Chapter 9 - Damian
The meeting chamber feels stifling, but not as harsh as it was on the drive out here.
The mate bond hums beneath my skin, like a gentle reminder that my mate is out there, and because of this, I can’t wait to go find her at her cabin. But whatever is going on in Nightclaw is worse than we thought.
We’d just returned from the border, where the corruption is spreading across the ground, only to learn that it isn’t as simple as what we’ve been made to believe.
One of Dorian’s soldiers thought he saw something last night and followed the smell of sulfur and decay well beyond their borders, when he was attacked.
Though he’s still alive, the injured soldier needed to be wheeled in for the meeting, just so we can see the extent of the threat, I’m guessing.
I don’t like it; I don’t like that something wrong is going on here. Not just because of my brother and his family, but because I brought Poppy here, to the heart of danger.
If only she hadn’t been so adamant to come back for her things…
Perhaps I need to show her what’s happening. Most of Nightclaw remains in the dark about the recent developments, because Dorian doesn’t want to cause a stir. Not when he’s only been back for a few months after being kidnapped.
The worry is written all over his face as he stands at the front of the boardroom table and addresses the council members who’ve gathered here today. Only Simon hasn’t arrived yet, but we’re hoping he brings answers when he comes.
Dorian clears his throat, the sound immediately silencing the murmurs around the table as all eyes turn to him.
“I know everyone is waiting to hear Simon’s findings,” he begins, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing heavily beneath it. “But before he gets here, there’s something you all need to see.”
He gestures with a nod toward the wounded soldier in the wheelchair. The sight alone is enough to make the council fall silent.
He looks terrible.
His skin is pale, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead despite the cool air inside the meeting hall. Thick bandages wrap around his shoulder and chest, but what catches my attention is the fact that he shouldn’t still be in a wheelchair.
Werewolves heal. Even severe wounds begin knitting together within hours. Yet this man looks as though he’s only getting worse.
Dorian steps beside him, resting a reassuring hand on the back of the chair.
“This is Ethan,” he says to the council. “He was patrolling the northern border last night when he picked up an unfamiliar scent.”
Dorian nods toward him. “Tell them what happened, Ethan.”
Ethan swallows hard before speaking. “I thought it was a rogue,” he says hoarsely. “The scent was…strange. Sulfur. Rot. Something I’d never smelled before.”
His fingers grip the armrests until his knuckles pale. “I tracked the scent beyond the border. The further I went, the quieter everything around me became.” His gaze drifts toward the floor as though he’s reliving the memory. “No birds. No insects. Nothing.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
“The trees...” he continues softly, “...were dying. Leaves falling right off the branches. Grass turning black beneath my paws.”
Several council members exchange uneasy looks. “And then what happened?” Alpha Theodore asks with a tight frown.
“I saw someone standing between the trees.”
The room goes silent until Alpha Cyrus asks, “Who was it?”
Ethan shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know. They wore a black cloak with the hood pulled low. Their face was hidden behind some kind of mask.”
“What kind of mask?” Flynn asks.
“I couldn’t tell. It happened too fast.” His breathing grows uneven, and he turns a hesitant glance at Dorian. “I called out and demanded they identify themselves, but they never spoke.”
A heavier silence settles over the room.
“They just…lifted their hand.” His eyes squeeze shut.
“The ground beneath me exploded. Roots burst out of the earth and wrapped around my legs before I could shift.” He instinctively reaches toward the bandages covering his ribs.
“Then this black…smoke…” He shakes his head.
“No…not smoke.” His brows furrow as he struggles to find the words.
“It was like shadows, crawling over my skin.”
My eyes meet Dorian’s as dread fills my gut—the same dread in his eyes.
“I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe,” Ethan continues, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “It felt like something was draining the life out of me.”
The room remains deadly quiet.
“I don’t remember much after that. I woke up in the pack clinic.”
Dorian nods solemnly before looking toward the woman standing near the wall. “Claire.”
Nightclaw’s healer steps forward, streaks of silver running through her dark hair, her posture straighter than ever. She was one of the healers who tended to Dorian when he’d been rescued from the rogues’ clutches.
“I’ve treated werewolves for over thirty years,” she says calmly. “I’ve seen silver poisoning, wolfsbane, vampire venom, even cursed wounds.” She pauses, glancing around the room timidly. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
She steps forward, then carefully peels back one of Ethan’s bandages. A collective murmur spreads through the room the moment his flesh is exposed.
The flesh beneath the bandage isn’t burned.
It’s gray, almost…withered. Like dying bark clinging to a tree.
“These wounds should already be closing,” Claire explains. “Instead, they’re spreading.” She gently replaces the bandage and continues, “His wolf attempts to heal them, but it’s as though something is preventing the process.”
“Can you remove it?” one of the alphas asks. I’m not even sure who it is, because I’m too shocked by Ethan’s injury.
“I’ve tried every herb and remedy available to us.” Claire lets out a quiet breath as she shakes her head slowly. “Nothing works.”
My stomach sinks. If something can stop a werewolf from healing…what chance do any of us have?
The chamber doors suddenly open, and every head turns.
Simon strides inside, carrying a satchel overflowing with journals and several glass containers.
“My apologies,” he says, slightly out of breath, his eyes grim. “The final tests took longer than expected.”
Dorian wastes no time. “Well, what have you found?”
Simon sets the satchel onto the table before removing a sealed glass jar containing one of the blackened leaves we’d collected from the forest. He glances around the room as he speaks. “I’ve examined every sample I’ve obtained. The corruption isn’t caused by disease, nor is it fungal.”
He removes another jar containing brittle grass, looking at Dorian.
“It’s not bacterial, and it isn’t poison.”
Confused murmurs ripple around the chamber.
“Then what is it, Alpha Simon?” Connor asks.
Simon hesitates, his jaw tightening. “The cells aren’t simply dying.” He holds the leaf toward the light. “They’re being drained.”
I frown. “Drained? What do you mean?”
Simon gulps. “It’s as though something is stripping the life force from every living thing it touches. I found the same residue in the dead animals.”
His gaze shifts toward Ethan. “And judging by his wounds…the same process has begun inside him.”
The room erupts into quiet conversation.
“That isn’t possible.”
“It has to be.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
Simon raises a hand for silence. “There’s more.
” He takes a slow breath as the room stills again.
“I detected residual energy within every sample,” he says as he looks around the room.
“It doesn’t match any known wolf magic, or even vampire blood, for that matter.
In fact, it doesn’t resemble anything documented in our records. ”
He pauses through the silence, and then says, “The only conclusion I can reach…is that we’re dealing with witchcraft.”
The last word lands like a stone dropped into still water. No one speaks, the horror setting in around us.
Flynn is the one who breaks the silence as he leans back in his chair. “I might know someone who can help. Someone who might have answers and can lead us to the source of this…problem.”
Every eye turns toward him, so he continues.
“When I served in black ops,” he says, folding his arms across his chest, “my team crossed paths with a nomadic witch coven.”
Several council members immediately stiffen.
“They weren’t hostile,” Flynn continues, glancing at Miles, his beta, with a nod. “One of our men was critically injured during a mission, and they healed him when no one else could. It was a miracle, and for someone as skeptical as I am, I had no choice but to accept their help.”
He pauses, meeting Dorian’s eyes. “When we left, their elder told us something I’ve never forgotten.
She told me that should the wolves ever face darkness, they cannot fight alone; we can reach out to them for help.
It’s never been the case, because we all know that witches don’t exist in our part of the world. ”
Flynn rests both palms on the table, his eyes on his beta. “I think it’s time we took them up on their offer.”
Murmurs fly around the room, many skeptical. And despite his discovery, even Simon mentions that it’s not a good idea to consult with witches.
“We’ve never had to deal with them,” he says, grunting as he drops to his chair. “The last time witches were known to Rosethorn, my great-grandfather was the alpha of Misty Creek.”
“You said it yourself, Simon. This is witchcraft,” Flynn says with an arched brow. “It requires a certain level of knowledge and experience that we don’t have.”
“Once witches involve themselves in wolf affairs, nothing stays simple.”
Dorian nods tightly at Simon. “I don’t like it either, but we’ve been pushed into this corner.”
My heart throbs with uncertainty as everyone voices their concerns.
Witches?
I never thought I’d see the day we faced witches.
But why here? Are they after Dorian? His family?
“You’re asking us to place our faith in people we’ve spent generations believing were our enemies,” I add, my fists clenched underneath the table. I glance at Dorian, memories of our childhood flashing in my mind.