This is a vision, I deduce, my heart racing because it’s my first time.
I’m no longer standing in Heinrich’s study. Instead, I’m standing on a cliff while cold ocean wind lashes against my skin, whipping my hair wildly around my face. The scent of earth and pine fills my lungs, soft and familiar, and below me, thick, voluminous rocks are being washed by gushing waters. This isn’t the Bitterroot Valley.
It isn’t even the mountains in Bitterroot. I know this because, apart from not recognizing the river, I canfeelthat this place is different.
I turn slowly, my heart hammering as realization creeps deep into my bones.
A forest stretches endlessly in both directions, wild and untouched. Towering cliffs plunge into a valley, and in the distance, a lonely sawmill stands against the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
Something pulses nearby. I feel it before I see it, recognize it for what it is.Power.
Dark, ancient power, the scent so dense, but recognizable nonetheless, because I caught it a few times in the valley. It overpowers the earthy, cool air, churning my gut. The ground trembles faintly beneath my feet, and when I follow the pull of that energy, my gaze lands on a jagged tear in the air itself.
The portal.
It hangs above the sawmill like a wound in reality; threads of the clouds themselves appear like cobwebs torn from the inside out. A swirling vortex of dark shadow and crimson light, twisting slowly as though the world itself is struggling to contain it, the center of it moving as if it has a heartbeat, as if it’s breathing, as if it’s alive.
My breath catches as my heart lurches. That’s where the demons are coming from.
Demons slip through the rift like shadows given form, their silhouettes flickering before vanishing into the storm-shrouded land beyond the cliffs. One stark realization is that the portal isn’t in the Bitterroot Valley.
Not even remotely.
The Bitterroot Valley doesn’t have a sawmill anywhere near it.
This is far enough that the mountains where the Bitterroot wolves live would be nothing more than distant legends here.
A second presence suddenly brushes against my mind, but this one is warm, familiar.
I turn just as a figure steps into the vision beside me, and a wave of relief washes over me as distinctly as the river gushing past the giant boulders and rocks. The figure is a woman; tall, powerful, her dark hair braided down her back as the wind whips the ends of it like a banner. Golden magic flickers around her fingertips, steady and controlled, nothing like the chaotic surge of power I sometimes feel when my abilities spiral out of control.
She isn’t a stranger.
I know her instantly, even if we’ve never met—but because I feel her. I feel her magic like a familial presence, the same magic that lives inside me, humming in recognition.
A witch.
The third witch.
Or rather, the third luna.
Her gaze meets mine across the vision, calm and knowing, her lips smiling warmly. Behind her, wolves move through the rocky terrain like silent guardians—large, powerful creatures with coats that shimmer silver beneath the stormy sky.
I recognize the wolves instantly, because I’ve seen the Iron Breath alpha in wolf form before, which means the woman standing with power in her fingers and a smile on her face is Conan’s mate.
I open my mouth to speak, to ask her who she is or what her name is, but before I can get a word out, the vision begins to fracture.
The portal pulses violently, the vortex swelling like a living thing, as if it senses that it’s being watched. The womanturns toward it, golden magic already gathering in her hands. And then the world shatters.
I gasp as air floods my lungs.
The study snaps back into existence around me, Heinrich’s desk presses against the backs of my legs, his arms still wrapped around me as he steadies me against his chest.
“Annika? What happened?!” His voice is tight with concern, but with a hint of panic underneath. “Annika, look at me.”
I blink rapidly, trying to ground myself as the remnants of the vision fade from my mind like smoke slipping through my fingers. “I just saw it, Heinrich,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Heinrich’s grip tightens around my waist, and I continue, “I just saw the portal, and it’s not in Nitterroot.”
