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Garrick cocked his head. “Didn’t expect the little flower to have so many thorns.” His gaze slid to her. “But you always were full of surprises, weren’t you, Delilah?”

She didn’t flinch. But her hand found Rollo’s, fingers threading tight.

Because this time, she wasn’t facing the dark alone.

36

ROLLO

The moment Garrick stepped out of the shadows, the grove dimmed.

The moon still hung above them, silver and full, but its light dulled as if the trees themselves recoiled from the weight of the darkness clinging to his frame. Garrick moved like oil over stone—slick, slow, and so sure of his place in this poisoned world.

Rollo could feel Delilah tense beside him, her fingers woven through his, her breath catching as Garrick’s smirk curled.

“Still blooming, I see. Even after all that damage.”

Rollo stepped forward before Delilah could, placing himself between her and the threat.

“You’re not touching her,” he said, each word thick with promise.

Garrick’s eyes glinted. “You’re a fool, Rollo. Always were. You think love will save you from what’s coming?”

“No,” Rollo said, cracking his neck. “I think it already has.”

The ground pulsed beneath them. The roots groaned. Rollo could feel the forest’s pain—the tension between old magic and new rot stretching too thin. He didn’t need to look to knowDelilah felt it too. She moved beside him, hand slipping free only to reach into her satchel. The whisper of spell-thread and dried leaves followed.

Garrick raised a hand. Shadows rose behind him—shifting like wolves at the edge of a flame.

“You can’t save her,” he said. “Youboundher. You made her part of this dying thing. She’ll break long before the trees do.”

Delilah’s voice cut through the air. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

She stepped forward then, just a few paces, and laid the carved bowl Rollo had seen in her hands when he had found her moments ago. She set it on the moss. Her eyes never left Garrick’s.

“I chose this,” she said. “I chose the forest. And I chosehim.You twisted your bond into a weapon. We made ours a sanctuary.”

Garrick snarled.

That did it.

The shadows lunged, and Rollo shifted without hesitation.

Bones cracked, fur tore through flesh, and in seconds, his bear stood where the man had been. Massive, gold-flecked, furious. Delilah didn’t flinch. She knelt behind him, pressing her palms to the soil. Her voice rose in chant—low, melodic, ancient.

Rollo charged.

The shadows met him with claws like razors, but he batted them aside. He focused on Garrick—his once-brother now veiled in malice. They collided with the force of history. Claw met claw. Blood hit bark.

Delilah’s voice wove through the clearing like music no one had heard in centuries—pulling power from the roots beneath their feet, drawing strength from the stars burning cold and watchful above. The carved bowl in front of her pulsed brighterwith each word, the green and gold light flickering like breath—alive, building,becoming.

It wasn’t just magic anymore.

It wastheirs.

Bound through carved runes, sealed with ash, blood, and belief. A union of spirit, soil, and soul.

Rollo’s growls echoed behind her, animal and raw. She didn’t have to look to know he was locked in a brutal dance with Garrick—two beasts forged from the same earth, now tearing at each other with everything they had left.