“Once blood magic fully consumes a soul, the person that remains is no longer human. They become something else. Something deadly. Like a creature of the night.” Hesitation had crept into his voice, as if the final truth was too dark to name.
“What is it you aren’t saying?” Evelyne asked.
“They feed, Evelyne.”
She stiffened. “Feed?”
“They can drain every last drop of blood from their victims.” Alaric leaned in, lowering his voice. “They’re killers—so powerful that even the pack has lost people trying to take them down. And that darkness on the map? I’m starting to think it’s them. Heidara said they’re shifters, but not wolves. They shift into shadows. Not metaphorical ones… Real ones. Living, black, liquid shadows.” A flicker of dread flashed across his face. “If we cross paths with one, we won’t be fast enough to escape.”
Her stomach knotted as the truth settled over her.
Monsters walked among them, and her brother might already be one of them.
“Evelyne, we can’t ever lose that map. It’s the only warning we have.”
She spun toward her bag, yanking the map out and unfolding it with trembling hands. The surface still remained clear. She blew out a long breath before folding the parchment.
Chants began to rise in a haunting crescendo outside her tent, the deep voices weaving into the night like a call to something ancient. Evelyneand Alaric rushed to the entrance, peering through the opening just as the shifting ritual began.
A ring of elders stood with arms outstretched to the full moon, their chants thick with power, pulsing like a heartbeat through the clearing. All around them, men and women knelt in unity, heads lowered in sacred submission. And at the center of it all, Kaldrek knelt alone, still beneath the moon’s gaze.
Then he rose, squaring his shoulders as he struck a fist to his chest—once, then again. The deep, echoing thuds rang out like a signal, calling the pack to attention.
The wolves answered as one, fists pounding against their chests in perfect unison. The sound reverberated through the clearing like a steady, thunderous drumbeat.
A violent crack sounded, jolting Evelyne to her core. She flinched as the sickening snap of bone and the wet rip of shifting flesh filled the air. Kaldrek’s body convulsed, limbs twisting at unnatural angles as coarse fur erupted through tearing skin. He grew, stretched, and reshaped, until the man vanished, and in his place stood a wolf.
An enormous wolf. A creature unlike anything she had ever seen. He towered over the others, his sheer size making even Holden’s form seem small. His flawless coat caught the moonlight, gleaming with an icy brilliance. He looked white as frost, like a phantom of winter come to life.
But his eyes weren’t the blood-hungry red she’d seen on Holden that first night. No—Kaldrek’s were black as a void, rimmed in a glint of cold, merciless silver.
One after another, the elders transformed, their bodies twisting with the brutal music of cracking bones and tearing flesh as they became something inhuman. The others followed, their pain a symphony ofbreaking bodies and snarling beasts. Evelyne and Alaric winced, covering their ears against the unbearable noise.
And yet, the display of power was mesmerizing.
Wolves now stood where warriors once knelt, their fur ranging from dark as ink to pale as smoke, from earthy brown to steely gray. They were all enormous, far larger than any ordinary wolf could ever be, and each bore the telltale red glow of shifter eyes.
But none stood as large as Kaldrek. None carried the same eerie black gaze.
A feral growl rumbled from the pack, rising in volume as more joined, like a sound of primal anticipation. The very ground seemed to vibrate beneath Evelyne’s feet.
Then, Kaldrek ran.
His massive paws struck the earth, and he launched into the night in one fluid motion, followed by the elders and the pack. They streaked into the darkness, moving so fast their monstrous forms blurred, silent save for the whisper of wind through the trees. It was both breathtaking and utterly horrifying.
“Holy shit,” Alaric murmured beside her.
Evelyne stood speechless. Magic like this was never meant to exist. But it did. And she was standing in the heart of it.
***
Alaric retreated to his tent nearly an hour after the pack had shifted and disappeared into the forest. By morning, they would be on their own again, and Evelyne still awaited her weapons. Kaldrek had said Heidara would leave them outside her tent once they returned, but when that would be, she had no idea. Would they even come back to say goodbye?Or would they simply take their things and disappear, leaving her and Alaric behind as if they had never been here?
Holden had warned her that by dawn, the pack would be gone. No more food. No more shelter. It would be just the two of them, alone on this journey north—on foot.
A sharp pang of guilt coiled in her stomach as Reuben’s face flashed in her mind. She had spent the night drinking and dancing with the very people who had killed him, who once held her captive. What was she thinking, letting her guard down? She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to silence the regret. But Reuben was gone, and no amount of mourning would change that. She had to focus on the living, on Cillian, on reaching Nerathar before time ran out.
Evelyne changed into the nightclothes Heidara had given her. The fitted wool leggings kept her warm against the late-night chill, but she chose a loose white cropped top, relishing her freedom. Running a hand through her hair, she exhaled slowly, exhaustion settling deep in her limbs.
