Chapter 17
ROWAN
Istorm into NightShade like a pink polka-dotted hurricane, the muumuu swishing around my ankles with all the grace of a cursed shower curtain. My dignity trails somewhere behind me, probably bleeding out on the front steps.
Archie clings to my shoulder, snickering in my ear like the evil spawn he is. “I stand by what I said—you look fabulous. Terrifying, but fabulous.”
“Keep it up,” I murmur, clutching fistfuls of fabric so I don’t trip over the monstrosity. “I’ll make a ferret scarf out of you. Maybe I’ll even make you vintage first, to match the ‘deranged couch cover’ vibe.”
From the corner of my eye, Liz is trying, and failing, not to laugh. Iris, of course, floats in behind us, humming some unholy tune, like parading your granddaughter through the woods in a muumuu is a normal evening for her.
“Be grateful, Rowan,” she chirps. “That dress has seen more action than you’ll ever know. Strong fabric. Stretchy seams. A vampire once proposed to me in it, offering me a blissful eternity, if you know what I mean. Though in hindsight it might’ve been the spelled wine talking.”
I groan, dragging the hem across the hall floor like I’m the ghost of poor fashion choices. “I should’ve taken Cade’s shirt. Hell, ants in the butt crack would’ve been better than this.”
Liz covers her mouth to hide another snort, but her eyes are glowing with amusement. “Head on up to your room. I’ll be there shortly. We need to talk.”
And just like that, all the huffing and puffing about my lack of clothes seems like second fiddle.
Reality is a cruel bitch sometimes.
Still, I keep my chin high, stomping toward my room like a warrior queen dressed for the wrong battlefield. But the humor doesn’t soothe the heat in my chest. Beneath the humiliation and beyond the fear of what’s to come, there’s something else simmering—an ache I don’t want to name.
Every step I take, there’s a hum that grows inside me, urging me back toward the forest and reminding me of Cade’s eyes when he looked at me as a wolf.
Reverence and desire. Like I was something he’d cherish for lifetimes.
That’s the bond, my wolf tells me. You should get used to it, because that connection isn’t going anywhere.
I don’t even consider disagreeing with her. Not now when my hormones still feel like they’re trying to run the show. Shifting definitely helped level me out, but the brain fog from the bond is something else entirely, and I need to find a way to work around it.
You accept him as your mate, and the world will feel crystal clear.
She just has all the answers.
It’s not that simple, I reply as I enter my room, putting Archie on the bed as I head to get changed. People don’t just meet and decide to get bonded for life in the same week.
And you’re not people, Rowan.
Her answer is a reminder strong enough that I find myself leaning against the closet door and closing my eyes as the memory of running through the trees consumes me.
My wolf had been weightless, paws eating up the earth as if I’d been made for nothing else.
Power sang in my veins with every stride, a current of energy so natural it was like slipping into skin I should’ve been born knowing.
The moon stretched silver light across my fur, and Cade’s presence was a steady drumbeat beside me.
Together, we weren’t just running. We were untouchable.
The bond between us had snapped taut and alive, pulling at every corner of me.
It had been stronger there, in that form, under the stars and in the rhythm of our shared strides.
Like my wolf knew him in ways my human heart still refuses to accept.
Now, standing barefoot on the wood floor of my room, I do my best not to let myself be distracted as I pull on soft cotton leggings and a loose, burnt-orange sweater. An easy task now that the power is quieter and I'm on two feet.
The muumuu gets thrown on a chair, Iris can have that back, and I sit at the edge of my bed, brushing my hair back from my face. Archie joins me, but we’re both silent for a beat.
The exhilaration is gone, but something tells me that tonight is something I’ll be dreaming about for many nights to come. This has been a lot to process, yet at the same time, it feels like not enough.
I’ve tasted what it’s like to be exactly who I was born to be, and I don’t know how long I can go without feeling it again, but even admitting that, I know there are other obstacles we need to sort out first.
As if reading my thoughts while waiting for their moment, a knock rattles the door. Liz’s voice filters through first, calm and composed, followed by Iris’s, loud and unbothered.
The cavalry has arrived.
“She already told you that she’s not going to wear that.” Liz sighs, rubbing at her temples like she regrets existing in the same century as Iris Prescott.
Iris bursts through the door behind her like she’s been waiting for her cue.
“Yeah, well, you also thought she’d rather be naked than wear the muumuu.
Guess who was right?” She holds up a black fanny pack with the NightShade logo stitched across the front in sparkly thread, shaking it like it’s a prize on a game show.
“Behold—the NightShade Survival Satchel. You’re going to love this. ”
The bag is tossed at me, and I catch it out of sheer self-preservation. “Absolutely not.”
“But it has everything you need in it.” Iris plops onto the bed beside me with enough force to send Archie scampering away and nearly sends me tumbling to the floor. She’s already unzipping compartments before I can protest. “Look at Exhibit A!”
She pulls out a keychain-sized canister and flicks it toward my face. “Mace. Magically enhanced to work on wolves, vampires, and arrogant men. Do not confuse this with your dry shampoo unless you want to experience what hell’s cologne smells and burns like.”
“Comforting,” I drone, barely touching the canister in case it might explode.
Next, she yanks out a flashlight and beams it directly into my eyes. My retinas practically combust. “Waterproof, shockproof, bedazzle-proof. Works in crypts, caves, and the questionable basements of in-laws. Also doubles as a fist pack if you swing hard enough.”
“Lovely.” I blink, trying to clear the sunspots dancing in my vision.
She sets that aside and produces a mini first aid kit, placing it on my lap like it’s sacred. “Bandages, antiseptic wipes, gauze long enough to hog-tie a demon. Don’t waste it on splinters, though. That’s what the duct tape is for.”
Which, of course, comes next, slapped onto the bed with a flourish like it’s her trump card.
And then—because it’s Iris—she digs out a handful of tiny white squares and drops them into my lap. “These can ward off demons or season your fries. Versatility is key.”
I gape at her, tilting my head. “Are those…fast food salt packets?”
“Never underestimate processed foods, darling,” she sniffs. “They can poison supernaturals just as well as the humans.”
Before I can recover, she whips out a bright red whistle shaped like a cardinal bird and blows it with enough force to rupture an eardrum.
The sound is less of a “helpful call for aid” and more “air-raid siren.” My ears are still ringing when she grins.
“This will summon help in times of peril. Or birds. Possibly both. Either way, you won’t be alone. ”
I drag a hand over my face. “I cannot believe this is my life.”
“Oh, we’re not done.” Iris dives into the smallest pocket and pulls out a tiny jar of glitter, holding it aloft as if it’s a holy relic.
She shakes it, and the colorful bits catch the light.
“Because everything’s better with sparkle.
Toss it in an enemy’s eyes and not only will they be blind, but they’ll also die fabulous. ”
A groan rips out of me. “You know I’m never going to wear this, right?”
“We’ll see about that,” Iris singsongs, standing up to cram everything back into the bag.
She clips it around her own waist with a dramatic spin, like a pageant contestant showing off her crown.
“For now, it stays with me. But mark my words, Rowan Prescott, there will come a time when you’ll thank me for this fanny pack.
And when you do, I expect tears of gratitude. ”
Without waiting for a response, she sweeps up the discarded muumuu from the chair, drapes it over one shoulder like a royal cape, and struts from the room with the air of a woman who just saved the world.
Archie chooses that moment to come skittering out of the closet, his eyes half-lidded, fur sticking out at odd angles. “I think that whistle can do more than call for help,” he mutters, sounding deeply unimpressed and a bit broken.
I scoop him up, stroking the length of his back until his twitching quiets. “Do you need me to get you anything?”
He shakes his fuzzy head, nose wrinkling. “Just some quiet without that insane woman in the room. My ears are still ringing.”
“Deal.” I set him down gently on the pillow at the top of the bed. He curls up instantly, the weight of the last few hours finally dragging him under.
When I turn, Liz’s still there, leaning against the side table near the door. Her expression is taut—brows drawn, lips pressed flat. The kind of look that says bad news incoming. Cade wore the same one earlier, and my stomach twists.
With a resigned sag of my shoulders, I motion toward the balcony, wanting to give Archie his quiet time.
She doesn’t waste a moment. Pulling the doors open, she steps out first, scanning the dark stretch of trees before waving me after her. I slip into the cool night air, and the contrast between the fresh pine and lingering traces of Iris’s perfume in my room almost makes me laugh.
Liz doesn’t sit. She stays standing, posture rigid, as if ready to fight the shadows themselves. “We have a problem.”
I flop into the cushioned chair, my limbs heavy. “When don’t we?”
Her gaze flicks to mine, then back toward the forest. “The council has made a decision. Hybrids can now be hunted.”