Chapter 19
Dane
Iwatch her disappear.
One second, Nova stands ten feet ahead, her back rigid as she tracks something I can’t see. The next—the air folds around her like a mouth closing.
I lunge forward, hitting nothing but twisted space where she should be. The forest warps, trees bending at impossible angles. Reality stretches thin, resistant.
“Nova!” The shout rips from my chest.
No answer. Just the pulse of wrongness where she vanished.
I press my palm against the barrier. It pushes back—not solid, but dense. Like moving through mud that doesn’t want to be disturbed. My skin burns where it makes contact.
Fuck this.
I slam my shoulder into the distortion. Pain shoots down my arm, but I push harder. The barrier stretches, gives slightly, then snaps back with force that throws me six feet backward. I hit the ground hard, roll to my feet.
Blood trickles from my nose. I wipe it away, snarling.
She’s in there. The faint trace of her scent lingers at the edge—bright and wild, threaded with magic. And something else. Fear.
My wolf surges forward, clawing under my skin. I let it. Let the rage build, let instinct take over. This isn’t about calculation anymore. This is about claiming what’s mine.
I charge the barrier again, faster this time. My body hits the distortion full-force. The impact jolts through my bones. Magic burns across my skin like acid, but I don’t pull back. I push. Harder. Deeper.
The barrier stretches, resists, and hums with malicious intent.
“Move,” I growl, digging my fingers into the fabric of reality.
It doesn’t.
I rip at it instead. My claws extend, tearing through the veil between worlds. Blood runs down my forearms. The woods around me scream—not with sound, but with feeling. Rage. Resistance. Pain.
Good. Let it hurt.
I tear deeper, forcing my body through the narrow breach I’ve created. The distortion fights back, crushing against my ribs, squeezing my lungs. I taste copper. Something cracks inside my chest.
I don’t stop.
Every inch gained costs. The forest on the other side doesn’t want me here. Branches whip across my face. Roots rise to trip my feet. The ground itself seems to shift away from my steps.
But I can smell her now. Stronger. Closer. The pain in her scent is sharper.
I force the path wider with my shoulders, with my will. Blood pounds in my ears. My vision narrows to a single point ahead—where Nova’s scent leads.
The forest tries one last defense—a wall of twisted branches that spring up before me. I crash through them, ignoring the cuts they leave across my skin, the way they try to hold me back.
And then I’m through.
The clearing opens before me—wrong in ways I can’t name. Too perfect. Too aligned. The trees circle it like sentinels. At the center stands a stone altar, and beside it—
Nova.
Her body rigid. Her hand extended. Her face blank with a peace that doesn’t belong there.
And around her, shadows with intent.
The shadows twist and coil around her like liquid smoke. Measuring. Taking readings off her energy.
They want her. I can feel their hunger.
Nova stands too still, hand outstretched toward the stone altar like she’s offering something. Her eyes are open but empty—staring at nothing. Face blank. Breathing shallow.
Not happening.
I don’t think. I move.
Three strides and I’m across the clearing, driving through the barrier of shadows. They slice at my skin, cold as ice water. I ignore the pain, the resistance. My hand locks around Nova’s wrist, and I yank her backward, hard.
“Nova!”
Her body jerks like I’ve shocked her. The shadows screech—a sound that doesn’t exist in the air but vibrates through bone. The altar pulses.
The ground shakes. The trees bend inward.
Nova’s eyes snap into focus, but not with recognition. With fear. Her magic surges—violet fire that scorches my arms, my chest. She twists, trying to break free.
“Stop,” I growl, but the ritual field pulses.
“Let go,” she hisses, voice not her own.
I don’t. I hold tighter—one arm around her waist, the other gripping her wrist. The shadows rush us, slashing at my back. Each cut burns like acid, but I don’t loosen my grip.
“You don’t belong to this,” I say into her ear, my voice rough.
She fights harder, clawing at my arms. Magic sparks between us—hers, defensive; mine, possessive.
“You don’t get to break here,” I growl, shaking her once. “We survive. That’s the deal.”
The altar cracks—a sound like bones snapping. Nova screams, back arching as whatever link the field had formed tries to re-establish. Her eyes roll back, body seizing.
I take the hit. All of it—her magic, the field’s response, the shadows’ claws. Blood runs down my back, my arms. I don’t care.
“Look at me,” I order, forcing her chin up.
Her eyes focus for half a second—confused, distant. Then they clear.
“Dane?”
The shadows surge—one last attempt to claim her. I pull her to the ground, covering her body with mine as the field howls. My blood drips onto her face. Her chest rises and falls beneath me, ragged but present.
The shadows retreat. The pressure eases. Her eyes hold mine, finally seeing me.
“You’re not done,” I say, voice controlled despite the rage still burning through me.
Her eyes lock with mine, clear for a moment. Then something shifts in the air around us—a ripple that makes my skin crawl.
“Dane, it’s not over,” she says, voice hoarse.
I feel it before I see it. The pulse of wrong energy crawls across my back. The shadows aren’t retreating—they’re condensing.
The first construct forms ten feet to my right. Shadow folds into substance, stretching into limbs too long, too thin. No joints where joints should be. It pulls itself from the earth like it’s being birthed, skin pale as bone but not skin at all.
No scent. Nothing living should have no scent.
A second forms. A third. Stretching up from the forest floor with wet, hollow sounds.
“Move,” I say, pulling Nova to her feet.
I shove her behind me as the first construct lunges. No footsteps. No breath. Just wrong movement cutting through space.
I don’t think. I react. Drop low, pivot, catch it with my knife. The blade sinks in with resistance that doesn’t feel like flesh. The construct splits open—spills nothing.
Another rushes from the left. I barely dodge its arm as it stretches unnaturally long, fingers extending like claws.
“Cut the head,” Nova shouts, her voice strained.
I slash upward, catching the thing where its neck meets its skull. It collapses, folding in on itself like paper burning from the inside.
Nova’s magic erupts behind me—violent purple energy that whips across the clearing. It strikes a construct approaching from the trees. The thing screams—a sound with no throat behind it.
Two more emerge where it falls.
“There are too many,” she says, backing toward me.
I spin, take down another with a brutal slash. “Then make less.”
Her magic flares again—wilder this time. A bolt of energy sears past my shoulder, missing me by inches. It hits its target, but barely. The construct staggers, its misshapen head tilted at an impossible angle.
I lunge forward, driving my blade through its chest. It crumples.
More rise. Five. Seven. Surrounding us.
Nova stands at my back, her breathing ragged. I feel her magic building—unstable, crackling with power she can’t quite control.
“Left,” I growl.
She pivots. We move together—her magic striking one while I take down another. Not perfect. Not even close. But something clicks. For three seconds, four, we find a rhythm.
I duck. Her magic blazes over my head. I roll past her left side, and she shifts right without looking.
Blood runs down my arms. Sweat soaks my shirt. Nova’s energy flickers—strong, then weaker. The constructs keep coming, but slower now.
We move faster. More aligned. Her magic finding targets my blade can’t reach. My body blocking attacks that her shields miss.
Until suddenly—silence.
The clearing stills. The constructs are gone. Just us, standing in the aftermath.
Nova drops to her knees, magic still sparking at her fingertips. I fall beside her, one knee down, body tense. Ready if they return.
Blood drips from a gash on my forearm. Her face is pale, eyes dilated. Magic burns across her skin like fever.
“Tell me you’re still in there,” I say, watching her face for signs of whatever tried to take her.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes stay fixed on something I can’t see, pupils blown wide, violet irises just thin rings around black. Her magic still sparks across her skin in uneven pulses—not controlled, not focused. Dangerous.
“Nova,” I say again, sharper this time. “Look at me.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. Recognition flickers, then holds.
“I’m here,” she says, voice rough. “It’s me.”
I don’t relax. Not when the air still feels thick and watching. Not when shadows still shift at the edges of the clearing with purpose. The constructs might be gone, but whatever dragged her here is still present—waiting for us to lower our guard.
“We need to move,” I say, checking the gash on my arm. Deep, but not critical. It will heal quickly. “This place wants you back.”
She nods, tries to stand, but her legs buckle. I catch her before she hits the ground. Her skin burns hot against mine, magic leaking from her pores.
“First, containment,” I mutter, easing her down.
I pull my knife, slice my palm, and let blood drop to the earth. Old magic, rough but effective. I draw the circle around us quickly and dirty, smearing blood in sharp lines. Just enough to hold while I get her stable.
The ward fire catches with a hiss when I strike the match. Blue flames lick along the blood-marked perimeter, pushing the shadows back a few feet. Nothing spectacular—just a soldier’s tool.
Nova watches with unfocused eyes as the ward settles. Then something breaks inside her.
Her body convulses, a violent shudder that has nothing to do with cold. Her breathing fractures into harsh, uneven gasps. Not crying—something worse. Something that comes from somewhere deeper than tears.
I don’t hesitate. Don’t think. I pull her against my chest, one arm tight around her back, the other hand at the base of her skull. Bone-deep, loyal pressure to hold the pieces of her in place while she fractures.
She shakes against me, fingernails digging into my arms hard enough to draw blood. I don’t flinch. Don’t pull back. Just let her break without scattering.
“It wanted me,” she whispers against my collar, voice cracked and raw. “Not just to use me. To become me.”
My jaw tightens. My arm locks tighter around her.
“It doesn’t fucking get you,” I say, voice flat with certainty.
She trembles once more, then goes still. Her breathing evens, though her magic still pulses erratically beneath her skin.
The ward fire flickers, weakening. Time’s up.
I stand, lifting her with me. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Her head drops against my shoulder, body limp but conscious.
The forest presses closer. Shadows coil at the edge of the ward’s fading light, waiting.
We don’t have time to fight our way out.
I shift her weight, freeing one hand. My fingers slide inside her jacket, finding the hidden inner pocket she thinks no one knows about. The small silver disc is exactly where I expected.
Fae slip coin. Emergency extraction. One use.
Her eyes widen. “You knew.”
“I know what backup looks like.”
I flick the coin with my thumb. It hovers above my palm, vibrating, then spinning. Symbols etch across its surface in glowing lines.
The pull starts at my core—that sick lurch of between-space travel. Trees warp. Colors bleed. Sound dies.
My arm locks tighter around her.
“Hold on,” I growl against her temple.
The world dissolves.