Chapter 47
Dane
The sheets still hold Nova’s scent, warm and potent against my skin.
I run my hand along the empty space beside me, feeling the lingering heat where her body pressed against mine through the night.
She’s in the bathroom now. I hear water running, light footsteps, the quiet routine of someone who moves without wasting motion.
I pull on my pants, muscles aching pleasantly from last night—and this morning. My shirt lies crumpled on the floor, and I reach for it just as a knock sounds at the cabin’s front door. Three sharp taps. Ben’s knock.
“Yeah,” I call, voice still rough with sleep.
I hear the front door open, Ben’s boots on the wooden floor. I grab my shirt and head down the short hallway to meet him. He stands just inside the entrance, not venturing further into the cabin. His eyes take in my rumpled state, clocking Nova’s absence from the front room.
“Rafe and Ansel are packing up.” His voice is low, neutral. “Looks like they’re heading out. No announcement, no timeline shared. Just gathering their gear.”
I pause, shirt dangling from my hand. “Where?”
“Northern boundary. About ten minutes ago.”
I nod once. Ben doesn’t ask if he should stop them or gather the pack. He knows me well enough to read the decision in my silence.
The bathroom door opens, and Nova steps out, dressed in dark pants and one of my shirts, her hair damp at the edges. Her eyes shift between us, immediately reading the tension.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Rafe and Ansel,” I say. “They’re leaving.”
She doesn’t ask why or how I feel about it. She just nods, accepting the information without reacting. When I drop my shirt back on the floor, she doesn’t question that either.
I cross the room to her, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “I need to handle something.”
“I know,” she says simply.
Ben steps aside as I walk past him, barefoot on the cold wooden floors.
The morning air hits my bare chest when I step outside, and I let the shift take me.
Bone and muscle reshape as I move, the familiar pull and stretch of transformation rippling through my frame.
My spine elongates, shoulders broadening as my arms become forelegs.
Four legs replace two, paws finding purchase on the cold ground.
My wolf finds their scent easily, following the trail toward the northern edge where the trees thin out before the ridge.
The compound falls behind me as I run. Most wolves are still resting after the wake, processing grief and rebuilding bonds. Caleb and the Shadow Peak contingent left at first light, their gesture of respect and unity still resonating through the pack.
The run takes me past the compound’s edge, through dense forest, up the gradual slope toward the northern boundary. I catch their scent before I see them—Rafe’s territorial musk and Ansel’s strange, unplaceable signature.
I find them in a small clearing where the trees thin before the ridge.
I shift back, letting the angel magic weave clothes around me as my human form solidifies.
Rafe stands with his back partially turned, pack slung over one shoulder.
He isn’t sneaking away. His posture is too deliberate, too patient.
Ansel faces the woods, still and watchful, but his head turns slightly as I approach.
He clocks my presence without seeming to look at me at all.
They aren’t running. They’re waiting.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
Rafe turns fully to face me, his expression carefully controlled. “Thought it might be easier. The pack needs time to heal without outsiders complicating things.”
“Outsiders?” I raise an eyebrow. “You bled with us. Fought beside us. That makes you pack in my book.”
I hold his gaze steadily. We both know what he’s not saying: that their purpose here is complete, that the temporary alliance has served its function, and that they have their own battles waiting elsewhere.
“I could use a couple of good warriors,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Ash Hollow’s stronger with you here, but the choice is yours.”
Rafe studies me for a long moment, reading between the words.
I look back at Rafe. “Was planning to hold a strategy meeting this afternoon. Recalibration after everything that’s happened. Your input would be valuable.”
Rafe’s mouth quirks up slightly. “If we stay, are you going to show me that trick of magically getting dressed after you shift?”
The tension breaks. I actually laugh. “Yeah. I can do that.”
Rafe glances toward Ansel with an almost imperceptible nod, then turns back to me.
“Three days,” he says. “Then we reassess.”
It’s exactly what I’d expect from him—measured, calculated, giving nothing away that he doesn’t have to.
I accept it with a single nod. “Works for me.”
Ansel’s expression doesn’t change, but his stance shifts slightly, weight redistributing as he settles into the decision. His loyalty to Rafe is absolute—that much has been clear from the beginning. Silent and watchful, he communicates more through stillness than most wolves do with words.
We turn back toward the compound, moving through the trees with easy steps. I walk point, not because I’m trying to establish rank, but because this is my territory. The dried pine needles crunch under my boots as we navigate the uneven ground.
The silence between us isn’t heavy. It’s functional. The kind of quiet that forms between fighters who understand what matters isn’t what you say but what you do when shit hits the fan.
The treeline breaks, revealing the collection of cabins and structures that make up Ash Hollow.
Morning has fully taken hold now, the compound waking up to face whatever comes next.
Harper crosses the yard with a stack of firewood, nodding briefly in our direction.
Ben watches her from the porch of the main cabin, pretending not to.
Marcus’s absence hangs in the air, a void that will take time to fill.
Mateo jogs past, already dressed for training despite the bruises still visible on his arms from the Fade battle. He’s been pushing himself harder than anyone—maybe trying to prove something, maybe just trying to stay ahead of the nightmares.
Ansel stops, catches Mateo’s attention with a single word: “Boy.”
Mateo slows, turns. Ansel nods toward the training field. No explanation needed. The kid’s face brightens slightly—the first real expression I’ve seen from him since the wake. He changes direction without question, jogging toward the field where Ansel’s already heading.
The scent of coffee drifts from the common area, mixed with the sounds of low conversation. Life is continuing, despite everything. Wolves rebuilding, recalibrating, and finding their footing again.
Near the healer’s cabin, I spot Nova standing with Lyanna and Isla. Isla arrived yesterday with Caleb’s group, bringing her quiet strength and steady hands. Her presence has already eased some of the burden on Lyanna, who looks less exhausted this morning.
Nova’s eyes find mine across the distance.
Her expression doesn’t change, but I feel the connection snap into place between us, sure and solid.
She takes in Rafe and Ansel at my back without surprise or question.
She simply processes the information, adjusts whatever calculations she’s running in that razor-sharp mind, and continues her conversation.
The air shifts subtly, a stillness spreading through the trees beyond the eastern perimeter. I pause, senses sharpening. It’s not a scent, exactly. More like a pressure change, the way the air feels different right before a storm forms. But it’s not the weather.
The hair on my arms rises slightly. Something’s out there—not hostile, not yet, but definitely not normal. Magic, but unlike Faelan’s chaotic distortions or Lyanna’s grounded work. This is older. Cleaner.
Rafe notices it too. His head turns slightly toward the eastern boundary, nostrils flaring as he scents the air.
“You feel that?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.” His response is clipped, focused.
Ansel stills completely on his way to the field, like a predator catching movement in tall grass. His attention locks on something beyond what ordinary eyes can see.
The forest goes quiet, birds falling silent mid-song. Not in fear, but in recognition. Something’s coming. Not a threat, not exactly, but certainly not expected.
The air changes.
Not a scent—something deeper. The molecules themselves seem to reorient, like gravity shifted direction for half a second before correcting itself. My skin prickles with recognition of something my mind can’t fully grasp.
Rafe freezes beside me. Ansel’s hand moves to his belt, not drawing a weapon, but ready.
A figure emerges from the eastern tree line. Not rushing, not hiding. Just walking with the deliberate grace of someone who knows exactly where they belong in the world.
Silver-white hair flows past her shoulders, unbound and catching the morning light. When she turns her head to survey the compound, her eyes flash—violet with gold flecks burning through. She’s dressed simply: dark boots, fitted jacket, practical pants. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screams power.
But power radiates from her anyway.
Not wolf. Not fae. Something that makes my wolf want to attack and submit at the same time. Multiple threats layered under her skin. Power that feels wrong—not evil, just impossible.
“Shit,” Rafe mutters under his breath.
I don’t ask what he means. I’m too busy tracking the newcomer’s movements, cataloging details. The way she steps—light but firm. The angle of her shoulders—relaxed but ready. The steady rhythm of her breathing—controlled, measured.
Instinct ripples through the pack before conscious thought can catch up. I feel it through the pack bond: the collective awareness sharpening like a blade.
Callum emerges from the main cabin, hand dropping to his thigh, where I know he keeps a blade. Kari shifts her weight, ready to move but waiting for a signal.
Nova’s magic responds to the newcomer’s presence, a subtle change in the currents around her that makes the hair on my arms rise.
I step forward, not aggressively, but making my position clear.
The woman continues her unhurried approach.
Her gaze sweeps the compound, missing nothing.
When her eyes meet mine, I feel something pass between us—not recognition, not exactly.
But understanding. Like she’s reading my frequency, maybe even my thoughts.
I slam the pack bond down and send out a one-word warning: silent.
Nova moves from her position near the healer’s cabin, crossing the yard with quick, sure strides. She stops a few feet from me, her focus locked on the newcomer.
Something shifts between them. I watch Nova’s posture change as the woman approaches. Her magic responds. I can smell it, sharp and alert in the air between them.
The stranger stops at the edge of the central clearing. She doesn’t announce herself. Doesn’t posture or display power. She simply waits, giving us space to adjust to her presence.
“What is she?” I ask quietly, not taking my eyes off her. The woman is gorgeous, with pale, luminescent skin that seems to almost shimmer. She has an otherworldly quality about her.
Nova shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know exactly. But she’s balanced. Whatever she is ... it’s in harmony.”
The visitor’s lips curve in the slightest smile, as if she heard the exchange despite the distance between us.
Lyanna approaches slowly from the right, her expression a mix of caution and curiosity. “She carries old magic,” she says softly. “Older than the courts.”
I straighten my spine, squaring my shoulders without aggression. This isn’t about dominance. It’s about clarity.
“Who are you?” I call out, voice steady and direct.
“My name is Nyxiana,” she answers, her voice carrying easily across the distance. Not raised, not pushed, but perfectly pitched to reach exactly as far as needed. “I’ve come to speak with you.”
Nova shifts beside me, her body language subtly changing. Not defensive, but attentive in a new way.
“About?” I ask.
Nyxiana’s gaze sweeps the compound, taking in the half-healed wolves still moving with careful steps. The space where Marcus’s cabin stands empty.
“About what happens next,” she says simply.
I move forward, closing half the distance between us. Not as a challenge, but as an invitation. “You could have waited to be invited.”
“There wasn’t time,” she replies. Her eyes track past me to where Rafe and Ansel stand. Something passes across her features—too quick to read.
I glance back at Nova, searching for her reaction. Her magic is still humming, responsive but not alarmed. She gives me the slightest nod.
“Then let’s talk,” I say, gesturing toward the Lodge.