Chapter 24
Stephan tore from the chamber, breath ragged as wind howled through the halls. At the stable, he snatched a cloak and wrapped it around Eris gently, as if she might break. He mounted with her in his arms, and at his command, the horse lunged into the night.
His cloak snapped behind him like a war banner. The cold bit deep, but he felt only her—Eris, unbowed by fate, by gods, by the man who had tried to shatter her. She would live. They would be together. Always.
The vow burned through him as he gripped the reins, fury sharpened to a blade. Let the gods tremble. He would burn the world before they took her.
The Dragov woods flew past in blurs of dark trunks and spirals of snow. The storm had not ceased since she faded, as if the land itself mourned her. Then, just beyond the next bend, something moved in the trees. A flicker of motion broke through the silence. They were not alone.
The trees parted to reveal a clearing. Kareon stood at its center. Taric and Varis flanked him, silent and still. Their arms were crossed, backs straight, judgment carved into every line of their posture. Stephan’s horse reared at the charged stillness. He yanked the reins and steadied it.
Silence stretched between them as he and Kareon stared across the space, like two storms on the edge of breaking. Stephan dismounted, keeping Eris close. Kareon’s gaze dropped to her still form. His breath hitched, sharp and sudden, like wind splitting across a frozen sea.
Stephan caught it—the fracture. For a heartbeat, Kareon’s rage vanished. In its place was something raw and wordless. Grief, stripped of armor. Then it was gone.
“Follow me.”
Stephan froze. The stillness was too precise, too prepared. They had known. But how? He said nothing and followed.
The den rose ahead, fires licking the night.
Kareon moved forward, each step taut with fury.
At the threshold, he lifted a hand. Taric and Varis halted without question.
A flick of his fingers dismissed them. They turned toward Stephan.
Their eyes still burned with fury and judgment. A sentence already passed.
Stephan did not argue, because he agreed. She should not be in his arms like this.
Then they vanished into the dark.
Behind them, laughter and drums rang out in celebration. The pack rejoiced in her ascension and her reign, unaware. Kareon exhaled, shoulders braced with rage. He half-turned but did not look, because if he did, he might tear Stephan apart.
“This way,” he said, voice clipped. Then, softer, with a jagged edge: “I won’t let them see her like this.”
Stephan held her tighter. He looked to the fire, to the dancers and the feast. They loved her more than he had realized. If they saw her like this, they would burn Dragov to ash, and him with it.
He said nothing and followed Kareon into the dark, past tents that pulsed like ghosts of the world she had built. They stopped at the largest one—Kaelioth’s. The Elder Shaman. The one who might undo this nightmare. Kareon held the flap open, still refusing to meet Stephan’s gaze.
Stephan stepped inside. Kareon followed, his fury pressing at Stephan’s throat like a blade. The air was thick with old magic: smoke, herbs, and something unnameable. It clung, heavy and watchful, to Stephan’s skin.
Kaelioth sat cross-legged before a single flame.
Its flicker cast long shadows across his weathered face.
Above him, talismans swayed and whispered in a tongue meant for the dead.
Kaelioth looked up, slowly, as if listening to something unseen.
Then he nodded, and his amber-flecked eyes found Stephan’s.
A flicker of amusement touched Kaelioth’s lips. “Oh yes… He is very handsome indeed, my dear.”
Stephan stilled. His grip on Eris tightened. No one else was in the tent. And still, Kaelioth had answered someone.
Kareon exhaled, sharp and bitter. “Spare us the riddles, shaman, and bring her back,” he growled.
It burned to see her in Stephan’s arms, because to him, the prince was unworthy. Kaelioth’s comment about Stephan’s beauty scraped like salt in a wound.
Kaelioth gestured to the furs. “Lay her down.”
Stephan obeyed, placing her gently, like carving a vow into flesh. Kareon looked away. He hated how Stephan held her, as if she belonged only to him.
Kaelioth studied her, fingers tapping a slow rhythm. “Tell me.”
Stephan’s jaw clenched. “They cast a spell to break her will. To force obedience. But she fought it.” He drew a breath. “And it shattered her.”
Silence settled, thick and heavy.
Kareon’s body coiled. “Of course she did.” Stephan looked up just in time to catch wildfire across Kareon’s face. “What did you expect? That she’d submit? That she’d let you—or any of your cursed, blood-drunk bastards—extinguish her fire?”
Stephan stepped forward, voice tight with fury and regret. “If I had gotten there sooner, none of this would have happened.”
The air cracked. They were two storms, one breath from breaking.
Kaelioth sighed. With a flick of his wrist, he silenced them both. “Enough.”
They obeyed, but the fury remained.
Kaelioth reached for her. The moment his fingers brushed her skin, Stephan froze. Kareon’s fists clenched.
Kaelioth lifted her wrist, held it for a moment, then let it fall. Dead weight. He tilted his head, then slowly pressed his thumbs to her eyelids and opened them. A flicker of recognition passed over his face. He nodded once, then murmured, far too calm: “Oh yes. I see.”
Stephan and Kareon leaned in, bracing.
Kaelioth looked up, firelight carving hollows into his face. “You will not like what I have to say.” Both men tensed. “The spell was meant to cage her. But she was never made to kneel. And that refusal is why she is trapped.”
The fire crackled below as charms rattled above like bones.
“Trapped?” Stephan rasped.
Kaelioth nodded.
“Between two worlds. The Seal broke her will, and now she has forgotten how to hold on.”
Kareon snapped. “What the hell are we waiting for? Call her back.”
Stephan did not flinch. He stepped forward and lowered himself beside her, sinking to one knee. There was no pride in the gesture. No performance. Only a man stripped bare. He took her hands and pressed them to his lips.
“Please, shaman. Save her.”
His voice came low and raw. It carried no weakness, only ruin. It was the voice of a man offering everything he had left. If fate demanded blood, he would give his. If the gods required legacy, he would surrender it.
The fire shivered. Even Kareon held his breath. A Dragov heir kneeling before a Lycan shaman was something he had never imagined.
Kaelioth stepped forward and extended his hand. “Rise, Prince,” he said. “You have given enough.”
Stephan lifted his gaze. Firelight carved lines of shadow across his face, but his eyes remained steady. He rose slowly, grounded in silence and resolve.
Kaelioth turned toward the mouth of the den. “We go,” he said. “To the Heart of the Hollow.”
That was where the dead whispered, where fate walked without form.
Stephan inhaled and met Kareon’s gaze. The silence between them carried the weight of war and older blood.
Neither spoke. The fire danced between them, casting shadows that moved like beasts. Without breaking the stare, Stephan drew Eris closer. He would not let anyone else touch her.
Kareon’s lip curled as a low growl rose in his throat.
Stephan’s grip tightened in response.
Kaelioth stepped into the dark. The prince followed, carrying her. The alpha followed, burning.
Both broken. Both bound. Both prepared to bleed for her.