These are fae.
Behind me, I hear sounds of a scuffle with thrashing leaves and colliding bodies and Reece’s desperate grunts.
My scream dies against a palm that smashes against my mouth, the scent of metal and earth invading my nostrils. The two fae holding me drag me through the thicket, thorns tearing at my skin and leaving burning trails across my calves, until we burst into a clearing and stop. Through gasping breaths, I register hooded figures encircling a fire too vibrant to be natural. Venomous purples and toxic greens pulse amidst tongues of orange flame, illuminating symbols carved into the earth.
The air itself seems to vibrate, charged with magic so thick I can taste its metallic and bitter residue on my tongue.
"We have her," one of my captors announces.
Inside my mind, the voice that’s not a voice cackles.
The ritual halts abruptly. A figure at the head of the circle lowers their outstretched arms, and instantly, the pull in my mind vanishes. I blink rapidly trying to work out what in the hell made me go wandering into the woods, while the greatly reasonable panic grows inside me with every breath.
"Kind of you to join us,” says another of the hooded figures. A female by the shape of her ropes. Her voice… it feels like the one that had been in my head. And it sounds even more familiar. The captain from dinner. The one who’d had my plate sent away, and my goblet filled.
The one who’d first brought up Kai and Kyrian flying with the draken patrols.
She turns to one of her companions, the larger similarly clad figure who’d been fussing over the fire. “I told you it would work.Humans are simple. Even ones given access to magic that should never be theirs.”
A pained whimper answers the captain’s declaration.
My eyes dart to the edge of the ritual circle, across all the fae with covered faces, to find a massive dark wolf that is trying and failing to rise.
“Logan,” I gasp. In the firelight, I see the labored motion of his breathing, his fur matted with blood that steams faintly from the wounds into the chilled air.
I twist violently in my captors’ grip, driving my elbow into one’s solar plexus and stomping down on the other’s instep. The moment their hold loosens, I lunge forward, but I make it only half a step before I’m seized again. This time, my arms are wrenched painfully behind my back, making further movement impossible. A moment later, a gag is forced into my mouth.
“She’s feistier than she looks,” one of the male fae laughs from behind his face covering. “What about him?” he jerks his chin toward Reece who is being dragged in by a broad-shouldered male. The male presses a knife to Reece’s throat, blood beads along the edge of the blade where it bites into his skin.
The captain, who seems to be the leader in this cabal —and something of an enchanter or priestess—studies him for a moment. “I know this one. Reece, isn’t it? A wolf from one of the northern packs.”
"Prince Theron’s ordered the alchemist's safety,” Reece snarls at her in response. "How far do you imagine the disguises will take you in an isolated detachment?”
“The ceremonial garb upsets you?” the captain lowers her hood, confirming the identity I’ve already established. “Better?”
Reece swallows. “Captain Viera. But you are?— ”
“A senior officer of Theron’s forces? An alpha of the wolves? A priestess of the moon? Which title were you reaching for, pup?” She sounds amused.
“Prince Theron will have your head,” Reece says.
"Prince Theron," she mimics with exaggerated pomposity, "will be grateful when I deliver the solution to his problem."
“I don’t understand,” Reece says. “What’s happening here?”
I am really glad someone asked that, because I desperately want to know too.
“What must happen.” Viera’s voice hardens. “Theron’s hands are tied with politics, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us have lost basic reason. A good commander understands when her general wishes one thing but must order the opposite.” She points a staff toward me. “There’s too much pain and blood on the alchemist’s hands. No Flurry soldier should stand silent while she is paraded around the war camp like a prized pet, all because a Slait princeling has a hard cock. Certainly no wolf.”
Reece’s nostrils flare but he says nothing. And that scares me.
“What will it be then, pup?” Viera asks. “Will you join the circle, or would you rather join the runt omega there?” She kicks Logan’s side and he whimpers.
I pull uselessly against my binds. Rope fibers bite into my wrists in reply, rough enough to burn.
“You are from the north,” Viera says, her attention fully on Reece. “Your people have suffered the worst because of this cunt. What is the wolf in your soul howling at you to do?”
I watch Reece's face in the firelight. His jaw works, muscles tightening as he stares first at the fire and then at me. His eyes harden until I see no mercy in his gaze, no hesitation—only the cold, hard hatred of someone who's found a perfect vessel for their rage. "The north remembers," he says finally. “The wolves deserve justice.”
