If she couldn’t fight on the mountain, she’d make damn sure this room was warm. Comfortable. Safe. It felt petty and domestic and utterly inadequate. It was what she had.
Dani took a breath, reached for the magic.
It came like a wave.
No gentle coaxing this time. Power surged up from her gut, eager, bright, like it had been waiting for an excuse. Her palms burned before she even lifted them.
Easy,she told herself.Not the bookshop. Control.
She cupped the feeling, narrowed it, fed it down her arms in a thin, steady stream.
Flame licked over the logs in instant, clean tongues. No flare, no explosion. Just a sudden, fierce blaze that roared up the chimney and settled into a steady, hungry crackle.
Heat washed over her face. The room, almost at once, felt less like a bunker and more like somewhere people lived.
Behind her, there was a little chorus of oohs from the kids.
“That was so cool,” one of the Volkhov pups breathed.
Aurelia gave her a smug look.See?It said.
Dani blew out a slow breath, flexing her fingers as she stood. The magic hummed under her skin, restless but contained.
Fenred was watching her.
Really watching, the way a man might study a weapon he hadn’t realized was loaded.
His eyes glittered in the firelight, pale and sharp.
“I didn’t realize,” he said, voice low, “how strong you were.”
Dani wiped her palms on her jeans, suddenly aware of the sweat there despite the cold. “Bonds…amplify things,” she said carefully. “Layla thinks so, anyway.”
Fenred stepped further into the room, leaving Freya by the door. Sue had peeled off earlier to check the perimeter; it was just them and the kids, who were tactfully busying themselves with blankets and mugs.
“Arthur was like most shifters, constantly disregarding the potential that witches held,” Fenred said. There was no bitterness in it. Almost…approval. “All because of the fear.”
Dani’s hackles lifted.
“He’s not afraid,” she said, too fast.
Fenred’s mouth twitched. “You sure about that?”
She didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t. Not really.
He let it go, or pretended to.
“Still,” he went on, gaze on the fire. “That’s the kind of power our people will need,” he tipped his head, studying her face, “when this really starts.”
Something in the way he saidourscraped wrong inside her ears.
“Our people,” she repeated slowly, “you mean Nordan.”
“Don’t we share a pack?” he asked mildly. “Share an alpha now, apparently.” His gaze flicked to the mark at her neck. “Shared blood. Shared bed.”
Heat crawled up her throat. “That’s none of your business.”
He smiled, humorless. “Everything is my business when it comes to keeping the pack safe.” His eyes reflected the fire, catching strange colors. “You think hybrids will care about our little territorial lines? About whether you call yourself Salem or Nordan when they take your daughter’s throat?”
