Chapter Twenty-One
Mateo
Graves Tell The Truth
The forest swallows sound whole.
Branches tear at my jacket as I tear through the undergrowth, tracking the echo of Noah’s laughter. The bond burns under my ribs—Harlow’s fear, sharp and metallic, bleeding into me like she’s running beside me.
She can feel me slipping toward something dangerous, and the bond is reacting as if it were instinct.
‘Don’t believe him.’
The voice hammers through my skull, soft and frantic all at once.
“Fuck,” I breathe, pushing faster.
Aziel and Rowan are somewhere behind me, but Noah moves like he is made from smoke. He always has. A creature built of grief and rage and shadows. He knows how to disappear into the dark.
But tonight, he won’t escape from me. I will end this cat-and-mouse game tonight. I’ll rip every truth from him piece by fucking piece.
The trees thin and gravestones break through the weeds—crooked and sinking into the dark earth. A forgotten cemetery behind the derelict church. Moonlight paints everything in silver and shadows, lending an eerie tone.
Noah stands in the middle of it. Still and waiting. His chest rises shallowly, blood streaking his jaw. He leans against a crumbling angel statue like a pilgrim visiting a grave.
“You left your friends behind,” he murmurs without turning.
I step into the open. “You ran, and I followed you.”
“No,” he says, finally turning toward me. His eyes glint with something between madness and memory. “You left the coven behind because you didn’t want them to hear what comes next.”
My jaw tightens. “I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“You need to,” he says softly. “Because you’re the only one who’ll believe it.”
I don’t answer, I don’t move, and he takes my silence as permission.
“You think Harlow is new to this?” Noah asks. “To ghosts. To nightmares. To being hunted?”
A low growl curls up my throat. “Stop talking.”
He doesn’t. “Her gift didn’t start with you. Didn’t start in that institution. It started when she was barely old enough to speak.”
My pulse roars in my ears.
“Children shouldn’t see the dead,” Noah whispers. “But she did. And your precious Council knew.”
Cold grips my spine.
“They tested her. Measured her. Pushed her. Her parents tried to protect her, but they couldn’t.” He looks away, jaw trembling. “No one could.”
I step closer. “Harlow never told me any of this.”
“She doesn’t remember.” His smile is hollow. “The Council wiped the memories. Left gaps so deep she can’t climb out.”
Ice digs into my veins. That’s why she flinches at certain smells, why she wakes shaking and can’t explain, why the coven house feels like a prison even though she doesn’t know why.
“You’re lying,” I breathe.
Noah’s expression doesn’t shift. “Then explain this.”
He steps aside, and I see it. A grave. Marked by a rusted plaque, the name eroded by time and the elements. But the age ... eighteen years old.
My stomach drops. “Who is buried here?”
Noah swallows hard. His voice cracks. “My sister.” The world tilts.
“She was in the same institution as Harlow,” he whispers. “Same wing. Same horrors. Same restraints. Same experiments.” His voice splinters as pain drowns him. “They took things from them. Tested their blood. Tested their fear.”
My breathing falters.
“Harlow doesn’t remember because they didn’t want her to. My sister...” He shudders. “She never made it out.”
The forest holds its breath.
“And you...” Noah says, looking at me with something like accusation and grief twisted together, “...you think you are innocent? That the covens are innocent? You think I snapped for no reason? You think my hatred is random?” He shakes his head.
“The coven who found her, who claimed her, killed her.”
He takes a shaking breath. “My sister was a consort.”
The ground beneath my feet feels shaky.
A consort. Claimed and broken. Dead because of a coven hungry for power. And everything clicks into place for me.
Noah’s hatred. His obsession. His fixation on Harlow. His belief is that she’s walking the same doomed path. Grief turned him into a weapon.
“Harlow doesn’t remember,” I repeat, voice hollow.
Noah nods. “She wasn’t meant to. The Council buried her past so deep she’ll never find it alone.”
My throat burns. “Why tell me this?”
“Because you’re the only one she’ll trust when the truth comes for her.” He steps closer. “And it’s coming, Mateo. Sooner than you think.”
The wind shifts. Ghostly figures flicker behind him—small, soft wisps rising from the graves, drawn to him like moths to flame. Noah’s shoulders collapse inward.
“They never left me,” he whispers. “The women I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. The ones who begged.” More figures join the first. Soft, feminine, and broken. “I thought I was setting them free and sparing them from a horrible fate, but now I know I was wrong.”
I don’t see them clearly. But I feel them. Overwhelming pressure in the air. A mixture of sorrow and rage coats the very air around us.
Noah gives a small, shattered laugh. “I used to think they wanted revenge.” His voice softens. “But they just wanted someone to follow.”
His eyes turn feral. “You understand now, don’t you?” he whispers. “Why she should never have bonded. Why you’re going to lose her.”
My fangs push down. “Last chance,” I growl. “Stop talking.”
He steps so close I feel his breath across my skin. “Kill me,” he whispers. “Before they tear me apart.”
There’s no rage left in him now. Only relief. He needs death. Welcomes it. Begs for it. The ghosts surge around us, brushing my skin with icy fingers. The air vibrates with a collective, tormented cry.
Noah closes his eyes. “For her sake,” he breathes. “End this.”
I move. Fast, clean, and merciful. His body slumps into me before falling to the ground. The ghosts wail, shaking the leaves from the trees, and then dissolve into the night.
Noah exhales one final breath. And with it, his final whisper. “You can’t protect her ... from what she is.”