Page 25

The scent of old parchment and leather bindings fills my nose as I flip through yet another ancient text.

The pack library is silent around me, dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunlight that streams through high windows.

I've been here for hours, searching for anything that might help me prepare for the final Trial, mere days away now.

My back aches from hunching over the table, and my eyes burn from staring at a faded script. A wave of fatigue washes over me, more intense than it should be. Another pregnancy symptom I need to hide.

I rest my hand briefly on my stomach, a gesture that's becoming habitual.

"Hang in there," I whisper, so quietly even the dust doesn't stir. “I know research is boring, but we can do this.”

The confrontation with Nic after the Council meeting yesterday still lingers in my mind. The way he stood so close, his scent enveloping me, his eyes darkening when I challenged him. For a moment, I'd thought he might—

I force myself out of thoughts like that. I can't afford to dwell on moments that lead nowhere. Not with everything at stake.

I turn another page, and a name catches my eye. Morgan . My parents' name, appearing in a record of pack contributions. Curiosity piqued, I lean closer.

Elara and Michael Morgan commended for their work strengthening the eastern boundary defenses.

Nothing more. Just a brief notation in an old pack meeting record from sixteen years ago. But it's enough to send my thoughts spinning. My parents died defending pack borders, according to Victoria. But what exactly had they been working on?

I close the book carefully, decision made. If I want answers about my parents, I know where to start.

***

"You want to know about Mom and Dad's stuff?" James looks surprised when I corner him outside the pack building later that afternoon. "Why the sudden interest?"

"Found their names in the records," I explain, following him inside. "They were working on pack defenses before they died—you probably remember it better than I do. I'm curious."

His cabin smells like him—pine and earth and coffee. It's comforting in its familiarity, a rare point of stability in the chaos my life has become.

"I kept a few things," he admits, heading toward a narrow staircase. "Wait here."

I wander around his living room while he rummages in the attic, taking in the few personal touches—a photo of us as children, a carved wolf figurine Mom made him for his tenth birthday. Small reminders of the family we once were.

James returns carrying a small wooden box, its surface worn smooth with age and handling.

"Found this after they died," he says, placing it on the coffee table. "Never could bring myself to get rid of it."

The box is simple but beautiful, carved with intertwining vines that I recognize as our mother's work. I run my fingers over the pattern, feeling a faint echo of her magic lingering in the wood.

"Take it," James says gruffly. "It should be yours anyway. Mom was the one with the witch blood."

I lift the lid carefully. Inside rests a leather-bound journal, a few pressed flowers, and a small silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

"Thank you," I whisper, throat suddenly tight.

James shrugs, uncomfortable with the emotion hanging in the air.

"Let me know if you find anything interesting." His tone is casual, but his eyes betray his curiosity.

I tuck the box under my arm. "I will."

Back in my temporary quarters, I curl up on the window seat with my mother's journal. The leather cover is soft beneath my fingers, worn at the edges from frequent handling. My mother's neat handwriting fills the pages, familiar enough to make my chest ache with sudden longing.

Most entries are mundane—notes on herb cultivation, recipes for healing salves, observations about seasonal changes. But about halfway through, the tone shifts.

April 18, 2009

Michael believes we've found a way to integrate the traditional ward markers with my protection spells.

The theory is sound—shifter blood magic combined with elemental bindings should create a ‘hybrid’ defense system stronger than either tradition alone.

Victoria is cautiously supportive, though some Elders remain skeptical about using witch magic so prominently in pack defenses.

I trace the words with my fingertip, imagining my mother writing them, not knowing she had only months to live.

May 3, 2009

More strange activity at the eastern boundary.

Michael says the wolf tracks are wrong somehow, distorted, as if the wolves making them were.

.. twisted. He's convinced it's some local pack—the Cheslem Pack—testing our defenses, though most believe they were wiped out decades ago.

We've reinforced the ward markers there, but I'm uneasy.

My pulse quickens. The eastern boundary—the same area where the Matthews Pack was just attacked.

I continue reading, turning pages with increasing urgency.

June 12, 2009

The hybrid defense system is working better than we hoped.

The ward markers respond to both blood activation and my elemental binding spells.

Michael says he can feel the difference when he patrols—the boundaries feel more solid, more present.

Elder Victoria believes this could be a new chapter in pack protection.

I worry about using so much magic while pregnant. The baby seems fine—active and strong—but sometimes I feel my power fluctuating in strange ways. The pregnancy seems to both amplify and destabilize my abilities. It wasn’t quite like this with Luna and James. Luna, sort of. James, not at all.

I press my hand against my abdomen, a chill running through me. History repeating itself in ways my mother never lived to see. The little sibling she never lived long enough to give us.

The final entries become increasingly concerned, referencing more boundary testing, more strange tracks. The last entry is dated just a day before their deaths.

July 28, 2009

The eastern ward markers have been tampered with.

Someone—something—is trying to dismantle our work.

Michael is organizing extra patrols tonight.

I've reinforced the magic as much as I can, but I'm exhausted.

This pregnancy takes more energy than I expected.

Will continue tomorrow after I've rested.

But tomorrow never came for them.

I close the journal slowly, mind racing.

***

"They were combining shifter blood magic with witch protection spells," I explain to Ruby later that evening, the journal open between us on the counter beside the cash register. The bookstore is closed, the "Closed" sign flipped, and the blinds drawn against the darkness outside.

Ruby frowns, tapping one purple-painted nail against her coffee mug. "That's not something I've heard of before. Witch and shifter magic are usually considered incompatible."

"Apparently not," I gesture to the journal. "They were making it work."

"And you think this has something to do with the current attacks?" Ruby asks.

"I'm not sure." I pace the small space behind the counter. "But it can't be coincidence that the Cheslem Pack was testing our borders then, and they're back now. At the same boundary.”

Ruby pulls out a map of the territory she's been keeping behind the counter. Various marks dot the parchment—red X's, question marks, small notations in Ruby's precise handwriting.

"What's this?" I ask, leaning closer.

"I've been tracking... incidents." She looks slightly embarrassed. "Call it a hobby. Whenever I hear about something strange happening in neighboring territories, I mark it down. It’s the same work the Alpha and his people have been doing, I’ve just… been doing it, too. I guess it eases my mind.”

The map shows a pattern I hadn't expected—a systematic progression of unusual events moving clockwise around Silvercreek territory over the past six months.

Livestock disappearances near the northern boundary.

Unexplained fires to the northwest. Hikers gone missing to the west, ten miles from our border.

And most recently, strange sightings to the south, culminating in the Matthews Pack attack.

"They're testing all the boundaries," I murmur. "Looking for weaknesses."

Ruby nods grimly. "That's my theory. Like they're... I don't know, mapping the defenses."

My mind races back to my mother's journal. "The ward markers," I say suddenly. "My parents created special ward markers for the boundaries. What if those are what's keeping the Cheslem Pack at bay? What if they're looking for a way past them?"

"And if they find it?" Ruby's voice is hushed.

I don't answer. We both know what happened to the Matthews Pack.