Chapter 22
RAFE
The knock hits like a command, not a question. Hard. Decisive. No pretense of politeness.
I’m out of bed before my feet hit the floor, my blood already halfway to a shift.
The morning’s barely dragged itself over the horizon and whatever’s waiting on the other side of that door isn’t here for conversation.
I look at Kaleigh for half a breath. She’s awake now too, eyes sharp in the low light, pulling my shirt over her head like she knows something’s coming.
I don’t have to tell her to stay put. She already knows.
The second knock’s louder.
I don’t bother reaching for a weapon. If it’s someone from Roman’s camp, it won’t matter. If it’s who I think it is, she won’t wait long enough for steel.
I unlatch the lock and open the door.
She’s already got that smirk on her face. Mary.
“Finally,” she says, brushing past me without waiting for an invite. “You move slower now. That her fault?”
“Don’t start,” I mutter, closing the door behind her. “You weren’t expected.”
She snorts. “If I waited for you to expect me, I’d still be sitting outside Bucharest with a busted axle and no backup.”
She’s taller than I remember. Maybe I'm just more tired. Her braid swings across her back, thick and dark, and her eyes don’t miss a damn thing. She scans the room once, then settles into one of the old wooden chairs like she owns the place.
Kaleigh steps in a moment later, bare feet quiet on the tile, and Mary turns toward her like a hawk tracking something new—but not in a threat way. More like curiosity worn thin by distance and time.
“So,” she says, “you’re the reason Rafe grew a conscience.”
Kaleigh doesn’t flinch. She steps closer.
I motion between them. “Kaleigh, this is Mary. Darius’s little sister.”
“You’re a wolf shifter too,” Kaleigh says.
Mary’s eyes light with something—surprise, maybe, or something warmer buried deep—and she nods. “He said you were sharp.”
“I listen,” Kaleigh replies simply.
That earns a flicker of respect. Mary leans forward, pulling something from inside her coat and sliding it across the table. Parchment, blood-dark symbols curled into one another like barbed wire and fire.
“He’s building a new army,” she says, back to business. “Roman. Not just shifters anymore. Witches. Real ones. Born, not made.”
My stomach twists, tight and hot. “He doesn’t trust witches.”
Mary nods. “Exactly. That’s what makes it worse. He doesn’t trust them, and he’s still using them. You know what that means.”
“He’s binding them.”
“Correct,” she says, like we’re in a briefing room again. “Dark pacts. Broken relics. Stuff that should’ve rotted in the Alps decades ago. He’s stitching witches and shifters together with Seal-blood magic and acting like he’s building a new kingdom instead of a powder keg.”
I look down at the parchment. The lines shift just enough to make my vision blur. My hands clench before I can stop them.
“And the Pact?” I ask. “What’s left of it?”
“Gone or hiding,” she says. “But Darius isn’t waiting around. He’s doing something smarter. He found a mate.”
That makes me freeze.
“He found what?”
Mary nods. “A witch. Not a pawn. Not a toy. A mate. She’s helping him organize. Teaching. Channeling the Seal differently. It’s changing.”
“That’s not possible,” I say, voice too flat even for me.
Mary leans in, her tone sharp enough to draw blood. “You think I’d show up at your door dragging this mess if it wasn’t already happening? I saw her myself. She’s not just holding power. She’s steering it.”
I shake my head. “We tried this before. Pact witches. Seal-blood hybrids. You remember what happened. They burned from the inside out. Their bond didn’t hold.”
“She’s not them,” Mary snaps. “And neither is Kaleigh.”
At that, Kaleigh walks over to the parchment and picks it up.
“Kaleigh—” I start, but she’s already touching it.
The moment her fingers brush the surface, something flickers. Her eyes darken, and she pulls in a breath sharp enough to cut.
I’m beside her in half a second, steadying her arm, catching her weight before she sways. “What did you feel?”
Her voice comes quiet, almost unsure. “Like something just opened its eyes.”
Mary watches us like she’s seen this before. “It’s waking in her. Just like it did in Tessa.”
“Leave Kaleigh out of this.”
But Mary doesn’t back off. “Tessa made her choice. So did Darius. And now he’s making his move. He sent a message. One line.” She looks me dead in the eye. “Bring her in. She’s part of this now.”
She heads toward the door like she’s done her part and whatever happens next isn’t her business anymore, but I know Mary.
It’s always her business. Especially when Darius is involved.
She might walk like a soldier, but she’s here because she’s his sister first. And she’d burn half the world if it meant keeping him from drowning in the other half.
“Tell him he still owes me for Minsk,” I mutter.
She pauses, one hand on the door. “He says you owe him for Lviv.”
And then she’s gone.
I shut the door behind her and lean my forehead against the wood. The silence that follows feels different this time. Heavier. Kaleigh stands behind me, arms crossed, the glint under her skin faint but pulsing like a heartbeat.
“You’re not going to say it,” she says, “but I know what you’re thinking.”
I turn to face her. “You’re not going anywhere near Darius.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I just touched that parchment and something inside me opened up. You think that’s something I can ignore?”
“I think it’s something you can survive,” I growl. “If you stay the hell away from the rest of this.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m not asking to be in this war, Rafe. I’m telling you that I already am. Roman’s not pulling punches. Mary didn’t come here for kicks. And you know damn well what Darius’s message means.”
“It means he wants to use you,” I snap.
“No,” she says. “It means he sees me.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I take a step toward her, hands clenched, fighting the growl in my throat.
“I didn’t bring you here for this,” I say. “I brought you here to protect you.”
“And you don’t get to decide that anymore,” she answers. “You think protection means distance, but it doesn’t. It means standing next to each other when the fight starts. Not hiding behind it.”
I close my eyes, just for a second. She’s right, but I hate it.
When I open them again, she’s closer. She takes my hand and places it over her chest. The warmth of her glow pulses under my palm, steady and alive.
“I’m already in this,” she whispers.
I don’t try to stop her.