9. CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 9
Noa
The view beyond the windows was spectacular. My private view of the Alpha’s Woods. The walled woodland space was over one hundred acres, spelled and warded. Reserved for the Alpha’s use. Some considered it sacred. A part of the wildwood, overflowing with pines, rhododendrons, thimbleberries heavy with fruit. A giant oak tree grew in the center. Mythic. Rumored to be centuries old; it took eight men with arms outstretched to circle the trunk.
I hadn’t explored far enough to see the tree, but this view—of trees in snow—was the one perk of my new apartment that I appreciated. Otherwise, the security did not differ from the Alpha Suite. Cameras monitored the exterior halls. Men in unobtrusive black uniforms monitored the building entrance doors. I disliked the feeling of being watched and needing a hall pass to leave. Even to visit Leo, or wander through the Farmer’s Market with Fallon and Laura—although Laura seldom left the rarefied quiet of the archive.
Her reluctance worried me. I’d always admired her resiliency, turned to her when life became overwhelming. But in the archive, she existed like a wraith. Found safety in old books and musty pages, and stories from long ago.
I’d wanted to talk to her today, but hesitated. Laura didn’t need the burden of my unease. Still, I couldn’t rid myself of the worry over what Fallon said. She’d told me about Mosbach. How Grayson, with Mace, had irrefutable proof he was the elder selling wolves to the vampires. They’d killed him last night. But they’d also rescued three teenagers, who were now safe at the Refuge. My stomach twisted each time I imagined what they’d gone through… three kids Levi’s age…
And I knew the killing had been… hard.
Knew because of the shadows in Fallon’s eyes as she spoke. I’d asked her if she was tired. All she admitted was a trouble sleeping from the ache in her leg. When she’d fallen, the bone had broken in two places, and because Grayson wasn’t here to help, the healing process was slow. It would continue to be slow as long as he stayed away.
Then she’d mentioned the archive and the boxes Anson stored there. Her private things, along with mine—my mother’s box from Theta Blake—she said Set had retrieved Amal’s private journal from the tunnels where I’d dropped the backpack, and perhaps I should look at it. Read it.
The sweat along my spine had turned to ice. Everything related to Amal aroused alarm and a blinding anger I had trouble controlling. Like a pounding migraine coming on for hours before it hit with enough strength to keep me down for days.
No, thank you. But Fallon’s stare triggered the guilt, and I paced around, too restless to relax. I wanted revenge. Amal was busy destroying lives, and Barend was in on the act. Mosbach—did he know Barend was making hybrids? Or didn’t he care? Just excused his behavior by calling the wolves catalysts? Trash he eliminated?
Maybe if I read Amal’s words, traced her handwriting, I’d find something useful. A way to fight her. Fight them.
My teeth ground together until my jaw ached. I was so tired of feeling useless. Tired of needing to act grateful for being treated like an invalid. Ever since the lament, my emotions had been on a roller coaster. Euphoric one minute because I was doing something, fighting back, then I’d become a weeping mess, crying in the bathroom so Caerwen wouldn’t be concerned.
I rubbed hard at my arms again, the tiny hairs that stood on end. Maybe if I went to the archive. Brought home my box of mementoes. They might make me feel more at ease.
Or you could go read the damn journal, Noa.
The glass sliding doors opened onto a patio, and my hands jerked when I touched the handles. I still wasn’t used to the sizzle of magic against my skin. Anson’s wards were like walking through an invisible electric fence and getting zapped with annoyance. Don’t cross here!
I decided against wandering outside. But as I turned, I saw Effa. She was watching me from the doorway to the guest room she shared with Caerwen. “Did Fallon make you worried, No-ee ?”
“I worry more about her than what she said,” I told Effa. “You’re wearing the daisy dress again.”
“I had to.” The nymph plucked at the petal skirt that had a wilted look. “I didn’t pack enough last time.”
“It’s still lovely. Reminds me of spring.”
“I wish we didn’t have to go.”
“It’s only for a few days,” I reminded her. “You don’t want to shrink into oblivion, do you?”
“We hear you crying in the shower, you know.” Effa crossed her arms and frowned. “But Caerwen says we shouldn’t be snoops and ask what’s wrong.”
Advice neither of them followed. “I’m fine.”
“We don’t want you going away again… in your head. To that… black place.”
“Effa—”
“I care about you,” she blurted. “You’re my friend. I’d be lonely without you.”
I sat down hard on the bed. “You’re special to me, too. And Caerwen,” I added when the grotto nymph fluttered into view behind Effa. “I wouldn’t survive without either of you.”
“Yes, you could.” Effa was emphatic. “You can survive anything.”
“I wouldn’t want to survive without you,” I clarified.
“Oh, No-ee … you can’t say things like that.” Effa’s face had paled. “The magic hears and makes it true.”
“The magic wouldn’t dare ,” I threatened, glancing around, unsure if the magic in Carmag was the same puppy magic I’d encountered elsewhere, or if it was different. But I had the nonsensical conviction that if I glared hard enough, I’d intimidate this magic.
Vines popped from the room corners, evidence of Effa’s unruly emotions, and I said, “Why don’t we wander through the Alpha’s Woods before you have to leave?”
“Can’t.” She shook her head, black and red curls bobbing. “A cat hides in the bushes, waiting to eat us.”
One more reason to be angry at Anson, even if it was illogical to assume he’d arranged for a cat to harass the nymphs. “I’ll speak to the Alpha.”
“Oh, No—ee . You would? Because the cat nearly got Caerwen when she didn’t see him coming, and he was right there before I screamed.”
“Maybe you could do me a favor, too?” I suggested. “Can you ask Aine what she knows about Amal? Aine has been alive for centuries. Surely, she was here first. Ask if she knows how the kings stripped away the queens’ wolves.”
Both nymphs looked stricken.
Effa spoke first. “Um, she probably won’t answer that.”
“But we’ll ask,” Caerwen put in bravely.
I rubbed at the ruined black wolf rune, Grayson’s dread lord sigil. White scars crisscrossed the wolf design to make it nearly unrecognizable. I hadn’t felt the wicked little twitch in so long, I’d lost the physical memory. All I had was the feel of slightly raised scaring to know where the twitch had been.
Snow was falling in the Alpha’s Woods. It was falling all over the Carmag since it was almost Christmas. The nymphs didn’t celebrate; they’d be doing something else with Aine in the wrinkle. There’d probably be no snow, only the well-kept gardens and flowers and mossy fountains. The odd flowers Aine spent decades—centuries on the outside—cultivating.
After the nymphs left, I occupied my mind with something else. I’d be having dinner later with Leo, Hattie, and Oscar. The food would be good but the strain unending, with everyone acting like they were happy and normal. But if I talked to Laura and pretended hard enough that I was doing something useful, maybe it would make me feel better. Make it easier to ignore the flinch whenever loud, unexpected noises broke the silence. The way I got jittery for no reason, unable to concentrate long enough to handle a conversation.
Laura had always been my touchstone, and if she found normality in the middle of madness, then so could I. Levi would arrive at any minute—his pass from military duties in the north was good for the weekend, and I wanted to see him again. Reassure myself that he had healed.
No, I would not ask him about Grayson… hearing any news about Grayson would only make the pretending worse, knowing he was doing something while I did nothing.
I closed my eyes. Reminded myself that this was a destin noir . A black destiny.
I shuddered out a long breath, then another. Amal would not destroy him through me. I’d find a way to defeat the queen. For Grayson. Julien. I’d do it. Take every risk. Follow every lead. Anger Anson if I had to and violate his precious security rules if necessary.
Grayson would not be the only one fighting.
“You’ll find Ms. Porter on level four.” The female archivist stood behind her oak counter with both hands clasped politely. Her striking brown skin against hair the color of white sea foam made her appear ageless, no wrinkles marring her eyes. No sagging jowls or hint of crepey skin. She had the air-brushed perfection of an “after” photograph from a high-end spa, and I wanted to dislike her.
But it was hard to dislike someone gorgeous and generous, genuinely friendly. She gestured toward the wide stairs leading to the lower levels. “We have an elevator, if you prefer.”
I stopped the unconscious rubbing at the muscle in my thigh and straightened. “Level four?” Had I not paid attention? She’d just told me what level.
Her smile was gentle. “Each level down has category signage. Comfort alcoves if you wish to pause and read in solitude. The truly ancient books are level four for added security and humidity control. When you get to the door, someone will buzz you through—although I believe the Alpha is already there. He headed that way an hour ago.”
“The Alpha does research?”
“He enjoys reading. And the company.”
Nothing negative in the archivist’s smile. Just that genuine, mature niceness that curled my toes.
The staircase was wide, the golden wood polished. Thick red carpet flowed over each step, and every landing expanded into the reading alcoves the woman had described: wingback chairs upholstered in forest green velvet, oak tables with reading lamps. Intimate spaces for two or four people to sit, read, or talk. One alcove was occupied by an elderly couple. He was reading a newspaper; she was knitting and chattering away, oblivious to the fact he probably wasn’t listening.
The other alcoves were empty, but I loved the idea of them. I wanted to return with a good book, or wander through the seemingly endless shelves in the expansive, softly lit rooms. Like any library, well-used and well-loved.
Apparently, the Carmag craved reading as much as they craved music. I’d been told that men from Carmag had collected the books from Azul’s archive, and conservators were already working on those that were damaged, a task that would take decades.
When I reached the fourth floor down, the ambiance changed. I recognized the soft buzz and click of a lock while I was still on the stairs. I glanced around for the inevitable cameras monitoring every move, unable to spot them. But I knew they were there.
As I walked through the automatic door, the scent of leather bindings and old parchments greeted me. My shoes were silent on the thick carpet. Bookshelves were oak; I admired the patterns on the ancient bindings and the brass bands reinforcing the cracked leather book spines. Egg-colored parchments peeked out. Glass cases held curiosities, the like I’d never seen before: sealed specimen jars filled with strange shapes. Body parts. I eyed the blob of stringy pink flesh floating in yellowed liquid. According to the jar’s label, the blob was all that remained of a nixie—a shape shifting water sprite known to eat humans. I didn’t bother to read the other labels.
Beyond the cases of curiosities, a set of library tables became a workspace. Books and papers lay scattered on the surfaces with pages marked, the perfect domain for a forgetful professor. Reading lamps added old world charm and softened the stuffy protocols of books locked behind glass with warning signs, and a vacuum-tube system for permissions to see certain books. A wolf needed to fill out a card with the book title and reason for the request, then slide the card into a brass tube and send it into the netherworld with a whoosh. The answer, if one was coming, appeared within minutes, clunking into the small compartment.
If yes, an archivist would silently appear to fulfill the request.
If no… I shrugged.
The process would drive me crazy, but Laura sat behind the table with a serene expression. Possibly because the Alpha of Carmag sat beside her, equally fascinated by what they were discussing.
Dozens of books lay open and scattered in front of them. I stood silent for several minutes before they noticed me.
“Oh, Noa.” Laura glanced up and met my smile. “You should read this—we have nothing like it in our archive.”
“What is it?” I asked as Anson rose to his feet.
“A comparison of all the packs, their common history and when they diverged.”
My gaze drifted past Laura to settle on the small sitting area with a simulated fireplace, flames cheery and fluttering. A simulated window framed a view: falling snow in afternoon light. For an instant, I flashed to the moment in Aine’s wrinkle, when the magic reproduced my fondest memories. For Laura, the enchantments on this level of Anson’s archive held everything she needed to feel safe and at home. There were no threats here. No Alpen.
No vampires chasing her through tunnels.
No bending over the wounded, elbow-deep in blood, as she tried to heal them. No watching her friends die.
She wouldn’t have to save her brother over and over.
My fear was that she’d never want to leave. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad for Laura. For myself. Because the longer I stood here, the stronger the pull grew, drawing me to the books. Luring me toward curling in one of those chairs beside the fire. Within minutes, the ambiance seduced me into the fantasy. I craved the safety in this private space. And if I remained here, I’d never need to face the life that waited on the outside. I’d read about it instead. Imagine it.
Anson’s presence was another curiosity. His interest in Laura was hard to deny, and I had the distinct sense that I was interrupting something between them. Perhaps it was my faille senses, acting up around all this history. I could almost see their wolves preening, nervous, shy, yet definitely noticing each other.
I should be happy that Laura had this distraction, the companionship and refuge.
But once Azul was rebuilt, would she ever want to return? And what of her friends—Leticia, Cossa, Vasha? Were they finding a home here, too? Settling in and adjusting? Were some things changing so completely that it would be impossible to go home again, at least to what we once loved?
I let it sink in. How lasting the destruction of Azul would be, and its effect on the Sentinel Falls pack.
“Noa,” Laura said with a gentle insistence, as if she knew I hadn’t been listening. “Finding out is critical.”
I blinked. Anson took pity on me and said, “For us, no pain is greater than losing the wolf.”
“Think of the silent wolves.” Laura leaned toward me. “What they suffer is nothing like what Amal is trying to do. I know you’ve never had a wolf, but you feel the emptiness. That hollow loss.”
“I’ve been there,” I said tightly.
“We’re not trying to hurt you.”
We . She meant herself and Anson. Already, they were a team. But Laura had once teamed with me, chasing away the depression so many times; after the worm poison, through the troubles with Grayson. The night of the moon celebration, when she’d danced to forget her pain, revel in her strength, and I’d believed… I’d depended upon her friendship, the one true thing I held close.
I was losing parts of her now, with that we.
And imagining them together, when Grayson had been banished, had me turning away.
But they were right about what happened when a wolf went silent—the crushing suffering. And imagining that torture for every wolf, if Amal learned how the kings had stripped the queens…
The only word that came to mind was horrific.
“We’re asking you to read Amal’s journal,” Laura said.
“To protect Anson’s pack from the war that hasn’t ended?” I asked. “Only gone silent with the winter?”
Anson drew in a slow breath. “To protect all the packs, Noa.”
“What are you doing to help?”
“Building alliances,” he said. “We’ve been in talks with the Alpen.”
My gaze jerked to Laura’s pale face, but she kept her smile pinned in place.
“I won’t be delicate.” Anson pushed his chair against the table, gripped the back edge. “You know what happened up north, so I won’t give you details. But Mosbach has been kidnapping and selling wolves for years.”
“And you’ve enabled the vampires for years. The Alpen has been marauding— for years. Common sins don’t make us allies.”
Laura’s voice was strained. “Noa, please…”
Her expression broke my heart, but she was part of this with that we … and alliances between the packs would never, ever be easy.
She cleared her throat and said, “Thanks to Anson’s efforts, the Alpen are close to agreeing. We’re hoping for a meeting.”
“And Grayson knows this?”
“He has enough to deal with.”
When Laura turned her head away, my gaze slid to the fake snow falling outside the fake window, then to the fake fire in the fireplace. I breathed in, breathed out. Waiting for my racing pulse to slow. When I finally faced Anson, his hands still gripped the chair back, turning his knuckles hard and white. And even then, the accusation rose to my stiff lips. “You’d sanction a diplomatic play behind his back while he risks his life to protect you?”
Anson sighed, and said, “I think it’s you he’s protecting.”
“While you tempt us with comfort, the luxury of an archive, restaurants, music, safe apartments and a good life. Creating something as fake as the fire burning in the fireplace and the snow falling outside the pretend window—when you’ve banished our alpha and negotiate with our enemies.”
Laura’s hands were shaking. “Noa, please… he’s Alpha.”
“I know what he is.”
“And you’ve earned the right to criticize,” Anson said.
No anger in his voice, not what I’d expected when I wanted a fight, needed some way to rid myself of the churning frustration that itched beneath my skin.
“No one wants to ask more of you,” he added. “In war, lines blur and enemies end up allies with a common cause. Alpen has lost people, too. Amal destroyed Sutter and the Gemini Witches. We must rise above petty rivalries with a unified front.”
“While Grayson and Mace do the bleeding?”
Anson exhaled heavily. “They’ve been successful to this point. I see no reason not to expect more success.”
My faille senses jangled. “You’re worried. You sang the lament with Fallon to unite Sentinel Falls behind you.”
“Noa, scattered and frightened packs are too weak to fight.” He straightened. “We need to come together.”
“Behind one Alpha. You.”
Anson stiffened, and it hit me that I’d wounded him with those words. Not weakened him as a man, a warrior, an Alpha. But the image streaming through my head was from the night of the Rite, when Anson stood in for a crying boy, shot the arrows into the night at my side. Comforted a child who’d lost his entire world.
That man did not do things for personal power.
Ambition did not make an Alpha. When the magic chose the man and embedded the wolf in an alpha’s skin, the choice was never accidental. The magic sought those honorable enough to lead the pack, and selfless enough for the sacrifice.
“I apologize, Alpha.” I meant it, tipping my chin, blinking at the moisture in my eyes. “I am heartily sorry. My words were cruel and filled with anger, and I’m… sorry.”
“I’ve scented him on you. Your loyalty is understood.”
“And you know what I can do.”
“I know of your connection to Amal,” he said quietly. “How you’re attuned to her, hear her… that connection is the only advantage we have. If she can’t find you, if she’s paying more attention to him and what he’s doing… you might pick up something. An early warning. The book is hers. She may have revealed something after losing her wolf. She was vulnerable, at the mercy of a vampire. If you find a clue. A detail that we can use…”
“She destroyed Azul because she wanted a book.”
“So we don’t fecking alert her to this one.”
I remained silent.
Anson said, “Every Alpha knows what he’ll be called to do before he accepts the obligation.”
Before he promises to protect the pack, to the death, if asked.
Why did I feel shocked each time I faced that reality? Wolf life had always been this way. Grayson would fight to the death, the way Anson would one day fight. Mace. Fallon. A world without them. Even Lec Rus would fight, if backed against the wall.
Anson frowned. “I’m planning a quiet dinner tonight. Perhaps you’d like to come?”
Laura shook her head. “Levi’s arriving in an hour. I want to spend time with him, the two of us alone.”
“I’m going to Leo’s tonight,” I stammered when Anson’s glance slid to me. “Hattie and Oscar will be there.” It was Christmas Eve. I wanted to be with them.
Anson nodded as he stepped away from the table. His shoulders were tense.
“Anson,” I called out before he reached the stairs. “Did you ever visit the Gemini Witches?”
“It’s a rite of passage. Every wolf tests himself.”
“What did they tell you?”
The muscle jolted in his jaw, but he didn’t answer.
That non-answer bothered me throughout the dinner with Leo. Afterward, we exchanged small gifts wrapped in red paper. A knitted scarf from Hattie. A carved wooden replica of a bow from Oscar, with tiny arrows. Leo handed me a book he’d bought from a quaint stand in the Farmer’s Market. I gave them all the same thing: plates of cookies I’d baked that afternoon. I wasn’t much of a baker and hoped the cookies weren’t rock hard. But they assured me each bite was delicious. Hattie said they’d be perfect, dunked in hot tea, and we’d hugged each other when it was time to leave.
Hugged like people who had once been close, but suddenly felt awkward, as if dressed in difficult skins.
The headache that had threatened all afternoon thudded heavily behind my eyes as Anson’s private guard walked me home.
The apartment overlooking the Alpha’s Woods was beautiful, even though it was cold and often too silent. I dragged a blanket from the bed, curled on the couch. Real snow fell outside, not a simulation. Moonlight reflected as clouds moved, and the outside looked like a fantastical world filled with faeries and magic. Between the trees, new lights punctured the dark, flicking on—lanterns marking the way. Coming closer.
I leaned forward, my hands gripping the blanket, a strange anticipation fluttering as a figure emerged…
A male in a thick coat, stomping through the snow. A lantern swung when he held it high. He kicked a path to the sliding glass doors, and when he pounded against the glass, my nerves jolted.
But it was only Anson.
“Good gods.” I jerked on the heavy glass door to slide it open, ignoring the little energy jab. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m fecking freezing,” he groused. “Get a coat.”
“I’m not going out there.”
“Yes, you are.” An Alpha order that I obeyed. It was the least I could do after the grief I’d given him that afternoon.
Bundled in the heaviest coat from the closet, but without gloves, I tried not to shiver when the cold hit. But the Alpha’s Woods had turned magical with the gently falling snow—like walking through an empty cathedral designed by nature. Enlivened by the wonky Carmag magic.
The beauty in the lanterns caught my breath. Each one was made of brass and hung from carved, arched posts—fixtures that were centuries old—edging the snowy pathway the way flowers edged a center aisle at a wedding.
We wove through the trees, past a frozen creek with a trickle of water. Icicles clung to the lips of rocky ledges in a grotto Caerwen would love.
On and on we walked, the snow kicking up from Anson’s booted feet. Our breath puffed in cloudy streams. I pulled the coat higher around my ears, tucked in my chin. Lanterns glittered, the flames burning behind cut-glass panels, reflecting shards of light. Mysterious and silent.
And there, beneath the giant oak tree, a man waited. His blonde hair gleamed like a halo.
“Noa,” Mace said.
I froze, my heart exploding in my throat. “He’s…”
“Fine… but he needs you.”
My attention dashed from Mace to Anson—who gripped my icy hand, held it to his lips. “Don’t say I never gave you a gift, Noa. It’s Christmas Eve. Go to him.”
I stumbled. Righted myself.
And then I ran.