Page 161 of A Sunwoven Ascent

“I do,” she replied. “When I have a moment, I sometimes slip away to the Stonebridge library.”

“And what claims your interest?”

“Stories, when I wish to escape. But more often history. The land. The covens. The old magic.”

Cillian released a quiet breath. “Of course.”

He could not have said why that answer suited her so well. Only that it did. It felt, strangely, as though he had known her longer than he had any right to, as though their paths had crossed long before either of them understood it.

“I am glad you are here,” he said at last.

She did not answer immediately, but he saw her shoulders ease. “As am I.”

Silence settled between them again, not empty this time, but companionable. They stood side by side while the wind moved around them and the sea stretched endlessly before them. Somewhere far behind, beyond the hills and trees, the world was unraveling.

Time stretched, and the moon climbed higher. The water darkened beneath it, until Cillian’s gaze sharpened on the horizon. At first, there was only a shadow. A slight distortion against the endless black. Then it became shape. Movement. The faint outline of something cutting across the water, growing clearer with every breath.

Sails. Rising one after another above the horizon as if the night itself had begun to give them up. Cillian’s breath slowed.

“They’re here,” Alia said.

***

Night fell without mercy over Velenshire, and Evelyne waited in the Shaw fields, her anger burning hotter than anything she had ever known. It anchored her. Kept her from collapsing beneath the weight of everything the night had taken.

Kaldrek had left in the middle of the attack, left when she needed him, when his pack needed him, and though she understood why, though she knew he had gone seeking power to protect them, it did nothing to quiet the fury clawing through her chest. Because now he was something else. Someone else. Their bond was still there, but hollow in a way that made her stomach twist. It felt like the emptiness in Holden’s face when he returned from the grove, after every Ironwolf had felt their tie to their alpha go cold.

Kaldrek had been reckless since the mating bond settled between them. Reckless and afraid. Terrified of losing her. And that was the worst of it, because Evelyne understood him completely. She would have done the same. That was why she could not hate him, no matter how badly she wanted to. She was terrified too. Terrified beyond words, and now she could not even reach him.

The loss made her want to scream, to fight, to drag him back herself if she had to. She did not care if she died tonight. Not anymore. If she could get close enough, just once, she would make him feel what he had done. That stubborn, reckless wolf. She wanted to strike him hard enough to knock sense into him, hard enough to make him wake and come back to her, so they could go on loving each other as if the world had not tried to tear them apart.

No.

She forced the thought away before grief could drag her under again. She had cried enough. And now anger would have to carry her, because it was the only thing she had left.

Near the grove, Charise and the covens prepared to defend the Solwyn Tree, the strongest well of their magic and their last line of defense.

Even that felt fragile now.

Alaric was with the guards, making certain every human had been cleared from the streets. With nightfall over Velenshire, the market should have been empty by now, as safe as they could make it before returning to the gathered forces.

Holden and Heidara readied the Ironwolf pack while Evelyne took her place at the front, the Oathroot wolves and Aurelia falling in behind her without question. She could feel them now, not as separate bodies, but as a single pack. Their instincts, their trust, their presence pressed against her own.

Her pack. She knew it in her bones. They had not left each other. They had not left her when everything went to hell. She would fight to the death for them, not because of duty or reason, but because something deeper than thought demanded it.

The night insects fell silent just as a sharp breeze swept through the fields. The trees shivered as black mist slipped through the orchard. There was no warning. No pause. One by one, the Noskari surged from the darkness like a breaking wave, their forms shifting between shadow and flesh as they crashed into the field with brutal force. They overran everything in their path, and in the blink of an eye, chaos erupted.

Wolves were knocked down, thrown back, torn open. Still, they rose. Rage drove them. Grief drove them. The desperate need to take something back from the darkness drove them harder than pain ever could. Evelyne threw herself into the battle, her claws tearing through one Noskari and then another as Ironwolf, Oathroot, Glaciermaw, Moonshade, and the other gathered packs crashed against the wall of gray-skinned demons. Blood sprayed across grass and fur. Growls and shrieks split the night.

Somewhere beyond the chaos, witches guarded the grove, humans held the town, and Cillian waited at the edge of the sea. Evelyne could only trust that everyone was standing where they needed to stand.

The fight became a brutal rhythm. Slash. Shove. Breathe. Run. Every motion dragged fire through her lungs, and every breath tasted of smoke, blood, and earth. Then a shriek cut through the field. Evelyne skidded to a halt and whipped her head toward the sound.

Zade was down.

Kaura and Wren snapped at the creatures closing around him, but they were losing ground. Several Oathroot wolves had been cut off with them, trapped inside a tightening circle of more than ten Noskari. Evelyne saw it all at once. They were not simply attacking. They were herding them. Isolating them. Picking them apart.

No.