Chapter 13
Nova
Dane turns to face me. The room goes still.
I don’t move from the doorway. My fingers stay on the handle, body angled for retreat even though I have no intention of running.
“How much did you hear?” Rafe asks. No alarm in his voice. Just assessment.
“Enough.” I step inside, letting the door click shut behind me. “He didn’t make me. He made sure I’d be his. That about cover it?”
Time slows. Not poetically—practically. My senses sharpen the way they do before a fight.
Lyanna’s breath catches. Her fingers tighten on her arms where they’re crossed.
And Dane ...
He stands with his back to me, those broad shoulders rigid with tension. Even from behind, I can read the fury in every line of his frame. When he turns slightly, I catch his profile—the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his steel-gray eyes have gone almost black.
His ash-brown hair is disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it. Combat boots planted wide, hands loose at his sides in that deceptively relaxed stance that means he’s ready for violence.
His jaw locks. A muscle twitches beneath his skin. His eyes darken, the fury shifting to something worse. Pity.
I let the door click shut behind me.
The sound cuts Rafe off mid-sentence. Three heads snap toward me.
No one speaks. Their heartbeats fill the silence—Lyanna’s quick and light, Rafe’s unnaturally slow, and Dane’s hard and steady.
I step deeper into the room. My boots make no sound on the wooden floor. I’ve learned to move silently since childhood. Not a natural skill—a taught one. A programmed one.
Pieces click into place. Born half-fae, half-wolf. Raised where I was. Talents that never quite made sense. The pull toward certain places, certain energies.
I count my own pulse. One. Two. Three.
“How long?” I ask Rafe. My voice doesn’t shake. “How long has he been arranging this?”
Rafe studies me, no apology in his gaze. “Since before you were born.”
Four. Five. Six.
I turn to Dane. His expression has shifted from pity to something harder. He’s recalibrating everything he knows about me.
Seven. Eight.
“The boundary ruptures,” I say, pulling the pieces together. “They’re not random. They’re a net.”
Rafe nods. “A containment grid. Powered by your own energy signature.”
Nine. Ten.
I walk to the map on the table. Seven marked breach points. Perfect hexagonal pattern. Me at the center.
“He can’t hold me if I know the cage exists,” I say.
Lyanna steps forward. “It’s not about holding you, Nova. It’s about using you as a conduit.”
“For what?”
“You don’t build a net like that unless you plan to drag something through it,” Dane says, finally breaking his silence.
His eyes find mine across the table. No trace of what happened between us minutes ago. No heat. No vulnerability. Just tactical assessment of a new threat.
Me.
Eleven. Twelve.
I don’t look away. I hold his gaze while I process. My father. The magic in my blood. The breaches following me. The pull I’ve felt toward certain places. All of it—orchestrated.
Thirteen.
“He thinks he made me his weapon,” I say, placing both palms flat on the table, leaning forward. “But he forgot something important.”
The room goes still. Waiting.
“A weapon doesn’t choose where to aim.”
Silence hangs after my words. I keep my palms flattened on the map, eyes steady. Not challenging—just existing in my truth. I’m not a weapon, but I yield one. And I tell it where to aim.
“Tell me what I need to know,” I say, voice clipped. “No philosophical bullshit. No comforting lies. What did he build into me?”
Lyanna and Rafe exchange glances. The hesitation grates against my nerves.
“Specifics,” I press. “Start with function. What am I meant to conduct?”
Rafe steps forward, arms crossed. “A portal key. Most fae need physical anchors to cross between realms. Higher court fae can manage without, but it takes considerable energy.”
“Faelan wants a door,” I translate.
“Not just any door,” Lyanna cuts in. Her voice softens in that healer way—gentle hands on a wound. “Something permanent. Stable. Controllable.”
I shake my head. “I’m half-wolf. Why not use full-blooded fae?”
“Because wolves have pack bonds,” Rafe says flatly. “Magical neural networks. You’re wired differently from pure fae. You can channel energy without burning out.”
I notice Dane shift his weight slightly. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. Just watches me with unreadable eyes.
“So I’m a battery,” I say, testing the idea. “Or a conduit.”
“More like a focusing lens,” Lyanna corrects. “Your dual nature means you can—“
“Are there trigger phrases?” I interrupt. “Commands? Spells that would activate ... whatever he built in?”
Rafe shakes his head. “Not like that. It’s structural. In your magical signature itself.”
“Like DNA,” Lyanna adds. “He didn’t program you with commands. He shaped how your energy forms and flows.”
My fingers curl against the table. “Can I feel it happening? If he tries to use me?”
“Yes,” Rafe says. “It would feel like being pulled apart from the inside. You’d know.”
“Has it happened before?” I ask. “Those times I’ve felt ... drawn toward certain places?”
Lyanna’s eyes widen slightly. “Those weren’t random instincts. They were test runs.”
I straighten, mind racing through implications. “And the net he’s building now—how does it work?”
“Each breach point creates tension,” Rafe explains. “Like a spiderweb. When you move through that space, you strengthen the pattern. Eventually, with enough power—“
“He can use me as a gate,” I finish.
No one contradicts me.
I scan the hexagonal breach pattern on the map again.
“Can he track me?” My voice remains steady, clinical.
“Yes,” Lyanna says. “But not precisely. He knows your general location through the network he’s building.”
“And if I leave Ash Hollow?”
“You’d just be moving the center point,” Rafe says. “The pattern would follow.”
I take a deep breath, shift my focus. “Can you break what he built into me? Remove his influence?”
The room goes still. Lyanna’s expression tells me everything.
“No,” she says finally. “Not without—“
“Killing me,” I finish for her. “Got it.”
I straighten, pull back from the table.
“If I’m the center of his web,” I say, “then I control where he focuses. Not him. Next breach hits, I’m walking through it,” I state.
Dane finally speaks, his voice low and hard. “You’re planning to draw him out.”
I meet his eyes. “No. I’m planning to hunt him down.”
Dane’s eyes narrow at my words. Not quite disapproval, yet. More like suspicion—the strategic kind. The Alpha calculating risks.
“With what resources?” he asks, each word measured. “Against a royal fae who’s had centuries to prepare?”
I tap the map between us, circling the breach points with my finger.
“These aren’t just weak spots. They’re doorways—tuned to his energy signature.” My voice stays clinical, detached. “The next time one opens, I’ll follow the thread back to him.”
“That’s suicide,” Dane says flatly.
“It’s exactly what he expects,” I counter. “And that’s why it’ll work.”
I move around the table, taking ownership of the space. This isn’t their operation anymore. It’s mine. It always has been; I just didn’t know it.
“He built me to channel realm energy.” I trace the pattern on the map. “But channels work both ways. When he pulls, I push. When he opens a breach, I track the signature.”
Lyanna steps forward, concern etched across her face. “I could shield you with ward-weaving. At least dampen the connection.”
I shake my head. “No shields. I need the connection clear and open. That’s how I find him.”
“And when you do?” Dane asks, arms crossed now.
“I’ll know where he is. What he’s planning. And how to stop it.”
Rafe watches me with unnerving stillness. He hasn’t shifted position since I entered the room.
“If you move, he moves,” Rafe says finally. “That’s how we catch him.”
Exactly. I nod once in his direction, acknowledging the support.
Dane runs a hand through his hair, frustration breaking through his control. “And what happens when he realizes what you’re doing? When he turns your own tracking against you?”
“He won’t,” I say with absolute certainty. “He thinks I’m unaware. Blind to what I am.” I look each of them in the eye. “His mistake.”
I pull the map toward me, folding it with practiced precision. “The next breach will hit within forty-eight hours, based on the pattern. When it does, I go alone.”
“Like hell,” Dane snaps, stepping forward. He moves into my space with predatory intent, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. The heat radiating off his body reaches me even through the space between us. His scent of pine and barely leashed aggression fills my nostrils.
Those steel-gray eyes bore into mine with an intensity that would make most wolves submit. Not me.
“This is my territory. That means the consequences fall on my pack. Not just you.”
I meet his gaze, pulse steady. “I’m the only one who can trace him clean. Anyone else risks corrupting the trail.”
“And getting killed,” he bites out.
The room goes still. It’s not the threat in his voice that sets me off. It’s the implication. Like I haven’t already calculated the risk.
“So lock me up? Keep me under guard?” I don’t raise my voice. “Would that make you feel better, Alpha?”
His jaw flexes. “It would keep you alive.”
“No,” I say flatly. “It would keep you in control.”
Lyanna touches my arm lightly. “At least take some protective herbs. They won’t interfere with trace-tracking.”
I nod. “Fine.”
“This isn’t a vote,” I tell the room. “I’m not asking permission. I’m telling you how this ends.”
Dane’s jaw works silently. I can see the arguments building behind his eyes—all the reasons this plan is flawed, dangerous, unacceptable. But he doesn’t voice them.
Instead, he asks, “What do you need from us?”
The question surprises me.
“Distance,” I answer honestly. “And a clear perimeter when the breach hits.”
Rafe nods almost imperceptibly. Lyanna looks troubled but resigned. Dane just watches me, his expression unreadable.
I fold the map into my jacket pocket and head for the door.
Outside, the air hits cold against my face. I pull my hood up, scanning the treeline. The darkness presses in, but I don’t feel afraid. I feel sharp. Ready.
Hunting Faelan isn’t just about closing breaches anymore. It’s about taking back what was stolen before I knew it was missing: choice.
He wanted a key. He gets a weapon instead.