Chapter 27

The storm roared as Aria and Caden emerged from the temple, the wind tearing at their cloaks and driving rain into their faces. Rollan nestled against Aria’s chest, his small cries swallowed by the tempest’s fury. The seer’s words reverberated in her mind: “Return to where it began.” Wolfcrest Avenue—the gala where their bond ignited, where Victor’s curse first sank its claws into their lives. It was a journey back to the origin of their hope and their pain, and the weight of it settled heavily on her shoulders.

Caden limped beside her, his shoulder wound seeping fresh blood through the makeshift bandage. “We need shelter,” he said, his voice rough against the howling wind. “The storm’s worsening, and I won’t be much use if I collapse.”

Aria scanned the valley, her eyes stinging from the rain. The temple’s glow had faded behind them, leaving only the jagged outlines of the mountains against the lightning-streaked sky. A faint flicker caught her attention—a cave mouth, barely visible through the downpour. “There,” she shouted, pointing. “It’ll do until the worst passes.”

They stumbled toward it, the muddy ground sucking at their boots. The cave was shallow but dry, its walls rough and unyielding. Aria set Rollan down gently, wrapping him in her cloak to shield him from the chill. His wide, trusting eyes met hers, and she forced a smile, though her heart ached with uncertainty.

Caden slumped against the wall, his breathing labored. Aria knelt beside him, her fingers brushing the soaked bandage. “Let me look,” she said, peeling it back. The wound was angry and red, the arrow’s puncture deeper than he’d let on. “You’re not fine,” she muttered, her voice tight with worry.

“I’ll hold,” he replied, though his grimace betrayed him. “We’ve got bigger problems than my shoulder.”

She nodded, her mind racing. The loyalists might be gone—vanished by the temple’s light—but the seer’s warning lingered. Victor’s essence was tied to Rollan, a thread of malevolence they had to sever. “Wolfcrest Avenue,” she said softly. “It’s days away, even without the storm. And with you hurt…”

“We’ll make it,” Caden cut in, his tone fierce. “We have to. For him.” His gaze flicked to Rollan, softening for a moment before hardening again.

Aria tore another strip from her cloak, re-binding the wound with care. “Then we rest here until dawn. You need strength, and I need a plan.” She paused, her hand lingering on his arm. “We’re in this together, Caden. No more pretending you’re invincible.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Noted.”

The night stretched on, the storm a relentless roar outside. Aria kept watch, her dagger close, while Caden dozed fitfully. Rollan slept in her lap, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. She traced the mark on his wrist—a faint, crescent-shaped scar that mirrored the runes in the temple. Victor’s essence lingers, bound to the child. The thought chilled her. What did it mean? A possession? A tether? She wouldn’t let him be a pawn in Victor’s game.

As dawn broke, the storm eased to a drizzle, casting a gray pallor over the mountains. Caden stirred, his face pale but determined. “Time to move,” he said, pushing himself up with a wince.

They set out, the path slick and treacherous. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine, and the silence felt oppressive after the storm’s chaos. Aria’s senses prickled, every rustle in the underbrush setting her on edge. She couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.

Midday brought them to a swollen river, its banks churned to mud by the night’s deluge. A rickety bridge swayed precariously over the rushing water, its ropes frayed and wooden slats cracked. “We have to cross,” Aria said, eyeing it warily. “There’s no other way through.”

Caden tested the first plank, his weight making it groan. “It’ll hold,” he said, though doubt flickered in his eyes. “You go first with Rollan. I’ll follow.”

Aria hesitated, then nodded. She tightened the sling around her chest, securing Rollan, and stepped onto the bridge. The ropes creaked, swaying under her weight, but she moved steadily, her focus on the far bank. Halfway across, a plank splintered beneath her foot, and she gasped, clutching the ropes as the bridge lurched.

“Aria!” Caden shouted, starting toward her.

“I’m fine!” she called back, heart pounding. She edged forward, testing each step until she reached solid ground. She turned, waving him over. “Your turn!”

Caden began the crossing, his injured shoulder slowing him. The bridge trembled with each step, the river roaring below. He was nearly across when a sharp twang split the air. Aria’s blood froze as an arrow struck the rope beside him, fraying it further. Another followed, embedding in a plank near his feet.

“Ambush!” she yelled, drawing her dagger as shapes emerged from the trees—loyalists, their cloaks tattered but their resolve unbroken. How had they survived the temple’s light?

Caden lunged for the bank as the bridge buckled, the weakened rope snapping. He caught the edge, dangling over the churning water, his wounded arm straining. Aria dropped to her knees, grabbing his wrist. “Hold on!”

The loyalists advanced, their leader—a wiry man with a scar across his cheek—sneering. “The child’s ours,” he growled. “Victor demands his due.”

Aria’s grip tightened on Caden as she glared at them. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

Scarface raised his bow, but a sudden roar stopped him—a guttural, primal sound that shook the trees. A massive wolf burst from the undergrowth, its fur silver and eyes blazing. It tore into the loyalists, scattering them in a chaos of screams and blood.

Caden hauled himself up, collapsing beside Aria as the wolf dispatched the last attacker. It turned to them, its gaze piercing, and Aria’s breath caught. “The alpha,” she whispered. Caden’s wolf—the one he’d lost to the curse—restored by their blood ritual.

The wolf padded closer, nuzzling Caden’s hand. He stared, awe and relief washing over his face. “You’re back,” he murmured.

But the reunion was cut short. The ground rumbled, a deep, unnatural quake that split the earth near the riverbank. A shadowy figure rose from the fissure—Victor, or some echo of him, his form wreathed in darkness. “You cannot escape me,” he hissed, his voice a venomous echo. “The child’s blood is mine.”

Aria clutched Rollan, her heart hammering as Victor’s shadow loomed. The wolf growled, hackles raised, but the figure only laughed, vanishing into the mist. Silence fell, heavy and ominous.

Caden met her gaze, his expression grim. “He’s coming for us. At Wolfcrest.”

Aria nodded, fear and resolve warring within her. “Then we face him where it began.”

With the wolf at their side, they pressed on, the past and future colliding in a storm of their own making.