Chapter 10 #2
“I’ve seen this before.” Her voice drops, all business now despite the tension crackling between us. “The signature is distinct. The way it burns—“ She taps a key, advancing frame by frame through the corruption.
I see it now. The ripple. The flare pattern. Something I’ve never encountered before—but somehow I know that it’s dangerous.
Nova leans back suddenly, eyes locked on the screen. “He wasn’t here,” she repeats, voice unreadable. “But something shaped by him was.”
“Who?” I step around Nova, forcing her to look at me.
She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the screen, her finger tracing the pattern again, slower this time. Deliberate. Like she’s buying time.
“Nova.” My voice drops lower. “Who?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, calculating. Measuring what I deserve to know against what she’s willing to share. The scale tips away from me, and I feel my jaw tighten.
“It’s complicated.”
“Fuck complicated. Tell me,” I growl.
She takes a small step back. Not retreat—just space to think. “There are patterns to energy signatures. This one is ... distinctive.”
“I don’t need a lecture on magical theory.” I move forward, matching her retreat. “I need a name.”
She stares at me, unblinking. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then away. The laptop’s blue glow catches the sharp angles of her face, casting shadows that make her look otherworldly. Dangerous. Her scent shifts—not fear, but caution.
“I’m not holding back to mess with you,” she says. “But throwing names around has consequences. Especially this one.”
This close, her violet eyes hold mine without flinching, even when my Alpha energy presses against her like a physical force.
The stubborn set of her jaw tells me she’ll dig in harder the more I push. Her ever-changing hair has slipped free from the loose braid she’d twisted it into, pale charcoal strands with their violet undertones framing her face in the laptop’s glow.
Lean muscle and agile frame, every muscle of her body designed for survival.
But there’s something about the fullness of her lips, the way her scent shifts when I step closer, that tells me I’m not the only one affected by our proximity. Her pupils dilate slightly, and I catch the faint glow that edges her violet irises when her magic responds to mine.
My wolf rises to the surface, hackles up. I’ve been patient. I’ve given her freedom, space to work. And she’s still keeping secrets while my pack is at risk.
“You asked for my protection,” I remind her, voice hard. “Trust goes both ways.”
Nova’s eyes narrow, violet flecks sparking in the dim light. “I didn’t ask for your protection. I warned you of a threat.”
The door behind us opens without a knock. The scent of sage and forest rain washes through the room—Lyanna. She’s been at Shadow Peak for the past week, helping Isla with some healing work. I didn’t expect her back until tomorrow.
I don’t turn. “Not now.”
“Yes, now.” Lyanna’s voice is soft but firm as she steps in. Boots quiet against the floor, deliberate in her approach. “Lachlan sent word about energy disturbances. I came back early.”
Nova tenses beside me, her attention shifting to the newcomer. I realize they haven’t met—Lyanna left before Nova arrived. Something passes between them now, two predators sizing each other up.
“You’re Fae,” Nova says.
Lyanna tilts her head slightly, honey-blond hair falling across one shoulder. Her emerald eyes with their golden flecks take in Nova’s stance, the laptop, and the papers scattered across the floor. “Born in Gleann na Sidhe,” she says simply. “Trained in the sacred groves.”
I watch the silent exchange, feeling the air change texture. The static electricity that always surrounds Lyanna intensifies, making the hairs on my arms rise.
“You know what this is,” Nova says, turning the laptop toward Lyanna.
Lyanna steps closer, her movements graceful, contained. She glances at the screen, her expression barely changing. But I catch it—the slight tightening around her eyes.
“Faelan,” she says simply.
The name stops my breath cold. Recognition crashes through me like ice water—the ancient fae we fought at Ash Hollow just three months ago.
The one who trapped Rhonan and Serena in that clearing, who nearly drained their mate bond to power his portal network, who escaped when his barrier finally shattered.
Nova’s eyes widen a fraction. “You know him.”
“Know of him,” Lyanna corrects, her gaze traveling back to Nova with renewed interest. “As do you, apparently. Though you call him something else.”
Nova’s shoulders straighten. “Phil Dawson.”
The pieces crash together with sickening clarity. Faelan. Here, in my compound, wearing a human face. Speaking to my wolves. Planting seeds of discord and walking away while I stood there like a fool, letting him leave unharmed.
“Fuck! You knew,” I say to Nova, heat rising under my skin. “You knew who he was when he was here.”
“I suspected,” she counters, not backing down. “I wasn’t sure until I saw this.” She gestures to the laptop.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, knuckles white with restraint. I step closer until we’re breathing the same air. My jaw locks, muscles working beneath the skin as I stare down at her.
“What else?” The words scrape out, barely controlled.
Nova doesn’t flinch. Only the slight dilation of her pupils betrays any reaction to the rage pouring off me. Her spine stays straight, her chin level, though I catch the subtle quickening of her pulse at her throat.
“Nothing relevant to this,” she says, voice steady despite the murderous heat I know is visible in my eyes.
She holds my gaze, refusing to look away or step back. Her hand remains on the laptop, fingers steady.
“Your anger won’t solve this, Alpha.”
The room stays silent for a long moment, the revelation settling over us like dust after an explosion. Faelan—the ancient fae who nearly destroyed us three months ago—had been walking through my compound. Speaking to my wolves. Sitting at my table.
“How long?” I ask, my voice cutting through the quiet, sharp and controlled. “How long was he here as Phil?”
“Three visits over two weeks,” Nova answers. “Each time planting seeds, testing responses, mapping your pack dynamics.”
My fist hits the wall. “And none of us saw it. Not one fucking person caught it.”
“That’s not your failure,” Nova says firmly. “That’s his skill.”
Lyanna moves around us, picking up Nova’s papers and studying them. Her fingers hover over the symbols without touching them. “These are old tracking wards. Fae bloodline markers.”
Nova doesn’t respond, but I see the confirmation in her stillness.
Lyanna turns back to us, but her focus is entirely on Nova. “How long have you been hunting him?”
I stand between them, suddenly aware I’m outside a conversation I should be controlling. Two women with knowledge I don’t have, speaking a language of magic and vengeance I can’t translate.
Nova turns away from both of us, her focus dropping to the digital patterns on the screen. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate.