Chapter Sixteen
Connor
Connor’s stomach flipped at Piper’s words.
“Missing?” Adrian repeated. “Where was she last seen?”
“In her home this afternoon. Her friend Rhena was supposed to have dinner with her tonight, but Irial wasn’t there. The meal was prepared but not cooked.” Piper swallowed hard. “No sign of her. No note. Nothing. No one’s seen her since earlier.”
Connor stared at Adrian as Max approached behind him, his posture taut.
“Have they searched the village?” Adrian asked Piper.
She hesitated. “Not thoroughly. People are afraid of going out in the dark, and besides, they won’t see much.”
“We’ll search,” Connor said. “We can shift and see more.”
Adrian nodded. “Together.”
Their gazes met again. Steady this time, purpose-sharpened.
“Fraser,” Connor called. “Take Max and get to the village. Sweep the northern end. Check the homes, the valleys, the riverbank. Carefully.”
Fraser inclined his head. “Right you are. Come on, Max.”
Connor turned to Piper. “Stay here. If you hear anything, call me.” She nodded shakily.
***
Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Glengáill. The village was quiet with few people around. Let’s hope they’re all out trying to find Irial, Connor thought grimly.
Adrian stepped beside him. “Where do we start?”
Connor swallowed the instinctive flare of warmth at the word we. “The southern edge. The Dry Pig area.”
Adrian lifted his chin, determination glinting in his eyes. “Lead the way.”
Connor walked slowly, boots resounding over damp cobblestone. Adrian walked silently beside him, but Connor felt him like a second heartbeat.
The village lanterns flickered with an odd rhythm, as though reacting to some invisible pulse.
“Feel that?” Adrian murmured.
Connor nodded. “Aye. Still feels weird. Like there’s pressure under the ground.”
“Utharian magic,” Adrian said softly. “Residual energy from the storm, perhaps, or something else.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me how I know this. I don’t know myself.”
Connor caught the hesitation. “Something worse.”
Adrian didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny either.
They reached The Dry Pig. The windows glowed warmly. The scent of bread and broth wafted into the cold night. Sooty chimneys exhaled tired puffs. The door opened, emitting a dim light, and Xiathen walked out, his face pale with concern.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice catching. “Were it not for your marvellous mobiles, it would have taken us a long time to get the news to you.” Connor nodded. “Her home is beyond that corner.” Xiathen pointed.
As they approached, Connor noticed something half-buried in the mud near the front garden. It appeared to be a scrap of fabric. Adrian crouched, his hand gentle as he lifted it. Irial’s shawl.
Connor felt his stomach twist. “This is no dropped garment. Look at the edges.”
Adrian held it up, letting the lamplight illuminate the rips and tears. Not ragged like claws, not straight like a blade, but uneven, melted. Burned. But not by fire.
“Shadow-fire,” Xiathen whispered. “A flame that leaves no ash. Only absence.”
Connor’s wolf bristled beneath his skin. “Those things were here.”
Adrian hitched a breath. “Connor, if they took her—”
“We’ll find her,” Connor said too quickly, too sharply. But he meant every word.
Adrian looked Connor in the eyes. Something softened in him. A flicker of relief, or hope. Connor wasn’t sure which one hurt more to see.
“Then we keep searching,” Adrian said.
Connor couldn’t help the smallest smile. “Aye. Together.”
Adrian’s lips parted, and for a fraction of a second, Connor was tempted to kiss him, to pull him close and ravage that beautiful mouth.
Then a shout tore across the night.
Connor and Adrian sprinted toward the sound. The sound had come from the west side, near the old well. Adrian reached it first, skidding to a halt beside a small cluster of terrified villagers. A man pointed a shaking hand toward the tree line.
“I saw something,” he stammered. “Not a person. Tall. Thin. Like smoke. It moved toward the woods.”
Connor felt his pulse spike. “The Nightwrought.”
Adrian swallowed. “We should follow it.”
Connor hesitated. Chasing shadows into the woods at night was suicidal. Adrian was watching him, his breath misting in trembling puffs into the cold air. Connor knew exactly what Adrian was thinking because he was thinking the same damned thing. If Irial was taken, she was in there.
“We’re Valours,” Adrian said quietly. “This is what we’re meant to do.”
Connor growled under his breath. “Valour or not, I’m not letting you run blindly into whatever’s waiting in there.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened, stubborn and beautiful. “And I’m not letting you go without me.”
Connor cursed in Gaelic under his breath. Then he said, “Fine. But we stay together.”
Adrian nodded once. Then they undressed, shifted, and ran. The world blurred.
Connor’s bones re-formed with a familiar crack and surge, his human breath dissolving into the deeper, stronger rhythm of the wolf.
His senses sharpened. Smell first, then sound, then the shimmering edges of movement around him.
His coat spilled over him like shadow made flesh, thick dark fur catching what little moonlight filtered through the trees.
Beside him, Adrian’s change was quicker, lighter. A fluid ripple of motion that was almost elegant. Where Connor’s shift felt like a tectonic plate rolling into place, Adrian’s was a clean snap of instinct, seamless and bright.
Adrian’s wolf landed on all fours with a soft thud. Slender. Sleek. Dark as night except for streaks of pale grey brushing the ridge of his spine. His eyes were amber-gold and startling against the gloom. He looked fast. He looked fierce. He looked…captivating.
Connor knew he was everything Adrian wasn’t.
Broad-shouldered even in wolf form, massive paws built for impact, fur thick and roughened by Highland wind.
A Veilwarden’s wolf, whether or not he wanted the title.
When they stood side by side, they were mismatched and perfectly matched all at once, two halves of a legend they hadn’t asked to be part of.
The moment their paws hit the earth in unison, something happened. Connor felt a thrum, a pulse, a tug that was cleaner, and unmistakably stronger. It rippled beneath his ribs like an invisible tether snapping into alignment.
Adrian froze mid-stride, his ears flicking. Connor did too, breath steaming from his muzzle. The bond pulsed again. Not a pull this time, but a warning. Together. Stay together.
Connor snarled softly, not at Adrian but at the invisible force threading through them. Adrian’s wolf answered with a low, resonant sound. Not fear, not defiance, but acknowledgment. They were linked. They were watched. They were being shaped.
They took off through the trees.
Connor’s wolf cut a path with raw power, each stride kicking up soil.
Adrian followed not behind but beside Connor, a flash of dark fur weaving between branches, keeping pace without effort.
Two wolves, two rhythms, but it felt like one pulse was guiding both of them.
The forest parted, or perhaps they forced it to.
The night wind carried scents Connor had no words for: smoke, magic, and something cold from beyond the Veil.
He surged ahead, his muscles rippling. Adrian kept his flank aligned with Connor’s without looking, as though he’d always known how.
Not dominance, not submission, but instinct. A new instinct: valour.
And as they ran deeper into the dark, the ground trembled faintly beneath their paws, as if something far beneath the earth recognised them and was waking.
The woods swallowed them quickly. The trees loomed tall and ancient, their branches webbed overhead like skeletal fingers. The moonlight barely pierced the dense canopy. The air was colder here.
Connor growled. We need to change back. I think we’re here.
He sensed Adrian’s agreement, and within minutes both men were back in human form. Both naked.
Shit, I didn’t think this through.
Connor cleared his throat. “So, no clothes. This might prove a little embarrassing when we find Irial.”
Adrian waved a hand. “Pah. I’m sure she’s seen a naked man before.” He seemed completely unfazed by his lack of clothing. Connor wasn’t as comfortable.
Then it happened. A pulse. Not from the earth, not from the air. But between them.
Adrian shot upright, Connor’s hand pressed to his shoulder. “Did you feel that?”
Connor didn’t answer, because the mark along Adrian’s collarbone had ignited.
At the same moment, a faint shimmer curled over Connor’s rib cage, where no mark had been before, but where the bond always tugged the hardest. On his chest, a sigil appeared, bright and intricate.
Connor drew a shallow breath as the sigil throbbed, and a sharp pain shot through his body.
I’m being marked, like Adrian.
The light spread up and outward around them both. A thin veil of magic wrapped their skin like warm fog. Connor sucked in a breath as energy coiled around him: protective and insistent. Adrian reached out, his fingers brushing the glowing air between them.
The glow pulsed once, and clothes formed around them.
But they weren’t dressed in their clothing. Adrian wore loose dark trousers, a deep green long-sleeved shirt, and a swirling grey cloak around his shoulders. On his feet was a pair of stylish riding boots. Around his waist, a belt held a slim, silver knife.
Connor wore a pair of Highland wool trews in the tartan of his clan, green, black, and red, with a belted white shirt and an arisaid tartan wrap stretched across his back.
His feet were wrapped in a pair of sturdy mid-calf leather boots.
He had a dirk, about fourteen inches long, on his left hip.
It looked suspiciously like the one he’d inherited from his father upon his death.
Simple. Functional. Unique.
All of it was woven from energy that solidified into fabric as the light faded.
Connor looked down in stunned silence. “What the fuck?”
Adrian exhaled shakily. “It dressed us and armed us.”