Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The black wolf calls to me in the depth of night, its voice a seductive melody threaded through darkness. I follow its silent form deeper into the trees, my bare feet barely registering the chill of morning dew, or my pajama pants flapping in the November wind.
That’s it. Come closer.
The ebony beast is majestic, and the trees recognize it, bending to part and allow him passage. Something waits beyond the frame of my vision… something ancient and powerful.
"Poppy."
My name slithers through the air and echoes in my ears as if distorted somehow on the encroaching winter breeze. It sounds odd as it vibrates in my mind, like too many syllables are stretching into the distance like taffy.
"Poppy, please stop."
But I can’t stop. I won’t.
The darkness calls to me. My wolf is waiting, hungry and impatient. I need to reach it. It’s moving too far ahead of me, so I pick up my pace and run.
“Poppy, don’t.” The voices chase me, multiplying.
Hands erupt from everywhere—the trees, the ground, the air itself. They grapple and cling, too many for one body. They grab my arms, my shoulders, my clothes, and I thrash against the restraint.
It’s no use. The demons have me.
I’m shadowed by a tall, towering, writhing mass of limbs that shouldn't exist on a single torso.
I lurch and lunge, and in a tangle of struggle, we crash to the ground. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, and I claw at whatever I can reach.
Skin. Bark. Fur. The textures shifts under my fingers. "Get off me. Let me go!”
"Stop fighting, P." The demon's weight crushes me into the earth. "You're making this harder than it needs to be, baby girl."
I scream. Buck my hips. Try to twist free.
"You’re going to hurt her," the demon says, his voice cracking strangely.
“If we do nothing, she’ll hurt herself!”
Footsteps thunder in the shadows, and terror floods my veins, ice-cold. More demons are coming. More demons to drag me down, to tear me apart…
My master won’t like that. “Tharuzel will punish those who take what is his.”
"You’re not his, Hallowind.” The demon's face hovers too close, its features blurring in the darkness. "Fight him. Fight him with everything you’ve got."
I fight. I scream, kick, and fight with everything within me, but it’s no use. I gain no ground. I’m pinned.
The demon holds me down, murmuring words I can't make sense of. Their grip is like iron. Unbreakable.
Hours pass. Maybe it’s minutes.
Time stretches like a pulled thread that won’t break.
More footsteps bring a new arrival.
It doesn’t matter how many try to keep me from my master, I am his.
I twist to find the black wolf, but it was swallowed by the shadows of the forest. The only trace of it is the two glowing red eyes peering through the darkness.
Watching. Calling to me.
Magic erupts around me. It shifts the earth beneath my back, and the forest turns liquid, hungry. It swallows my arms and my legs, dragging me down into its gullet.
"No, no, no—"
"Poppy, stop fighting and look at me."
Hands press against my skin—my arms, my neck, my face. Every touch burns like acid. I’m being flayed alive from the outside inward.
I can't breathe.
I can't think.
I can't—
The slap to my cheek stings hot and my eyes snap open.
Night air fills my lungs in painful gasps as stars wheel overhead. The prickling of grass and the cold of dirt press against my bare legs. I shiver, but the cold goes deeper than my skin.
Wylder's face swims into focus above me, backlit by moonlight behind branches. "Fucking hell, Hallowind.”
Orion’s there too. “Welcome back, Pop-Tart. You're okay. We’ve got you, and you're safe."
Safe?
I try to move but can't. I’m cocooned in vines wrapping me in an unmoving shroud, holding me flat against the earth. My heart is hammering against my ribs, rabbit-fast.
Asher is on his knees next to me, tears streaming from red-rimmed eyes. He looks wrecked, his hands as filthy as his pajama pants and rumpled Mandalorian t-shirt.
"What happened?" My voice cracks as I dart a look between the three of them.
"It looked like you were sleepwalking."
“She was fucking possessed,” Orion snaps.
Wylder's expression remains carefully neutral. "Asher and Orion woke when the dogs heard you go outside. You were walking into the forest."
Ah… the too-many-handed demon was Asher and Orion trying to stop me. A sob catches in my throat. "In my dream… I thought you were attacking me."
I reach for Asher but still can’t move. Wylder reads my intention, and the second the vines disappear, Asher pulls me off the ground and into his arms. Pressed against his bare chest, I feel the racing of his heart.
“I’ve never been so scared in all my life. You couldn’t hear us. You just kept fighting and mumbling about your master.”
I hug him harder, every inch of me shaking. Orion is hovering close, his arms wrapped around himself. I reach toward him, still fully engulfed in Asher’s hug.
Orion accepts the invitation and joins the love-in, wrapping himself around us both.
Clutched in the arms of my two best friends, the warmth of Orion’s shifter side goes a long way in chasing away the chill in my bones.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know it was you guys. I thought I was being attacked by demons. I had no idea.”
Tears burn hot against my cheeks, but I can’t rein them in. Everything that felt so real—the terror, the helplessness, the certainty I was under attack—it all crashes over me in aggressive waves.
“Can I get in on this?” Wylder’s voice is as unsteady as I feel. The memory of the magic erupting around me swells in my mind. How did I not recognize his magical signature?
Wylder was trying to restrain me safely.
Asher releases me into Wylder’s arms and turns to Orion. The shift of position has me burying my face against Wylder’s shoulder for a complete fall apart.
“We’ve got you." His voice rumbles through his chest, his heart pounding beneath my ear. His hands stroke down the back of my hair, anchoring me to reality. “Whatever that was, we’ll figure it out and keep it from happening again.”
Minutes pass. Maybe it’s longer. Gradually, my breathing steadies, the shaking eases, and shame creeps in to fill the space terror left behind.
"I’m so sorry," I mumble against Wylder's shoulder.
"Don't be." His arms tighten around me. "Never apologize for things beyond your control."
“She’s shivering.” Asher’s voice is quiet but a little steadier. “Let’s get her into the house.”
Wylder stands, pulls me to my feet, and checks that I am steady. I’m not, but I guess I fake it well enough not to trigger his impulse to carry me.
That would be the ultimate humiliation cherry on this messed-up sundae.
We start back toward the house, walking slowly. Wylder keeps his arm around the back of my hips and guides us toward the back porch, while Asher leads the way and Orion covers our backs.
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision.
The ebony wolf is watching from the treeline, the glowing red of its eyes hauntingly reminiscent of the glowing red script that writhes over Tharuzel’s Hell-scorched flesh.
How do the guys not notice it shifting through the shadows, studying us? Orion’s a shifter. Surely he can sense it, or smell it? My mental hamster trips on that, and the only explanation I can come up with is maybe it’s not really there.
I take another look. It looks and feels real.
Am I hallucinating? Am I losing my mind?
The ebony wolf stalks our return to the house, plodding through the trees parallel to us, hidden in the densest patches of darkness. When we emerge upon the back lawn, it can’t follow us any further.
Its eyes lock with mine.
When it opens its mouth, Tharuzel's voice slides out like poison:
You are mine, Poppy Hallowind.
Washed-out golden light filters through the living room windows the next morning.
It does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach, and I don’t think it will until the full brightness of the early winter sun hits its zenith—until the last of the shadows are gone and I can see into the depths of the trees behind the house.
I slept maybe three hours after the sleepwalking incident, Asher on one side of me in the bed and Orion on the other. But despite playing the part of the icing in our BFF Oreo, every one of those hours was filled with distorted images I can't quite remember but still feel clinging to my skin.
My shower did nothing to rid me of the sensation, so it’s ‘fake it ‘till you make it time.’
I pull a deep breath into my lungs and force a smile. The Life and Death Brigade has gathered and fills the space.
Asher is sprawled loose-limbed across the club chair, drumming his fingers against his knee.
Wylder leans against the fireplace mantel, watching me with the same careful expression he's worn since last night.
Orion perches on the arm of the loveseat sofa next to a guy I've only met once—Reid, one of his shifter friends. The guy has broad shoulders, dirty blond hair, and looks like he could bench-press a car.
Mica sits cross-legged on the floor, her vibrant teal, blue, purple, and turquoise hair cascading over one shoulder.
Izzy and Clara share the wide ottoman, whispering to each other.
And then there’s me, the last to arrive and the one everyone expects to have all the answers.
The joke’s on them because, um… nope.
I clear my throat. "Thanks for coming.”
Mica smiles. “No problem. We’re super excited to hear about your night with the Order. Asher said you had good news for a change.”
I’m thankful he didn’t tell them about my foray into the woods with the ebony wolf, but he wouldn’t. Asher’s good like that. “Well, good or bad, it’s news, anyway.”
“It’s good,” Asher insists.
I hope he’s right. I do. But where I don’t have a choice about dealing with demons and dark possession, they do.
“So, anyway, last night the Order of the Arcane put it to a vote and recognized The Life and Death Brigade as an official, empowered guild of New England."