She narrowed her eyes. “How would you know what I’m thinking?”
His smirk returned. “Because I know you. Now sleep,” he whispered, brushing her hair back. “I’ll find you in the morning.”
She offered no argument, sleep tugging hard at her. Within minutes she drifted off, his touch still a ghost upon her skin.
Chapter 40
Alaric couldn’t sleep.
Hours had passed since the ritual, since the firelight had burned low and the last echoes of laughter had faded into silence. The lodge was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of settling wood, but his mind refused to rest.
He turned onto his side with a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face. He could still feel the curve of Heidara’s waist beneath his palms, see the way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed, utterly unaware of how easily she’d disarmed him. The memory clung to him, vivid and maddening. He wanted her badly, and that want was beginning to feel less like desire and more like need. That was the problem.
But she wasn’t the only thing haunting his thoughts. Even now, lying alone in the dark with the scent of smoke and damp earth clinging to the air, his mind kept circling back to the man at the trading post. The unsettling strength in his grip. The way he stood slightly apart from the others, eyes fixed on the road like he was expecting something. And that raised scar burned into the skin in a shape Alaric couldn’t shake. He was sure he’d seen it before. Somewhere.
Then it hit him.
He sat up so quickly his vision swam. That scar. It wasn’t just a burn. It was a sigil. The Sigil of the Lost. A mark forged through blood magic, etched with purpose.
Dread crept in, slow and merciless, settling into his bones.
Something was wrong. Deeply, undeniably wrong. Who had that man been waiting for? Were there others nearby?
The answer came swiftly, as a familiar unnatural cold seeped into the room and crept beneath his skin. The same chill he’d felt when the Noskari dragged him from his tent and bled him dry. The same cold that had filled the air the night shadows twisted Reuben’s mind.
They were here.
His pulse pounded against his ribs as he shoved on his boots and tore out of his room, urgency fueling his every movement. He needed to find Evelyne and the others.
He was at Evelyne’s door within minutes, pounding hard enough to rattle the hinges.
“Alaric?” Her voice was groggy, heavy with sleep as she opened the door, rubbing at her eyes, her robe pulled loosely around her.
He pushed inside without hesitation, his gaze scanning the room. “Did Heidara ever come back?”
Evelyne’s expression sharpened instantly. “No, I… I don’t think so.”
She didn’t wait for more explanation. She rushed across the room, grabbing her clothes. Alaric turned without needing to be asked, giving her a moment to dress as he grabbed the map from her bag.
“Shit, shit, shit.” His voice was tight as he watched the ink bleed across the parchment, dark tendrils unfurling far beyond their location.
The Noskari weren’t just here. They were surrounded.
Then the screaming started. Bloodcurdling screaming.
Alaric grabbed Evelyne’s wrist and pulled her into the hall. “We have to go. Now.”
The streets were chaos. Townspeople ran, some dragging loved ones behind them, others frozen in terror. Alaric barely had time to registerthe grotesque figures tearing through the market square, some flickering between shadows, others fully formed, their gray skin stretched taut over pulsing black veins, their mouths smeared red with fresh blood.
The Noskari were feeding.
Bodies lay strewn across the ground, drained and lifeless, their skin pale and waxy under the moonlight. Blood pooled in the dirt. The air was thick with the coppery scent of death.
“Where are the packs?” Evelyne whispered, her voice laced with terror.
Alaric didn’t answer. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows, pressing her back against the cool stone of the alley wall. The distant snarls and pounding of paws against the earth told him what he needed to know—the packs were coming.
But were they enough to fight off dozens of Noskari flooding the market square? Alaric guessed fifty, maybe sixty. Too many.
