Chapter 39
Dane
Nova’s palm turns upward without her control. The circuit brightens. Her scar pulses with silver light. Not just responding to the energy but synchronizing with it.
I step closer, keeping my movements steady.
“Nova.” My voice is low. Steady. “Look at me.”
Her eyes flicker toward me, then back to Faelan. The mark throbs visibly now, a silver heartbeat pulsing up her arm.
“My father,” she says, her voice strained but controlled. “You said you placed him. What does that mean?”
Faelan’s smile is serene, patient. “A vessel. A delivery mechanism. He served his purpose before you were even born.” He tilts his head. “Did you think he loved your mother? He was following instructions he didn’t know he had.”
Nova’s face goes pale, but her voice stays steady. “And my mother?”
“Tried to hide you. Buried your light under human skin.” His eyes gleam. “But blood always finds its purpose, Nyvariel. Always.”
Nova’s fingers twitch. The circuit surrounding us pulses faster. The suspended bodies shudder in unison: the hikers, the wolves, all of them caught in the pattern Faelan built.
Something shifts in the air behind us. A pressure drop. A distortion.
I feel it before I hear it. The breach widening.
The tear splits open, and Rafe steps through first. No sound, no hesitation. He slides into the Fade like he was born in it, movements precise and contained. His eyes scan the tableau, taking in the suspended bodies, the circuit, and Faelan’s position in three quick glances.
Kari comes through next—and the Fade breaks her.
She staggers, blood already streaming from her nose, spattering the front of her torn jacket.
A gash across her cheekbone weeps red, evidence of the fight to reach the breach.
Her knife stays raised through sheer will, but her arm trembles.
She doubles over, retching, then forces herself upright.
Her eyes find the circuit, not Faelan. Even half-destroyed, she reads the threat differently than the rest of us.
Callum and Lyanna emerge together. The Fade recoils from Callum the same way it fights Dane—his angel blood creating ripples of distortion in the air around him.
Lyanna moves easier, her fae heritage giving her footing here, but her face is tight with pain.
This place is twisted, corrupted. Even for her kind, it’s wrong.
Callum drops to one knee, a sound tearing from his throat that’s more animal than human. Blood pours from his nose, his ears. His hands claw at the ground as reality tries to unmake him. But his eyes—his eyes find Lyanna first. Always her first.
Lyanna stumbles but doesn’t fall. She catches herself on Callum’s shoulder, her own blood dripping down her chin, her other hand pressed to a wound at her ribs that’s soaked through her shirt. They fought to get here. Fought hard.
Callum forces himself upright, one hand gripping Lyanna’s arm as they steady each other. She’s shaking, pale, but her fingers find his and squeeze once before she lets go. Her hands drift to her sides, tracing patterns I can’t follow. Healing herself or preparing to heal others—I can’t tell.
They don’t speak. They don’t need to. They flank the right side of the breach in perfect sync, a unit forged from something deeper than training.
Ben breaks through last before Harper, and the Fade nearly takes him.
He collapses forward, catching himself on his hands, blood streaming from his nose and ears in a way I remember too well.
His whole body convulses, fighting the realm’s wrongness.
A bruise blackens his jaw—someone’s fist. Claw marks rake down his forearm, barely clotted.
He’s been through hell before he ever stepped through that breach.
But he gets up.
He drags himself to his feet, expression cold and calculating, and breaks wide to the left. His eyes track every exit point, every angle of approach. He doesn’t look at anyone directly—
—until Harper steps through behind him.
She hits the Fade and crumples.
A cry escapes her lips as she falls, blood already at her nose, her ears, her eyes. The realm rejects her with brutal efficiency. She curls in on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach, shaking violently.
Ben moves before thought. Before calculation. Before the cold mask can stop him.
He’s at her side in two strides, hands hovering over her like he’s afraid to touch, afraid not to. “Harper.” Her name comes out wrecked. “Harper, look at me.”
She reaches for him blindly, fingers closing on his wrist. He flinches—Loss is carved into every line of his body—but he doesn’t pull away. His hand covers hers. Holds.
“I’ve got you,” he says, so quiet I barely hear it. “I’ve got you.”
He helps her stand, one arm around her waist, taking her weight. She leans into him—just for a moment—before she finds her footing. Steps back. Wipes the blood from her face with the back of her hand.
Ben lets her go. Steps back. The mask slides into place—that cold distance he wears like armor. He moves to his tactical position without looking at her again.
But I saw it. That split second when instinct overrode everything he’s been hiding behind.
They’re all bleeding. All broken. Covered in wounds from fighting through whatever stood between them and this breach. Kari’s left eye is swelling shut. Callum favors his right leg. Lyanna’s hands shake as she traces her patterns. Ben’s breathing comes ragged through what might be cracked ribs.
But they’re here.
This fractured, splintered pack. These wolves who’ve been at each other’s throats for weeks. Who questioned loyalties and nursed grievances and let manipulation drive wedges between them.
They’re here. Standing. Together.
Pride hits me like a fist to the sternum. These broken, bleeding wolves chose to follow us into hell.
Harper anchors the rear now, steadier than she should be after what the Fade just did to her. Her focus isn’t scattered. She’s watching the space between us all, not the threats around us. Reading the fractures. Seeing what might still break.
The Fade reacts instantly to their presence. The air vibrates. Colors shift and blur.
Callum snarls, body tensing as he turns toward Rafe. “You led us into a trap.”
Rafe hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. He’s the only one not bleeding—and the Fade twists that into suspicion. Makes his composure look like foreknowledge. Like betrayal.
Kari freezes mid-step, knife still raised. Her eyes dart between Rafe and the circuit, uncertainty flashing across her face; an expression I’ve never seen on her.
The pack bonds twist.
Faelan doesn’t move. Doesn’t attack. The realm itself is his weapon.
Something stirs in my blood—the part of me that isn’t wolf. The part that remembers older wars. It burns not with heat but with recognition.
Ninety percent of the wolves who stepped through that breach carry angel blood.
I step forward. The Fade pulses against my skin, then—almost imperceptibly—pulls back. Just enough to breathe.
“Stand your ground,” I say, not raising my voice. “The magic is targeting pack bonds. Trust what you see, not what you feel.”
Nova’s eyes meet mine. The scar still pulses, but her hand closes into a fist.
Faelan watches us all with the detached interest of a researcher observing results. His attention flicks between Nova and the others, noting reactions and cataloging responses.
And that’s when I understand.
This chamber, this circuit, these suspended bodies—they were never the weapon. They’re measurements. Calibrations. This isn’t a battlefield.
It’s a test.
Faelan doesn’t need to win. He needs to see how we fail.
The pack bond warps between us. Callum’s stance shifts, head turning toward Ben like he doesn’t recognize him. Ben tracks the movement, muscles coiling tight. His gaze too focused, too predatory.
“Ben.” My voice doesn’t carry. The air absorbs it.
Harper moves toward Ben, but her steps falter. Uncertainty flashes across her face as she stops between the two men. She looks lost.
Kari’s knife lowers. Her body angles toward Rafe. Not attacking. Something worse. She takes a half-step in his direction, her expression caught between confusion and recognition.
Rafe doesn’t move. His jaw tightens. His eyes never leave the circuit, but his posture responds to Kari’s proximity.
The suspended bodies pulse in unison. The circuit hums. Faelan stands motionless, hands clasped behind his back.
“Stand down,” I order. The words ripple across the space but don’t land correctly. The pack responds in fragments. Lyanna’s hands still for a moment. Ben’s focus breaks, then reforms on Harper instead of Callum.
But it’s not enough.
The pressure deepens. Not crushing, but seeping into spaces between thoughts. Between loyalties. The bond lines connecting us blur at the edges.
Cold rises through my blood. Something that remembers what magic looked like before wolves named it. The sensation spreads up my spine, across my shoulders, into my core.
My angel blood. The part I’ve never embraced. I didn’t even know I had it until my brother, Rowan, tapped into his.
I don’t fight it this time. I let it flow. Let it clear pathways through the distortion.
“Focus on what you came here to do,” I say, pushing authority through the words.
The field adjusts. Subtle but real. Callum blinks, head clearing. Ben shifts his weight back, eyes finally tracking the actual threats. Kari’s knife raises again, pointed where it should be.
Faelan’s response is immediate.
Shapes rip from the twisted air—shadow-wolves with too many teeth, humanoid figures moving wrong with joints bending backward. They pour from the edges of the chamber like antibodies attacking infection.
“Defensive formation!” I roar.
The pack responds instantly. Callum and Lyanna anchor the left flank, her fae magic flaring as his claws extend. Ben and Rafe take the right, moving in perfect counterpoint despite never training together. Kari positions herself at the center, blades dancing as the first construct reaches her.