Chapter 49
Kaldrek paused at the entrance to Relics and Refinements, studying the narrow doorway before stepping inside.
Evelyne had mentioned the shop belonged to Charise Hallowell, and at first glance, it reminded him of Selene’s shop back in Cindermoor—quiet, cluttered, filled with objects that seemed to hum faintly with unseen purpose.
The familiarity settled something in him, if only slightly.
This shop, however, was smaller. Much smaller.
His shoulders nearly brushed the frame as he stepped through, the bell above the door chiming sharply. He flinched. What an odd contraption to announce one’s arrival with such enthusiasm.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman with dark hair threaded lightly with silver. She looked up at once, her expression warming.
“Lady Evelyne Duskwood,” she said with a gentle smile. “What a pleasure it is to see you again. You appear well.”
Evelyne returned the smile easily. “Hello, Charise. I must say the feeling is mutual. Though the last time we met, circumstances were rather chaotic. I cannot say things have settled much since, only changed.”
“Yes,” Charise replied. “I imagine becoming a wolf does tend to complicate matters.”
Evelyne seemed to hesitate. “You are aware?”
“Of course, dear,” Charise said simply. “I suspected you would share the same fate as your sister. Aurelia visited me shortly after her first transition. She was… understandably shaken.”
Evelyne turned slightly, surprise flickering across her face.
“How is she now?” Charise asked.
“Much improved,” Evelyne replied. Then, with a small gesture, she beckoned Kaldrek forward. “Charise, I would like to introduce you to Kaldrek.” She looked into his eyes. “My mate.”
The word settled warmly in his chest.
Mate.
It was more than a title. More than something spoken aloud for others to understand. It was something deeper, a binding. And though he knew Evelyne was still finding her footing with it, hearing her say it aloud stirred something fierce and certain within him.
“Congratulations to you both,” Charise said warmly. “It is a bond most sacred among wolves. I am truly glad for you.”
“Thank you,” Kaldrek said with a small nod.
Charise stepped out from behind the counter then, her attention shifting fully to him. She studied him closely. A little too closely for comfort. But he knew why.
“Not just a wolf,” she said quietly. “Are you?”
Kaldrek knew she could sense it. He had felt her magic the moment he entered the room. It was subtle, but present, and she, it seemed, had sensed his just as quickly.
“Your blood,” Charise continued, narrowing her eyes slightly. “There is something familiar about it. How is that possible?”
“Charise,” Evelyne said gently, “perhaps we might sit?”
Charise seemed to catch herself, stepping back slightly. “Yes, of course. Please.” She moved toward a small seating area near the shelves. “I shall prepare some tea—”
“No,” Kaldrek said quickly. “That will not be necessary.” He had no intention of enduring another cup of that steaming brown concoction and honestly didn’t want to spend any more time than he needed to here.
Charise gave a small nod. “Very well. No tea.”
They settled into their seats, and for a moment, silence lingered. Then Kaldrek spoke.
“My mother was from here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You may have known her, or of her, once.”
The words felt heavier than he expected.
“Her name was Vaelora.” He paused. “She had a twin sister. Kaya. Who was killed before I was born.”
Charise went very still.
“Kaya was murdered?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” Kaldrek said. “By her sister. By my mother.”
Charise straightened slowly in her chair, her gaze moving between him and Evelyne.
“How old are you, boy?”
“Twenty-five,” he replied. “Near enough to twenty-six.”
Her hand rose to her mouth, her expression shifting to something closer to shock.
“She was the sacrifice,” she murmured. “The shift we felt all those years ago… The disturbance in the balance.” She shook her head slowly. “How you survived such a beginning is nothing short of a miracle.”
“He is nothing like her,” Evelyne said firmly. “His heart is good. And he is alpha of the Ironwolf pack.”
Kaldrek glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the weight of the conversation. No amount of reassurance would erase what his mother had done, but her faith in him settled something nonetheless.
“Have you begun practicing?” Charise asked, her attention returning to him.
“Very little,” he admitted.
“He practices each evening,” Evelyne added quickly. “He learned the basics from a witch in Cindermoor. He prefers working with soil, stone… anything grounded.” Kaldrek heard the quiet pride in her voice.
“I see,” Charise said, rising from her chair and moving toward a shelf lined with worn books. “How is your control?”
“Limited,” he said. “I can draw from the elements for only a short time.”
“And your mind?” she pressed. “Your impulses? New witches often struggle with restraint, with the urge to draw too much, too quickly. Though that usually begins in adolescence… and you are well beyond that.” She studied him carefully.
“Given your mother’s tendencies, I would be concerned about whether some of those instincts have passed to you. No offense intended.”
“None taken,” Kaldrek said, though his hand lifted unconsciously to his jaw as he considered it.
He thought back to his moments of practice and the small amount of power.
There were no memories of power-hungry instincts.
The only foreign, possibly addictive pull he had felt was when visiting the grove.
Watching Cillian’s power thrive near the tree.
It was almost intoxicatingly beautiful. But that had just been a quiet urge to touch it, nothing more.
Though that simply could have been due to the vulnerable state he’d been living in ever since Evelyne was taken from him. He’d never felt so powerless.
“Not that I am aware of,” he said at last.
Charise held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling softly. “Then I would strongly advise you to return here regularly,” she said. “At least once each week. You will not learn what you need from books alone, or from fleeting instruction. You require proper guidance—and you require it now.”
Evelyne looked to him.
It is your choice. I will support you, whatever you decide.
Kaldrek exhaled. The idea of sitting in a room, reading books and playing with dirt, felt… absurd. But he also knew what she was asking. What she needed from him. So he gave a small nod.
Charise wasted no time gathering items for him. By the time they left, he had been handed three books, a small iron cauldron, and several vials of tonic meant for “practice.”
Kaldrek stared down at the items in his hands as they stepped back into the daylight. A pretend lord, and now a male witch brewing potions.
What the hell had his life become?
***
The rain was relentless.
It fell in a steady, ceaseless mist, soaking the training field until the ground beneath their feet turned slick with mud. Cold clung to everything—the air, their skin, each breath—yet the clearing remained alive with movement. Blows landed, boots slid, bodies collided and recovered.
Alaric welcomed it: the discomfort, the sting in his lungs, the weight of wet clothes against his skin. It gave him something to focus on.
Anything but his thoughts.
A few days had passed since dinner at Duskwood Manor, but the tension from that evening had not eased. If anything, it had sharpened. The ball was only days away, and while the others busied themselves with preparations, Alaric’s mind kept returning to his secret visit with Charise Hallowell.
She had spoken of the veil, of how little time they might have before its protection thinned beyond usefulness.
Weeks, perhaps. Yet the Noskari could force their way through sooner if they truly tried.
It was a conversation the group needed to have.
They needed a plan. But what more could they do now except remain hidden behind a fading glamour, train, and build what strength they could?
When Alaric had asked Kaldrek for his thoughts, the alpha had said they should wait until after the ball before taking Ironwolf beyond the veil to search for nearby threats.
He had also asked Alaric to gather the covens.
Still, Alaric could not shake the feeling that Kaldrek had another plan, one he was not yet willing to share.
Before speaking with Charise, Alaric had not fully understood the veil.
Now that he did, he could feel its weakness everywhere.
She had listened carefully as he told her what they had encountered beyond the southern territories—the corruption, the Noskari, the wrongness seeping through the land.
He had warned her plainly: gather the covens and prepare. A fight was coming.
Charise had not argued. Nor had she dismissed him.
Instead, she told him she had already spoken with Evelyne and Kaldrek the day before.
She knew of Vaelora’s son, the alpha of Ironwolf.
Fear had flickered in her eyes when she said it, though it softened when Alaric assured her Kaldrek was not his mother; he was good. That seemed to settle her.
When the conversation turned to the truth he still had not fully accepted, Charise had lit up with excitement and something close to awe.
She seemed to understand immediately when he spoke of the land guiding him, of the strange vibration of power he had felt more than once, and of his mother’s secret.
“You are a seer,” she had whispered.
The word had meant little to him before. Now, it felt like a burden. Charise had spoken of seers with near reverence, explaining that they were rare, and that their magic could not be sensed like other gifts because it did not come from the same source. It came from the land itself.
And that was precisely the problem. Alaric had no idea what to do with it.
He had spent the past few days trying to make sense of what he had felt, listening more closely, watching the ground beneath his feet, and remembering the whispers that had filled his mind when the darkness had taken hold of him.
The things it had said. The things it had wanted.
There had been meaning in it. He knew there had.
He simply could not unravel it yet.
If he was meant to protect these lands, if that was truly what he had been chosen for, then how in the hell was he supposed to do it?
A sharp impact knocked him back into the present. Alaric stumbled slightly, boots sliding in the mud before he regained his footing. Across from him, Nathan reset his stance, waiting.
They circled, but Alaric’s gaze drifted briefly across the clearing and beyond Nathan.
Evelyne stood at the far end, working through takedown maneuvers with Kaura, the fierce female from the Oathroot pack.
The two moved fluidly together, and Alaric couldn’t help but notice how well they all adjusted around Evelyne.
Especially Zade. The male did not overstep in a romantically interested way—he respected the law of wolves—but he always watched her, watched over her.
And today was no different. Zade stood nearby, observing closely, his focus fixed entirely on Evelyne as she shifted her stance and pinned Kaura down within seconds.
Wren lingered just behind him and seemed to be mirroring the same type of attention toward her.
Whether it was admiration or a need to protect her, Alaric didn’t know. But he noticed and it made him happy.
“Focus,” Nathan said, lunging forward again.
Alaric reacted just in time, catching the movement and redirecting it, but allowed his mind to slip aside to Heidara now.
The female was so unbelievably magnetic, his gaze somehow always found her.
It was simply captivating to watch how well she adapted to every challenge thrown her way.
She handled it all, and Alaric could only stare, especially now.
The curve of her movement. The strength in her arms. The way she held herself—
Nathan took the opportunity and Alaric hit the ground hard. Mud splashed up along his side as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs, the world narrowing for just a second—
And in that second, it came back.
The memory of being pinned to the ground, of the darkness threading through his mind. Of his palms touching the grass and a vibration flooding through him. Of the darkness coiling at the foreign sensation.
And he remembered it all now. All the whispers it repeated to itself.
Every. Single. Word.
Alaric sucked in a breath and forced himself back to the present as he pushed up from the ground, mud clinging to his hands and clothes.
Nathan offered a hand, but he ignored it. “I’m fine,” he muttered, already resetting his stance. Yet his mind was no longer on the fight. Everything seemed to be building toward something, and he was not ready for it. He needed to end training for the day and think.
When the session finally ended, Alaric went straight to Heidara. A bright smile broke across her face, lighting her mud-streaked cheeks despite the damp strands of hair clinging to her skin.
“I can’t stay long,” she said, brushing her hands over her leathers. “I’m meant to meet Aurelia shortly, once I’ve cleaned up. You may join us, if you like.” She tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “I believe today’s lesson involves proper conversation for ladies.”
“That sounds remarkably dull,” Alaric replied with a soft laugh.
“I quite agree. Though I will admit, the dressing has been entertaining. The gowns are beautiful, if entirely impractical. I can’t imagine Evelyne endured such things every day.”
“I am exceedingly grateful to have been born a man. The corsets alone seem a form of torture.” Alaric’s smile turned more playful. “Though I confess, I am rather looking forward to seeing you in one.”
Heidara snorted softly. “You will not be disappointed. Aurelia chose something particularly revealing in the chest area. Her exact words were that it might distract the room should my ‘uncivilized tendencies’ appear.”
Alaric raised his brows, the image making his thoughts falter enough that he had to clear his throat.
“I am certain you would draw attention regardless,” he said, softer now. “Though I imagine you will look exceptional in whatever you choose to wear.” He hesitated only a moment. “I should like to escort you, if you would allow it.”
“I would very much like that, Mr. Stonebridge,” Heidara said with a wink.