This cannot be right, we’re still far from Ávera.
“We don’t have time for this,” I snap, trying to shake off the creeping dread. But as we move on, the markings become more frequent, etched into almost every tree we pass.
Snap.Within seconds, the air around us changes. It grows thicker, choking. I catch sight of a figure ahead, Noël, standing by a stream, her back turned to us.
There you are.
My lips curl into a grin as I signal Gregor to move quietly. The idiot stays close behind me, panting like a dog. Noël looks down into the water, unaware. I can practically feel her silky skin in my grip already.
But . . . something’s wrong.
Her hair sways, but there’s no wind. It moves unnaturally, almost like smoke curling in the air. I stop.
“What the...?” I whisper, then shake my head.Noël. It’s Noël. It has to be her.
But as I step closer, the hair shifts again, and I notice... it isn’t hair. It’s moving too fluidly, too unnaturally. My heart pounds harder.
“Noël?” I call out, my voice faltering. She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t move.
Something in me screams to stop, but I take another step. And another. I curl and uncurl my hands, my fingers trembling despite myself.
She turns.
And everything inside me sinks.
It’s not Noël. It’s not even human. Her face... too smooth, too perfect. Eyes glowing with an ethereal light. I can’t breathe. I can’t??—
From the shadows, more figures emerge, slipping through the trees too lightly, as if floating. Women, their eyes gleaming, their bodies shimmering like water under the moonlight. We’re surrounded. Trapped.
“You are not welcome here,” one of them says, her voice echoing in my head, vibrating through my bones.
My legs refuse to move. I try to reach for my sword, but it’s like my arms are made of stone, frozen in place by their gaze. Beside me, Gregor stumbles, his face pale with fear.
“What... what do we do?” Gregor’s voice shakes, his knuckles white as he grips his blade.
I grit my teeth, struggling to breathe. “We need to go... get out of here. Now.”
But the women close in, their beauty hiding the danger beneath. My skin crawls. And for the first time in years, I feel true fear.
14
THE WRATH OF THE VÓLKIN
“She will not come like a storm, but like a wound. She will not restore the world with mercy but with memory. The one who carries the ache of every mother, the fire of every daughter—she is balance.”
—Mother of All
Noël
Theron’s entire presence changes before my eyes. His fur bristles, fangs bare, and his breathing slows. I take an involuntary step back.
I thought I’d seen his strength earlier, but this... this is something completely different. It’s raw, wild, and terrifying. He didn’t look like that before.
I take another step back, but he moves forward in perfect sync, closing the distance between us with a single stride.
“Theron...” I start, but he doesn’t give me the chance to finish.
His massive paw tightens around me, and before I can process what’s happening, he lifts me into his arms. It’s not thecareful, tender gesture it was earlier. Now it’s like he’s acting on pure instinct. The world blurs as he moves through the trees, and I cling to him, my fingers gripping the full fur of his mane, trying to steady myself. Strands of his fur catch on the bushes and low branches he runs past, a part of him scattered through the forest. Is he shedding after winter?
