MasukRyan
I watch the last group of warriors from Silverhide disappear into the night, a few Endovian warriors following them. The forest that wraps around Endova is alive with action–howling, people calling out Logan and Maeve’s names.
All over the Deadlands, people and wolves are searching for our missing children and the witch that stole Kenna’s child from her arms. It’s only a matter of time before we find them, I’m sure. Kyra won
FraserWren closes the door to the armory with a thud. I blink past the fractured memories that have been clogging my senses for the past few hours and rise from a stone bench, turning to meet him. His footsteps are solid and determined. I’m sure his facial expression is set with that same determination, but as it stands, I can’t see a Goddess-damned thing. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.” He motions to the room at large, which is, pun intended, quite large. It’s not a space for foxes, for sure, and it even swallows me in my human form. It’s round and roughly carved into the depths of the mountain and is sweltering, but that’s expected this deep. As it stands, it’s my home, seeing as my dragon senses are currently holding precedence while my eyesight remains a thing of the past. Dragons get cold easily. I doubt I need to explain further on that topic. “Well, you found me. What do you need?”His blurred form motions wildly. “What are you doing down here, Fra
Naomi“Stop,” Fraser commands while squinting against the dim amber light dancing over the stone tiles now speckled with glass. “I didn’t–I’m sorry,” I rush out, choked by a rush of shame and also the fact he’s practically pinning me to the ground beneath him. My powers shutter, still weak from my journey here and also using them so carelessly, but my emotions take the reins at present, and all I feel is a heartsick kind of guilt that’s entirely new and utterly infectious. I curl into myself while he pulls away, careful not to snag his skin on the powder-fine shards of glass. He picks up his frames like they’re the most precious thing in the world, and maybe they are because his expression is just as fragile as the frames now bent in the palm of his hand. Oh, Goddess, what have I done?“I can fix it,” I whisper, but the words fall flat before they leave my tongue. He once told me his other senses were acute, and I believe him, especially now because he replies in a way that makes
FraserI pull back thick curtains to let in an onslaught of fresh morning light. The sky is still pink hued, and frost hangs on the glass panes, but the sun is breaching the highest peaks, and Naomi is still here, which means whatever plot thickened in her mind last night cannot come to fruition without me fully involving myself. I already know I’m on a path straight to hell, but I’m knee deep as it stands, and there’s nothing that can be said or done to change its outcome. It’s a brainless delusion I spent the summer trying to talk myself out of after meeting her, but I’ve known witches like her before, and history is damned to repeat itself. Naomi will not leave me alone until she’s satisfied, and I will not rest until then. So be it. “Wake up.” Naomi groans from her wrinkled nest of bedsheets. She pulls her pillow over her face, but I rip the sheets off the bed, exposing her to the crisp, rather chilly morning air. She curls into the fetal position and whines something into th
NaomiWren smirks over the rim of his glass of deep, red wine. He looks exactly like he did this summer–tall, broad, strong, and handsome in a foxlike, chiseled way with dark hair and bright green eyes. He grew a beard, which is new, and he keeps it neatly trimmed, but the winter has passed in his favor. He doesn’t look nearly as exhausted and unbalanced as the last time we crossed paths. Unfortunately, our reunion was marred by his closest men, and several sets of highly concerned parents, who descended on Fraser’s classroom to inquire about why their children were now in tears, thinking a witch had come to turn them into pie. The witch in question just so happens to be me. “I hate him,” I growl, then I take a heavy gulp of my wine, which is, of course, delectable. A small feast rests on the kitchen table between us. I feel oddly secure being in this familiar room again. It’s exactly how I left it, all warm-colored stone and wood shelving. Wren breaks off another piece of the roa
Fraser“This is a swimming pool,” Naomi breathes beside me, her sea-green eyes locked on the wide, but shallow, pool of carved, dark quartz. A steaming waterfall heats the bath, water trickling from the very stone that lines the room. “Where are dragons supposed to bathe otherwise?”“This was not what I meant. The other rooms upstairs had bathtubs for human-sized beings. This is too much.” She waves a hand at the pool and looks up at me expectantly. “Last I checked, you were my guest, and this is what I have to offer you.”“Why can’t I stay in the old rooms where I was this summer?”“Because they’re occupied by more polite and grateful people as it stands, and I do not want them disturbed.”“I think the foxes would be delighted by my company as much as I’d enjoy theirs,” she retorts, and I am officially exhausted. Naomi is a complicated woman. Her personality is brash and straightforward, and every single variation of her emotional profile shines behind her eyes but in a way I’m su
NaomiNothing good happens after midnight. At least, that’s what my dad, a retired criminal and vigilante turned Alpha King, always told us growing up. I beg to differ, which is why, around what I believe might be 3:00 in the morning, I pull my arms into a robe left hanging on a hook near the door in my room and decide to pace Fraser’s hallways instead of lying wide awake in the regal stone bedroom he left me in several hours ago to rot. I’m not tired in the slightest. My sleep schedule, which is already a Goddess-damned mess, will pay the price for my unintentional translocation across the globe, but I digress. I have no plans, no course of action to speak of, and, unlike this past summer, I have the chance to calmly explore the castle without the burden of several other lives bearing down on my shoulders. I search the room for anything resembling slippers but come up empty-handed after several minutes of tiptoeing my way over smooth, cold stone. Like every room in this insanely l
*Maddox*I walk ahead of the stretcher carrying Isla and try not to pull my fur out. If I had thumbs, I might’ve already pulled out enough fur around my forehead that I’d look bald.Images of a wolf with a receding hairline come to mind, and I almost laugh. But nothing is that funny right now.What the
ArisPosey disappears in a flurry of gray wool the second my powers fade like tendrils of smoke across the dark mosaic tiles of the grand foyer. Her footsteps echo down a darkened corridor, the only sound for what feels like an eternity–an eternity spent willing myself to stand still and not chase
Posey“I don’t think I understand.” I set the letter down and turn to Aris, who’s leaning against the hearth in our bedroom. “My father wrote this?”“It’s his blessing.” He crouches, inspecting the fire with a poker. I resist the urge to crumple the letter but set it neatly on the bed instead. “In
ArisMorgan’s long fingers trace over the top of my hand, her red painted nails shining in the firelight as she smiles at me, cat-like, her dark eyes giving away nothing. When I don’t react to her touch, she leans away to refill her glass of sparkling wine, clicking her tongue. She rises and turns







