he rubbed his shoulder. “I suppose I was in his path.”
The sight of them—Aurelia breathing, Holden standing, Alaric unhurt—shattered the last of Evelyne’s composure.
Relief hit her so hard it turned to sobs before she could stop them. She clung to Alaric as he guided her arm around his neck, and with Heidara steady at one side and him at the other, they helped her toward the tunnel’s exit.
***
The pack had grown quieter by the time they neared Velenshire.
Evelyne walked beside the sled in silence, one hand resting lightly against the wooden frame as it was pulled along the trail.
Aurelia lay wrapped in thick wool and spare leathers, her body curled inward beneath the blanket.
Someone had brushed the dirt from her hair.
Someone had cleaned the dried blood from her skin.
Now that she was no longer caked in the filth of the tunnels, the resemblance between them struck Evelyne harder than before.
She and Cillian had not left Aurelia’s side since they pulled her from the darkness. Evelyne stepped away only briefly to wash the blood and grime from her own skin, then returned at once. She was bone-tired, aching for sleep, but she refused it. Not yet.
At least the herbs Lorena had given Aurelia had finally done their work, drawing her into a deep, healing sleep.
Her breathing was steady now, even and calm.
And there was something else—something Evelyne had begun to notice in her sister.
Her scent. Faint, almost smothered by woodsmoke and the sharp bitterness of crushed herbs, but unmistakable once she caught it.
Wolf.
She never spoke the thought aloud. She did not need to. She could feel it deep within herself, in the way Aurelia’s wounds knit faster than they should, in the swift return of color to her pale skin. Aurelia was a shifter.
Cillian had sensed it too.
The realization both comforted and unsettled her. How much had been hidden from them? How much had been buried beneath silk gowns, courtly grace, and noble expectations? Now her perfectly polished sister lay among wolves, wrapped in leather on a sled and hauled along a rough wilderness trail.
Evelyne brushed her fingers over Aurelia’s fair brow. “You are so very strong, sister,” she whispered, though Aurelia did not stir. “We are here. You are not alone.”
The others followed close behind them, including the prisoners they had freed from the tunnels.
They might have fled the moment their chains were struck away, each vanishing into the woods without a backward glance.
Yet they had not. Instead, they kept to Ironwolf’s path, quiet and watchful, but steadfast.
There were fifteen of them now, perhaps a few more—a small company, but a living one.
One of the younger wolves, near Evelyne’s own age, had told her they called themselves the Oathroot pack.
The name felt newly claimed, as though they had only just begun to use it.
Evelyne supposed many of their own had been lost beneath the ground, and those who remained moved with the unmistakable heaviness of survivors, grief stitched into every step.
They had told Evelyne and Holden that they owed them their lives, and she had not known how to answer such gratitude.
She did not feel like a savior. She felt like someone who had scarcely dragged herself back from the brink.
And yet, whenever she glanced at them, something within her shifted like a quiet sense of protectiveness, and with it, responsibility.
She would learn their story soon, for she wished to know it, but for now her thoughts had to remain with Aurelia: her recovery, and how they were to get her home.
By nightfall, they would reach Velenshire, but they all paused near a stream to rest and eat.
The wolves shifted back to human form, tending to the wounded and refilling waterskins.
Evelyne remained seated beside the sled, Cillian kneeling opposite her, his hand resting gently against Aurelia’s covered arm.
For a long while, there was only the quiet sound of birds and the rustling of rocks and branches. Then Aurelia stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. “Evelyne?” she whispered, voice rough and barely there.
Evelyne leaned forward in an instant, brushing stray hair from her sister’s face. “I’m here.”
Aurelia’s eyes opened slowly, confusion flickering there before recognition replaced it. She took in the trees above them. The scent of smoke. The weight of the blanket.
“Are we…?”
“We’re safe,” Cillian said.
“Cillian!” Aurelia cried softly, her voice breaking as she reached for him before her gaze returned to Evelyne. Tears shimmered in her bright blue eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Evelyne whispered, emotion thick in her throat as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to her sister’s.
“You’re not rid of me that easily,” she murmured, attempting levity despite the tremor in her voice.
Evelyne let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh, though it wavered at the edges as Cillian squeezed Aurelia’s hand.
After a moment, Evelyne sat back and briskly wiped beneath her eyes. Aurelia studied her with careful attention, her posture regaining some of its familiar composure.
“Oh, Evelyne… look at you,” she breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
There was no sarcasm in it—only admiration. Evelyne’s lips curved faintly in response.
Aurelia turned to Cillian and reached up to brush her fingers lightly along the scruff at his jaw. “And you, brother, appear quite distinguished. Though I do believe you are overdue for a proper shave.”
Cillian laughed, bending to kiss her hand. “I may keep it.”
“If you insist,” she replied with a prim lift of her chin, though a teasing light danced in her eyes. Then she paused and scrunched her nose. “My goodness. What is that scent? I feel as though all I do now is smell things. You all rather resemble damp hounds.”
Kaldrek approached at that moment, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest. Holden followed at his side.
“The rather majestic scent of wolves,” Kaldrek said. “You may have noticed a bit of fur and claw yourself. I believe you carry the same fragrance.”
Aurelia straightened at that, smoothing the loose fabric at her shoulders as she took him in fully. Even without jewels or silk, without the careful polish of court life, she held herself like nobility. Her hair, now clean, fell in soft golden waves around her face.
“In fact, I have glimpsed my claws,” she said thoughtfully. “I must confess, I would very much prefer a manicure to talons. They are terribly inconvenient.”
Kaldrek’s brow lifted as her words began to tumble out in earnest.
“My goodness, Evelyne, why did you fail to mention that the woods are inhabited by such remarkably… striking men? Though I suppose we have had very little opportunity to speak. Tell me, why are you and Cillian traveling among wolves? I feel as though I have awakened to find I have missed an entire chapter of your life.”
“They prefer to be called males,” Evelyne said gently. “They are not quite the same as men. Though, to be fair, I still err myself from time to time.”
Aurelia looked back to Kaldrek and Holden and smiled.
“I see. Then I find these wild males exceedingly interesting. Even so, I cannot help observing that every one of you is in sore need of a bath.”
She gave another slight wrinkle of her nose, still playful, before letting her attention settle on Holden.
He went perfectly still. The last trace of color drained from his face, and his eyes widened, fixed entirely on her. Kaldrek looked toward his second with a faint crease of concern between his brows.
Aurelia pointed a delicate finger in his direction. “You, however, seem acquainted with proper hygiene. You smell… divine. Pray tell, sir, what soap do you use?”
For one suspended heartbeat, silence held. Holden did not move. Even Kaldrek looked taken aback as he turned toward his friend. Then a knowing laugh broke from him, and he brought a broad hand down on Holden’s shoulder.
“Holden?” Cillian asked carefully.
“He’s fine,” Kaldrek replied in a smooth tone, though amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “I suspect the tunnels unsettled him more than he realized. Come. Let us take a walk.”
Kaldrek turned Holden gently by the shoulders and steered him away.
Odd.
You will explain to me what was so amusing about that, Evelyne sent down the bond.
A low chuckle brushed through her thoughts. Are all southern ladies this demanding, or only the one who belongs to me?
She fought the urge to roll her eyes, though warmth curled through her chest. Gods, she loved it when he played like this.
You’re welcome to investigate that soon enough, she answered sweetly. But kindly stop avoiding the question.
Another demand, he murmured, his voice dropping into that rough tone that made her pulse skip. You’re fortunate I’m not there to punish you for it.
Heat shot through her at the sound of it, sharp enough to steal her breath. She forced her expression neutral, very aware of her siblings walking beside her.
Stop that, she snapped back, clearing her throat.
Warm laughter echoed through the bond.
Aurelia blinked after them, plainly bewildered. “Have I offended him? Oh dear—is there something on my face?” She touched her cheek at once. “Do not tell me I look dreadful.”
“No, Aurelia,” Evelyne said, unable to hide her smile. “You look infuriatingly radiant, as ever. I believe he simply needs a moment.”
Aurelia frowned slightly. “Well, he did not respond in a particularly gentlemanly fashion.”
“I am relieved to see you are already quite yourself again, sister,” Cillian said with a huff.
An hour slipped by as Evelyne and Cillian filled Aurelia in on the broad shape of all she had missed: their brother’s possession by an ancient blood witch queen, the prophecy tangled around his fate, and the truth that all three of them carried wolf-shifter magic in their blood.
Yet whenever the conversation turned toward Aurelia—toward the tunnels, or her own shifting—she gently turned it aside, steering their attention back to them.
It was unlike her, and Evelyne could not shake the sense that beneath her composed recovery, something was being deliberately hidden.
Cillian, meanwhile, spoke with open joy about his newly awakened light magic and all the healing it might one day bring.
Together, he and Evelyne skimmed the rest: her journey with Alaric to find him, the shadowed figures along the roads and borders, their capture by Ironwolf, the training, and the path that had led them to Vaelora.
But they left out the blood, the deaths, and the truth of their father.
Evelyne said nothing, either, of her mating bond with Kaldrek, though Aurelia’s glances suggested she was already on to them.
An hour was enough for the outline, not the heart of it.
The deeper truths—the grief, the confessions, the tears waiting behind their smiles—would have to come later.
For now, they held themselves together.
When it was time to move again, Evelyne rose and stepped away, needing a moment alone. Her thoughts kept returning to the same impossible truth: Aurelia had been taken by the Noskari, dragged into the dark, and left to suffer alone.
And still, somehow, she was here. Still Aurelia.