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CHAPTER 25

Bitter wind cut through the stone passageway as Darius pushed open the door. The night air smelled of snow. He predicted several inches by morning. If he wanted to leave, he had to go before his brothers could track him.

Adjusting his pack, he checked his gear one last time. Traveling in wolf form would be easier, but there could be no shape-shifting on this journey. When they were lupine, they were one, and if he shifted, his brothers would track him through their shared mental link. They might even find his mate first.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Since the first ripple of awareness, he sensed her sorrow. She was alone and frightened. He tried to connect but something blocked his efforts. It was as if her mind was locked, not just from him, but the world. If he desired to speak to her,to fully understand what had weighed so heavily on her heart, he needed to do so face-to-face.

Looking back one last time, he sighed. His pack might never welcome him back after this. He was knowingly disobeying his alpha’s orders to do what he, in his heart, felt was right. It was a choice he needed to make.

Was he compromising his loyalty to the pack? Probably. As brothers, they shared unbreakable vows, but what choice did they leave him?

Once Evander forbade Darius to look for her, he left no other option but to gamble the pack’s trust. Darius would simply have to repent and prove his loyalty once he returned, which he had every intention of doing as soon as he claimed his mate.

Crossing the threshold, he entered the dark night and began his long journey. The Scandinavian forest stood still under the cold, piercing gaze of the moon. The branches of the ancient trees twisted like the fingers of forgotten gods, looming over the landscape and casting elongated shadows on the frost-covered ground.

The wind howled through the night, a mournful symphony that echoed the despair in Darius’s heart. It had been several days since he’d caught a glimpse of his mate’s mind. It was as if all the visions were deliberately cut off to purposely hide herself from him.

He tried not to lose his temper to assumptions that fed into distrust. She would explainher secrecy once he found her, and they would address her concerns together, as one.

He trudged through the dense forest, his senses sharp, his muscles taut with determination and desperation. After miles of trekking through the cold, damp night, he began to panic, never feeling any closer to his cause. His steps were aimless as he wandered like a lost drifter, unsure where to go.

Finding his mate was not just a matter of survival. It was a sacred duty, a bond that would ensure the continuation of their line. Yet, despite his efforts, she remained hidden, her mind blocked to him like a ghostly presence he could neither see nor touch.

Shadow-wolves had once thrived, their powerful bloodlines allowing them to live for millennia. But now, they were endangered, their numbers dwindling due to their mates’ elusiveness.

As a member of the Lycaon tribe, his lineage was steeped in the legends. He opened his mind in hopes that his intuition and blessed bloodlines would guide him. Darius wasn’t one to pray often, but moments of desperation called for desperate measures.

He stopped in a small clearing, the moonlight illuminating the frost blanketing the ground. Dropping to his knees, the weight of his responsibility to his kin pressed heavily into his shoulders. The expectations of his pack, his brother’slack of faith, and the fear of failure bore down on him with crippling pressure.

The icy wind bit into his skin as he opened his coat and shirt, but he welcomed the pain. It sharpened his resolve, fueling the ancient fire within him. With a steady hand, he drew an athame blade from his belt.

The blade was an heirloom, passed down through generations, its steel etched with runes of power and protection. The edge gleamed in the moonlight as he held it over his heart, the point pressing against his chest.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and plunged the blade into his flesh, mimicking the lethal wound passed from father to son in the ancient history that defined his bloodline.

Grunting at the burning pain, he suffered through the blood sacrifice, knowing it was the only hope of righting his path. His sacred offering welled around the blade's tip, and his body shook. Gritting his teeth, he plunged the knife deeper, then pulled the athame free, cupping his hands to catch the blood as it trickled down his rigid abdomen, through his fingers, and onto the snow.

The stark contrast of his heated life source warmed his hands against the biting cold, a vivid reminder of his mortality. Holding out his hands, trickles of crimson followed the ropes of muscle twisting his arms, dripping onto the large leaf he plucked from a nearby tree.

The dry edges of the leaf were alreadycrimped with time. He hoped it held enough life to act as the offering he needed. It was a known truth that gods liked some sort of sacrifice for their favors, and he desperately needed their help now.

Drops of his sacred blood trickled from his cupped palms onto the leaf. “Hear my plea,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, as he addressed the gods. “Guide me to my mate. Do not let our lineage fade into the shadows of history. I beg of you, show me the way. I sense great sorrow in her. Help me find her so that our union might honor you.”

The wind pulled from the trees as if the branches inhaled to hold the forest’s breath. He knelt in reverence to his prayer, eyes closed, blood spilling in sacrifice, and his heart seeking sanctions of the gods.

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours—it was impossible to tell. Then, as if in answer to his desperate prayer, the gurgling caw of a raven squawked overhead.

Eyes open, he looked to the sky as a vision shaped his mind. There she was. Her face remained blurry, but her presence was unmistakable.

She stood at the edge of a cliff, the sea crashing against the rocks far below, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The location was familiar, a place he had seen in dreams but never in waking life. It was a place tied to his lineage, a place of power.

He gasped, the vision fading but leaving behind a sense of purpose. The vision acted as a compass, guiding his heart in the direction he needed to go. She was out there. But there was no mistaking the ominous weight of what he saw. She was scared and in some sort of danger.

He needed to save her from whatever it was she feared. If her life was in danger, he needed to end whatever made it so.

His pack would not forgive him if he failed. They might not forgive him for hunting her alone. But his instincts had guided him correctly. She faced a great danger, and Darius could not risk another minute of waiting.