Page 65 of Unveiled

Irial.

Adrian gasped. “She’s alive.”

Connor stepped forward, but Adrian yanked him back. “Wait, look.”

The rend pulsed, expanding suddenly, a shock wave of cold air slamming into them. Adrian stumbled into Connor, who caught him instinctively, his arms wrapping around Adrian’s waist to steady him.

A shadow formed in the tear. Something tall, bent, and hungry. Connor’s wolf snarled. Adrian stiffened, his fingers digging into Connor’s coat. “It sees us,” Adrian whispered.

And indeed, the creature’s head tilted, its eyes glowing white, focused directly on them. The air rippled. Then the rend slammed shut violently, sending both men sprawling back onto the forest floor, Connor’s arm wrapping around Adrian as they fell.

Silence followed. Connor’s ears rang. Adrian groaned softly beside him, pushing himself upright and out of Connor’s arms. “Connor,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking. “They have her.” Connor’s breath hitched. Adrian reached out, gripping his hand. “They have Irial.”

Connor squeezed Adrian’s fingers, steadying himself. “Aye,” Connor said quietly. “And I think we need some help to get her back from that damned place.” He cast a sympathetic glance at Adrian. “I’m no rend opener, and neither are you. We’ll need Xiathen or the Triarc to help us on this one. Let’s go back and tell the others, formulate a plan to get our girl back.”

Adrian hesitated. “I know you’re making sense, but I can’t leave her here.”

Connor laid a finger against Adrian’s lips. “I understand, I feel the same, but we can’t do this alone.” He turned and started walking back toward the village. “Come on, let’s get back. The sooner we do, the sooner we can return.”

Together the two men trudged through the woods. Connor hoped like hell they’d be able to do what he’d promised. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

Chapter Seventeen

Adrian

As he returned to the village with Connor, whose boots sunk into half-frozen moss, Adrian realised the forest held its breath the way a wounded animal did. Silent, taut, and waiting for the next blow. He felt responsible for Irial’s abduction and the movement of the rend. Connor was quiet as they walked, no doubt as worried as he was.

“There’s something not right about this place,” Connor muttered.

Adrian didn’t need the reminder. He felt it. An echo, a ripple in the invisible lattice of magic beneath the earth. He’d known about the supernatural all his life, but this was nothing like the shifter realms or the small wild magics that still clung to certain places in his world. This was old and knotted. The Veiled Path. The Harrow Clearing.

He shivered before he could stop himself. He still hadn’t tackled the most important question of all: How do I know all this Utharian lore? Who am I truly? He’d speak to Xiathen about it soon. He had no doubt Connor had already noticed his familiarity with some of the Utharian ways. Yet he remained silent.

Adrian swallowed hard. He’d spent the past hour trying not to think about the Highlander. It was a futile effort. The man invaded his awareness like a second heartbeat. Irritating, distracting, and disquietingly welcome. Every accidental brush of their shoulders still lingered on his skin. Every word Connor spoke carried a weight that tugged at Adrian far more than he wanted to admit.

“Do you feel it?” Adrian asked quietly.

Connor didn’t look up. “Feel what?”

Adrian hesitated. “The echo.”

Connor straightened, wiping his hands on his kilt. His breath formed a thin cloud in front of him. “Aye. You’ve felt it more strongly, I’d wager.”

The echo pulsed in Adrian’s chest like a second rhythm, an imprint left behind by the rend. A reminder of worlds brushing too closely together. A reminder of Irial.

Adrian exhaled slowly. “We’re running out of time.”

They turned toward the slope leading to the village. The echo pulsed again, sharper this time, tugging Adrian’s senses toward the trees on the left. He halted abruptly. “Wait.”

Connor paused mid-step. “What now?”

Adrian pressed a hand to his chest. The echo thundered once, like a memory of distant thunder, then settled on a direction. Deeper into the wood. He swallowed. “It’s calling again.”

“That,” Connor said slowly, “is generally how possession stories begin.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Me? Dramatic? You’re the one being led into the cursed woods by an invisible magical tremor.”