Chapter 24 - Layla
The first thing Layla heard was the howling.
Not the wind, though that too screamed through the peaks, but wolves. Dozens of them. The sound echoed between the cliffs, raw and broken, the kind of noise that carried death in it.
Snow swirled thick around her as she crested the final ridge, Julian panting beneath her. The world dropped away below, a wide, jagged expanse of white and shadow, cut through with blood.
The fight was already happening.
Wolves and hybrids clashed across the mountainside in a frenzy of movement, fur and claws, fangs and steel.
She could see the Nordan warriors in their pale coats, their forms barely visible against the snow, and the Volkhov wolves, darker, heavier, cutting through the monsters in brutal, coordinated strikes.
But there were too many. For every hybrid that fell, three more surged forward, spilling out of an entrance into the mountain.
Layla froze. Her lungs burned, her legs growing weak.
This was her vision.
The storm, the wolves, the blood. She’d seen it all, only now it was real, close enough to taste the iron tang of it in the air. Her fingers went numb around the strap of her satchel.
Julian snarled, pacing backwards and forwards on the ridge.
“Go,” she yelled, pulling at his fur, “keep going!”
His answering snarl signaled his refusal.
“Fine,” she said, launching herself off his back, landing in the snow with a thud.
He started back, eyes wide, before they narrowed. In the space of a breath, he shifted, rising from snow, skin pale enough to disappear into the porcelain flurry.
“You can’t go down there,” he shouted over the storm, “you’ll be ripped to shreds!”
Layla glanced up the mountain. “If I don’t, they’ll all be buried.”
Julian growled, pacing backwards and forwards, his eyes tracking the battle below. “If they even last that long,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice. “They’re getting slaughtered.”
The words struck like a blow.
Layla looked back down the slope. She could see Arthur’s wolves pushing forward in a desperate flank, trying to hold the line near the mine entrance. The hybrids moved like a tide, grotesque shapes leaping from the rocks, their movements jerky, unnatural.
And then she saw it, a flash of dark in the chaos.
Dominic.
He was in the thick of it, cutting through monsters with savage precision. His movements were beautiful in a brutal, terrifying way, fluid, relentless, like the fight was an extension of his will. His coat was matted with blood, some his own, some not, and the snow steamed where it hit his skin.
Her heart lurched.
“Dominic,” she whispered.
She hesitated for a single heartbeat, fear clawing at her. She was no fighter. She couldn’t shift. She shouldn’t even be here. But the thought of standing still, of watching him die, was worse.
Layla tore free from Julian’s grip and ran.
The slope was steep, the snow slick, but she didn’t care. She half-slid, half-fell down the ridge, her boots slipping, her breath coming fast. Shouts rose from below, the snarl of wolves, the shrieks of dying things.
She stumbled, caught herself, and kept running.
Julian’s voice followed her, distant now, “Layla!” The sound turned into a roar as he shifted back, paws thundering after her.
But she wasn’t listening.
The cold burned her lungs, her eyes, her skin.
Every breath tasted of smoke and blood. The closer she got, the clearer the battle became, she could see faces now, could hear the guttural sounds of pain and rage.
A Nordan wolf went down in front of her, his throat torn open, his body half-buried in the snow, before he stopped moving.
Layla gagged, stumbling past him. Her stomach twisted violently, but she didn’t stop.
“Dominic!” she screamed, though her voice was lost in the storm.
Another hybrid lunged at her from the side, its claws flashing. Before she could even raise her arms, a dark blur collided with it, a wolf, black-furred and massive, tackling the creature to the ground. They rolled, teeth and claws and blood, until the hybrid went still.
The wolf turned his head, silver eyes catching hers for a heartbeat. Recognition flared, then he was gone again, disappearing back into the fray.
She ran faster.
The snow thickened, swirling in wild, chaotic gusts. Every shadow moved; every sound became a warning. Her heart pounded in her throat. She tripped, hit the ground hard, scrambled back up. The world had narrowed to one thing, one person, one wolf, somewhere ahead.
When she reached the edge of the main clearing, she stopped, breath ragged. The cave mouth loomed, jagged and black, and in front of it, surrounded by bodies, his chest heaving, his teeth dripping red, was Dominic.
He looked up as if he’d heard her through the noise and the blood and the chaos. Their eyes met across the snow.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Layla’s heart twisted, her fear burning away into something fierce and wild. The world around her blurred; only his eyes remained, sharp against the storm.
And she knew.
If she didn’t do something, they were all going to die.
“Dominic!”
The sound of her voice cut through the chaos like a flare, lost to the wind. He hadn’t seen her.
Wolves tore through the snow, black and white and silver shapes slashing at the monsters that poured from the mountain’s mouth. The hybrids were endless, twisted things of fur and sinew, their eyes sickly yellow in the storm light. They shrieked as they lunged, half-human, half-beast.
Layla stumbled through it all, her boots sinking into the churned snow, her hair wild with frost. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Every step felt heavier than the last, every breath raw against her lungs. She could taste iron, could smell the metallic tang of blood and ozone.
The storm had thickened, swallowing sound and shape alike. The world was reduced to flashes.
She pressed her back against a fallen rock, gasping, and dared to look up.
Dominic was still standing.
He was a shadow in motion, cutting through the hybrids like a blade of living darkness. He fought like something born for this place, all speed and brutality, no hesitation, no mercy.
But even he was slowing.
The hybrids were too many. They crawled and leapt and tore from every crevice in the stone. For every one Dominic felled, another three poured from the mine behind them. Their numbers swelled until the white of the snow was blotted with black and red.
And still they came.
Layla’s stomach turned cold. There are too many.
Arthur’s wolves were retreating in waves now, flanking and falling back, regrouping only to be driven apart again. The Nanuq were losing their line, their white coats slick with red, their howls filled with pain and defiance.
A flash of movement made her spin. A hybrid lunged from the side, claws sweeping. She barely ducked in time, the blow catching her shoulder and spinning her to the ground. Snow filled her mouth. She gagged, coughed, rolled.
A blur of black thundered past her, Dominic.
He hit the creature like a storm breaking against the rocks, sending it sprawling. His jaws found its neck, snapping bone with a sickening crunch. The hybrid went limp. Dominic lifted his head, muzzle streaked with red, and his gaze found her.
Their eyes locked.
In that heartbeat, everything else fell away.
His chest heaved, the steam of his breath rising between them, his gaze full of fury, of fear. The bond between them sang, a hot, electric current that seared down her spine.
“I can help,” she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.
She didn’t need to speak it. The words echoed somewhere deep inside the link between them, faint but true.
Dominic’s snarl was immediate, warning, command, plea. His massive form turned, forcing her behind him, his hackles rising as another wave of hybrids came hurtling from the tunnel mouth.
Layla’s hands shook. She could barely feel her fingers. But the sight of the dark cavern, the jagged mouth of the mine, the storm above, all connected in her mind like lightning.
The vision. The white light. The collapse.
Her pulse quickened. She knew what this was. She knew what she had to do.
“Please,” she murmured, voice cracking, “just trust me.”
Dominic lunged forward, meeting the next creature head-on, but she was already moving.
She dropped to her knees in the snow, her satchel spilling open beside her.
Pages whipped in the wind, old parchment, inked runes, fragments of notes scrawled in the cramped handwriting of a desperate woman.
She clawed through them until her fingers found the tablet, the one scarred with salt burns and soot.
The spell she’d used before. The one that had gone so horribly wrong and trashed her shelves.
Expel the power. Let it flow outward. Let it break what it will.
Her breath came fast and shallow. Her vision blurred. This was dangerous. So dangerous.
She didn’t care. There wasn’t time.
Layla pressed her palms into the snow. The cold bit deep, numbing her fingers.
She closed her eyes and began to whisper.
The words felt heavy, as though they were being dragged through her veins.
Magic stirred beneath her skin, coiling, restless.
The air around her thickened, humming with static.
The runes on the tablet began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter, a pale gold that mirrored the shimmer under her skin.
Her power answered. It wanted out.
Her teeth clenched. Her heart raced. She forced herself to think of the mountain, of the way it had loomed over her in her dreams, of the way the light had flared along its spine before it broke apart. She pictured it crumbling, collapsing, sealing the hybrids inside forever.
Energy surged up her arms like fire. Her body trembled violently, her vision swimming white. She screamed, half from effort, half from fear.
The ground beneath her feet cracked. The snow around her rippled like water.
It was working.
Dominic had turned, eyes wild, as the magic burst out of her. The air shimmered around her form, golden and bright against the storm, her hair whipping about her face. He took one step toward her, then another, slower, cautious, unsure whether to stop her or shield her.
Layla pushed harder.
The magic roared through her, tearing down every barrier she’d built, flooding into the earth. She could feel it leaving her, pouring through her veins, ripping out through her hands and into the mountain. Her bones vibrated with it. Her lungs seized. Her vision dimmed.
“Come on,” she gasped, “come on—”
A deep rumble answered her.
The ridge above the mine shuddered. Fragments of snow and ice tumbled down, small at first, then larger, the sound building like thunder in her chest. The hybrids faltered, their heads snapping upward. The wolves backed away, eyes wide.
Layla forced the last of her strength into the spell, one final push, but the pain hit like a blade. Her magic rebelled, the energy snapping back inside her with brutal force.
The light vanished.
The connection broke.
Layla’s hands fell to her sides, her body crumpling forward into the snow. The edges of her vision darkened.
“No,” she whispered, “not yet—”
Through the fog of her failing sight, she saw Dominic turn toward her, his movements jerky, panicked. He tore himself free of the last hybrid, blood streaking his fur, and bounded across the clearing.
She wanted to tell him to stop, to stay away, to finish it, but no sound came.
Her body wouldn’t move. Her power was gone, burned out. She was empty, hollowed.
Dominic skidded to a stop beside her. His chest heaved, his fur matted with blood and snow. He nudged her shoulder once, twice, desperate. His breath was hot against her cheek.
“Dominic,” she tried to say, but her voice was gone.
He looked up, ears pinned back, silver eyes bright with something raw. Fury, terror. Love. He turned in a tight circle, pacing, the snow churning under his paws. The other wolves were falling back, the hybrids regrouping, the rumbling above them deepening into a roar.
Something broke inside him.
Layla saw it happen, saw the way his body stiffened, the way his chest expanded like he’d swallowed the storm itself. The ache that had haunted him for days seemed to reach its breaking point.
He lifted his head.
And howled.
It wasn’t a sound. It was a force.
The note that tore from his throat split the air, split the earth, split everything. It wasn’t just wolf; it was far, far more. The sound of command, of fury, of grief, of the storm itself.
The very mountain seemed to answer him.
Snow exploded from the peaks above, a vast, roaring wave. The hybrids screamed, their voices drowned beneath the thunder. The ground heaved, stone cracking apart as the cave mouth began to collapse.
Layla stared upward, awe and terror mingling as white swallowed the sky.
The wolves broke away, scattering for cover.
Dominic turned back to her.
The world was ending, and yet he was calm, impossibly calm. He bent his head low, teeth catching her cloak, lifting her with impossible care.
“No,” she tried to say, “leave me—”
He didn’t listen.
With a powerful leap, he was moving, muscles coiling and releasing beneath her weight, snow flying as he ran. The avalanche thundered down behind them, the roar deafening, the air a blinding white maelstrom.
Layla clung to consciousness, her fingers curling weakly in his fur. Her vision swam, snow, wind, dark fur, ice-blue eyes glinting silver.
“Dominic,” she breathed.
He didn’t look back.
The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was the fading echo of his howl, rolling through the mountains like the voice of a god.