chapter 13

Talis’s POV

The truck’s tires scream against gravel, the forest road a blur as Dayne pushes us toward the mill, his ice-blue eyes locked on the dark trees where the wraiths’ red eyes flicker, their howls chasing us.

My wounds shoulder, side, back burn, blood soaking Dayne’s oversized shirt, but my wolf surges, silver-blue eyes blazing, fueled by the mate bond’s pulse of his protective rage.

Luka’s truck follows, headlights cutting through the night, Savannah’s voice still echoing in my mind. Glynn bound the second wraith with your family’s blood, Dayne.

The words twist in my gut, linking my parents’ deaths to his family’s slaughter, our bloodlines cursed. A new wolf howl sharp, unfamiliar splits the air, not wraith, not pack, and my wolf bristles, sensing a shift in the trap we’re racing into.

“Stay sharp, Talis,” Dayne growls, his hand brushing mine, the bond flaring with heat despite the danger.

I nod, claws twitching, but the roar of the engine pulls me back, a memory surfacing unbidden a different car ride, days after the moon-blessing, when I was nothing but a scared girl in Dayne’s too-big clothes, terrified of the killer beside me.

Flashback: Days After the Moon-Blessing

I’m curled in a ball, naked under the sheets, pretending to sleep in a strange bedroom, the weight of Dayne’s reputation crushing me he slaughtered his entire family, they said.

My heart races as the shower shuts off, and he steps out, not bothering to dress, slipping beside me, snoring within seconds. The lights are on, curtains half-open, mocking my need for darkness and silence to sleep. I can’t stay like this.

Thirty minutes later, I’m sure he’s out. I climb over him, heart pounding, naked and awkward, to kill the lights and close the curtains. The bathroom light glares, and I glare back at his sleeping form, crawling over him again.

His breathing shifts, and I freeze, hands braced by his head, straddling him, praying he doesn’t wake. His eyelids flutter, and I’m scrambling for excuses, but he snores again, and I slip back to my side, relief flooding me.

What feels like seconds later, fabric hits my face, his sweats and t-shirt. “Get up. We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Dayne growls, disappearing into the bathroom, his tanned skin a blur.

I’m not a morning person, and the dim window screams early. I nearly drift off when he reappears, mint and lemon scent filling the room. “Or I can leave you here.”

The threat jolts me left behind, I’d die or crawl back to Uncle Glynn. I snatch a sheet, wrapping it around me, dodging his naked form blocking the bathroom. His gaze flicks to the sheet, bemused, as if my shyness is absurd for a shifter. “Two minutes,” he says, stepping aside.

I dart in, finger-brushing my teeth, splashing water, shoving on sweats that drown me. He’s perfect in jeans, a white v-neck, cowboy boots, while I’m a mess in oversized clothes, hair tangled.

In his truck, speeding past Walmarts, I choke on a burrito he handed me, fear spiking as he inhales his, sparing me a glance. I summon courage. “Um, Dayne… I don’t have clothes. Can we stop at Walmart? Just pants, t-shirts. I’ll get a job, pay you back. I don’t need shoes.”

He glares, music blaring. “Speak up.”

Anger stirs. “Yes,” I snap, then shrink as he turns, eyes off the highway. I scoot away, fearful of flooding the cab.

He kills the radio, silence deafening. “You have no social security number, no car. How will you work?” His voice is mild, but his grip on the wheel betrays tension.

I stare, realizing hitting Uncle Glynn never gave me those things, tying me to him. “I don’t have it,” I whisper, sinking lower, useless.

“No,” Dayne says, nodding. “No job, no way to pay for clothes. Do you?”

I shake my head, staring out at snowy peaks and amber trees, tears burning. I have nothing to call my own.

Present: Forest Road to the Mill

The memory fades, but the sting of that helplessness lingers, now a fire in my chest as I grip Dayne’s thigh, the mate bond grounding me. I’m not that scared girl anymore, wearing his clothes, begging for scraps. I’m an alpha, my wolf ready to tear through wraiths for my pack, for him.

The new howl rings again, closer, from the mill’s direction. “Not ours,” Dayne says, voice low, his wolf close. “Could be Glynn’s ally.”

Luka’s radio crackles. “Movement ahead. Something big, not wraith.”

Savannah’s voice trembles. “Glynn said the second wraith answers to another. An alpha he fears.”

My heart stumbles, the bond flaring with Dayne’s rage. “Another alpha?” he growls, tires skidding as we near the mill’s rusted silhouette, fuel tanks glinting under the moon.

I clutch the dashboard, my wolf sensing the howl’s power primal, commanding. “It’s not Glynn’s,” I say, silver-blue eyes flashing. “It’s tied to me, to my bloodline.”

Dayne’s hand tightens on mine. “We end this, Talis. Together.”

The wraiths burst from the trees, red eyes blazing, one slamming the truck’s side, metal screeching. I shift, my silver-blue wolf leaping out, claws slashing the first wraith’s flank, pain searing my wounds. Dayne’s black wolf tackles the second, our bond syncing our strikes. Luka and Regan spill from their truck, knives and shotgun flashing, Savannah firing a flare that sparks the night.

From the mill’s shadows, a figure emerges not Glynn, but a wolf, silver-gray, eyes gold, not red. Its presence crushes, like it owns the air. It shifts, revealing a scarred man, tall, ancient power radiating. “Talisandra,” he says, voice resonant. “Your blood woke me. It ends tonight.”

My wolf snarls, recognizing him ancestor, first cursed, tied to the wraiths. Glynn stumbles from the mill, blade bloodied, grinning. “You brought her to me, Blackshaw.”

Dayne shifts, blood streaming, grabbing my arm. “She’s not yours.”

The ancestor steps closer, gold eyes locked on me. “Her bloodline ends the curse or yours does, Blackshaw.”

A flare sparks near a fuel tank, flames licking. Luka shouts, “Run!” but I stand firm, claws out, my past weakness gone. The ancestor charges, and I meet him, my alpha strength roaring, the mill trembling as the fight for our bloodlines begins.