Chapter 23
Nova
Wolves don’t shop. We acquire. We track. We secure.
But here I am, standing in front of a quaint little bookstore called The Imaginarium, pretending I belong among these shelves of fiction. The bell above the door chimes as we enter, announcing our presence to the empty front counter.
I flex my fingers, pushing down the sensation. After the Fade, my sensitivity has been dialed up to eleven. Every magical signature feels personal now, like a fingerprint I can’t help but recognize.
“This place is adorable,” Harper whispers, immediately gravitating toward a display of new releases. Her eyes light up at the sight of books, momentarily forgetting why we’re here.
Lyanna moves more carefully, her steps deliberate as she follows the perimeter of the room. I catch her subtle frown—she feels it too.
Kari stations herself near the door, arms crossed, looking every bit as suspicious as she did when we left the compound. “Too perfect,” she mutters, just loud enough for wolf ears.
Outside, I know Dane and the others are circling the block, checking sight lines and establishing a perimeter. We agreed to split up—less intimidating that way. Humans get nervous when too many large men with predator eyes walk into a small space.
“Hello! Welcome to The Imaginarium.” An older man emerges from behind the counter, adjusting reading glasses that hang from a cord around his neck. Gray hair, kind eyes, and a weathered face that speaks of years spent among books. His name tag reads “Gareth.”
He smells of old paper, herbal tea, and something else—something that makes my magic tingle underneath my skin. Half-fae. I can sense it now, the subtle current of magic beneath his human appearance.
“Just browsing,” I say, offering a polite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Take your time.” Gareth gestures to the space with practiced warmth. “We just put out fresh tea if anyone would like some. Earl Grey with lavender.”
Harper’s eyes light up as she approaches the counter. “I remember this place,” she says warmly. “We used to drive over from Wildwater Falls for the folklore nights when I was younger.”
I tune them out, focusing instead on the energy patterns in the room. There’s something ... not wrong, exactly. Just different. Like a picture hanging slightly crooked.
I scan the shelves methodically, letting my fingertips brush along the spines. Nothing triggers until I reach a display table labeled “Staff Favorites.”
Harper’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar spine on the table. “Oh my God! You carry Skylar Cassidy books? I love her work.”
“One of our best-sellers,” Gareth says, moving to arrange the display. “That new series about the wolf shifters in Colorado? Can’t keep them in stock.” He picks up a book with a knowing smile. “But this series about dragons is particularly popular.”
My eyes lock onto the book at the center of the display: Dragon’s Forbidden Wolf by Skylar Cassidy. The cover features a shirtless man with scales climbing his shoulders and a gorgeous gray wolf behind him.
Something pulls me toward it.
The moment my fingers touch the cover, a jolt runs up my arm. The magic signature flares for just a second, like a match struck in a dark room.
The shop tilts. The air thickens. For a heartbeat, I see double—the bookstore as it is, and something underneath. Something older.
“You alright there?” Gareth’s voice is gentle but alert.
I blink, and reality snaps back into focus. He’s watching me with careful eyes, his expression shifting from casual shopkeeper to something more knowing.
“Fine,” I say, too quickly. “Just ... lightheaded.”
Gareth’s gaze lingers on me a moment too long before he smiles pleasantly. “First time in The Imaginarium?”
I feel Lyanna move closer to me. Kari shifts her weight, ready to move if needed.
I place the book back on the table, my hand steadier than I feel.
Harper steps forward, picking up the same book.
“Excellent choice,” Gareth says, moving behind the counter to ring up her purchase.
“Skylar Cassidy has quite the talent for blending worlds that shouldn’t exist together.
” His attention keeps drifting back to me.
“The book found you, didn’t it?” he asks quietly.
“What?” I ask.
“Some books call to specific readers,” he says, handing Harper her change. “Particularly when the reader has ... certain sensitivities.”
Harper takes the bag, but Gareth’s eyes never leave mine.
“Just a story,” I say flatly.
“Of course,” Gareth nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Though in my experience, the best stories contain more truth than fiction.” He looks between us. “Ash Hollow has quite the reputation these days. I imagine you’ll find plenty of stories there worth telling.”
The moment we step outside, the air feels wrong. Too dense. Too still. Like something’s holding its breath.
“You felt it too,” Lyanna says.
I scan the empty street. No pedestrians. No traffic. Just vacant storefronts with their lights still on despite the midday sun. The shadows stretch longer than they should—wrong angles, wrong directions.
“It’s not the store,” I say, keeping my voice low. My skin prickles with awareness. “It’s everywhere.”
Kari circles back from her perimeter check, moving with practiced efficiency. “Street’s clear. Too clear.”
Harper clutches her new book to her chest, eyes darting between us. “What exactly are we looking for?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I drop into a crouch and press my palm against the pavement. The sensation hits me immediately—a vibration that doesn’t belong. A rhythm that shouldn’t exist.
“Nova?” Ben’s voice comes from behind me. He and Dane approach from the east end of the street. Callum’s silhouette remains at the corner, keeping watch.
“There’s something underneath,” I say, tracing invisible patterns on the asphalt. “Lyanna, confirm?”
She kneels beside me, placing both hands flat on the ground. Her eyes close, breath slowing as she extends her senses.
“Tether line,” she says finally, voice tight. “Running directly beneath the street. It’s ... substantial.”
“How substantial?” Dane asks, stepping closer.
Lyanna opens her eyes. “Ancient. Modified. And recently reinforced.”
I stand slowly, brushing dust from my hands. “This isn’t just a spike or an echo. This is the convergence point.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I can hear the edge in it. “The one Faelan’s been working toward.”
Ben’s eyes narrow. “You mean—“
“Yes,” I cut him off. “And it’s not temporary. This is permanent construction.”
Kari swears under her breath. “How did he build something like this without anyone noticing?”
“He didn’t build it,” I say, connecting fragments of information in my mind. “He repurposed something that was already here. Something old.”
Dane steps into the center of our circle, and the air changes. His presence shifts the dynamic instantly—from investigation to command. His jaw is set, eyes hard as granite.
“We’re done here,” he says, voice pitched low enough that only we can hear. “Everyone back to the vehicles. Now.”
“But we haven’t even—“ Harper begins.
“Now,” Dane repeats. Not a shout. Not even particularly loud. But absolutely final.
No one argues. Not even me.
As we move, I feel it again—that wrongness in the air. Like eyes tracking our retreat. The shadows on the buildings seem to lean toward us, stretching impossibly.
Dane falls in step beside me, his shoulder nearly brushing mine. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the weight of his focus anyway.
“You understand what this means,” I say quietly.
“I understand that we’re pulling back to regroup,” he replies. His tone leaves no room for debate.
The others file into the SUVs. Dane pauses before getting into the driver’s seat, his gaze sweeping the too-quiet street one last time.
“Next time we come back,” he says, “we finish it.”
I grip the door handle as the SUV lurches onto the main road leading out of Silverwood. The stillness of the town recedes in the rearview mirror, but the wrongness clings to my skin like cobwebs.
“We should have stayed,” I say, breaking the tense silence. “That convergence matches what I’ve been tracking since before I came to Ash Hollow.”
Dane’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “It was a recognition mission. We recognized. Mission complete.”
“Bullshit.” I turn in my seat to face him. “We barely scratched the surface. That tether line is feeding on something—or someone—in that town. We can’t just drive away.”
“We’re not equipped for extraction,” Dane says, eyes never leaving the road. “Not with what we felt back there.”
From the backseat, Lyanna leans forward. “Nova’s right. The resonance patterns were unusual. Almost ... responsive. I could have mapped its structure if we’d stayed longer.”
“And risk getting trapped?” Callum’s voice is gruff. “That convergence was designed as a net. If we’d pushed any harder, we’d be swimming in it right now.”
I tap my fingers against the dashboard, frustration building in my chest. “Every minute we waste gives Faelan more time to strengthen his hold. That bookstore sits right on top of it.”
“I know.” Dane’s voice is low, controlled. “The bookstore, the street grid, probably half the town. It’s not just a magical spike—it’s infrastructure.”
“It’s a trap,” Callum adds.
“It’s alive,” I counter, leaning closer to Dane. “You didn’t feel it respond when I touched that book, but I did. It recognized me. Like it was waiting.”
Dane spares me a brief glance, his expression unreadable. “That’s exactly why we pulled out. If it’s tracking you specifically—“
“Then I’m the perfect bait,” I finish for him.
“No.” His response is immediate and final. “You’re not bait. You’re the key. And I’m not risking the key before we understand the lock.” He looks at me. “I’m not letting that happen again.”
The air in the SUV feels charged, like the moments before lightning strikes. I look over my shoulder at Lyanna, whose eyes are fixed on the passing trees.
“It was more than fae magic,” she says softly. “There was something older underneath. Something that predates Faelan.”
“Which means he’s hijacking existing power,” Callum concludes. “Smart. Efficient.”
“And incredibly dangerous,” I add.
Dane slows the SUV as we approach the town limits. “We go back with numbers. With a plan. With protection that can handle whatever the hell that energy was.”
I turn to look out the window as we pass the final buildings of Silverwood. The lights of The Imaginarium flicker strangely—not dimming, but shifting, as though something is moving behind the glass. In the backseat, Lyanna and Callum are deep in quiet conversation. They don’t see it.
But Dane’s hands tighten on the wheel.
“You feel it too,” he says quietly.
I nod. “It’s watching us leave.”
“Good.” His jaw clenches. “Let it watch. Let it think we’re retreating.”
The town falls away behind us, but the sensation of being observed lingers. I roll my window down, letting the cold air cut through the heaviness inside the vehicle.
Dane’s eyes meet mine briefly. Neither of us says what we’re both thinking: this isn’t over. Not even close.