Chapter 27 Mary
MARY
The sky is the color of ash.
Smoke churns into the heavens, blotting out the stars, painting the moon a sickly shade of orange.
Below, the Syndicate fortress burns, fire roaring high, timbers collapsing under their own weight, stone walls groaning as if the earth itself is trying to shrug them off its skin.
The night is alive with screams—some fox, some wolf, some too human to name—and my wolf paces inside me, ears pinned, hackles raised, demanding I move, demanding I fight, demanding I save.
We’ve won. I know this in my bones, in the scent of Roman’s blood still wet in the snow, in the way the Syndicate’s ranks scatter like leaves before the storm. But victory has its price, and it is heavy.
“Mary!”
Tessa’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp as a blade. She stands near the south wall, her hands raised, threads of vision-light weaving through her fingers, guiding wolves through falling rubble. Her eyes catch mine, wide and urgent. “There are innocents inside!”
My chest tightens, the words cutting like claws. Innocents. Not fox soldiers, not Syndicate loyalists, but the ones Roman kept bound—witches, servants, those with no choice but to serve his fire.
“I’ll get them!” I call back, already running, my wolf pushing forward, my lungs burning as smoke sears my throat.
The fortress looms ahead, its gates shattered, flames licking high into the night. The air inside is suffocating, thick with heat and ash, the floor beneath my boots groaning with every step. I shove aside beams, leap broken stone, my wolf’s instincts guiding me through collapsing corridors.
A cry reaches me—high, sharp, desperate.
I turn down a narrow hall, the fire closing in on both sides, the heat blistering my skin.
At the end lies a chamber half-collapsed, flames clawing up the walls.
In the center, a woman lies pinned beneath a fallen beam, her face streaked with soot, her hair tangled, her eyes wide with terror.
She claws at the wood, coughing, her voice breaking.
“Please! Please!”
My wolf surges.
I drop to my knees, my claws extending, sinking into the heavy timber. My muscles strain, fire biting at my arms, my lungs searing as smoke thickens. The beam creaks but doesn’t lift, the heat pressing down, the fire roaring closer.
“Hold on,” I rasp, my voice steady though my chest heaves. “I’ve got you.”
The woman sobs, her hands clawing at the ground, but she nods, her eyes locking on mine like they’re the only anchor she has left.
I dig deeper, calling on my wolf’s strength, my claws sinking until wood splinters, until the beam shifts, just enough. My arms tremble, my body shakes, sweat and blood mixing, but I shove harder, harder, until the woman drags herself free, her body scraping against stone.
The beam drops with a thunderous crash, flames leaping higher. My vision swims, my breath ragged, the heat overwhelming. My knees buckle, the world spinning.
The woman crawls toward the door, coughing, sobbing. “Come!”
I try to rise, my wolf snarling inside me, but my body falters, the fire closing in, my strength slipping like water through fingers. My wolf howls, furious, refusing to die here, refusing to let this be the end.
But my arms give. My chest seizes. The fire rushes closer, the heat unbearable.
Then hands catch me.
Strong, rough, steady.
“Not today.”
Silas’s voice cuts through the roar, low, raw, alive. He lifts me as though I weigh nothing, his arms sliding under me, his chest pressed against mine, his breath ragged but sure. His fox burns beneath his skin, his scent sharp through smoke, his body trembling with effort but refusing to falter.
I cling weakly to him, my head falling against his shoulder, my eyes catching the glow of flames reflecting in his amber gaze. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pause, just charges through fire and smoke, his body shielding mine from heat, his claws tearing through debris as though it were nothing.
The world blurs, fire and stone collapsing behind us, until the cold night air hits my face, sharp and clean. Silas bursts from the fortress, carrying me into the snow, the fire roaring behind us like a beast denied its prey.
He lowers me gently, his hands lingering at my shoulders, his face inches from mine, his breath heaving, his body streaked with soot and blood. “I told you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Not today.”
My throat burns, my chest aches, but I find my voice, low and steady. “You saved me.”
His eyes lock on mine, fierce, unyielding. “No. You saved me. I’m just making it even.”
For a heartbeat, everything else fades—the fire, the battle, the cries of the wounded. It’s just him, his fox pressed against my wolf, our breaths mingling in the frozen night. My wolf presses forward, steady and sure, her growl low not with rage but with something older, deeper.
“Mary!”
Darius’s voice breaks the moment. He runs toward us, his chest heaving, his eyes sharp, his body streaked with blood and soot. He skids to a stop, his gaze flicking between us, his jaw tightening. But he doesn’t speak. Not yet.
Behind him, the fortress groans one final time. The walls collapse inward, the fire consuming what remains. The Syndicate’s heart burns to ash, its fortress falling silent at last.
Wolves gather, their bodies bloodied but upright, their howls rising into the night. Witches stand among them, their hands glowing faint, their power steady, no longer chained. The Brotherhood has won.
I push myself upright, my legs trembling but holding. My voice carries low, serious. “It’s done.”
Silas’s hand brushes mine, brief, steady. “It’s only the beginning.”
I look at the flames one last time, my wolf steady, my heart heavy but sure. The Syndicate is gone. But the war for what comes next is only just beginning.