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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

NOVA

T he figure behind me growls, the sound rumbling through the night like distant thunder. A jolt of fear slams through my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I twist around, craning my neck to see a male towering over me. No, not just a male—but a fae with the kind of presence that screams wolf. His mask glows, and he tilts his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey.

He grunts at the dagger I lodge into his side before he uses magic to lasso my wrists behind my back.

“Little thief,” he says, his smooth voice woven with a feral edge. “You came. We’re not here to hurt you.”

Before I can reply, more figures step into the clearing, forming a loose semicircle around the hot springs. There are at least thirty of them. Each of them carries the same unmistakable aura—wild, untamed, and dangerous, spiking another punch of adrenaline in my veins.

The masks make them all the more unnerving. Sculpted into the visage of a wolf, each one is shaped from what looks like obsidian, the edges rough-hewn like carved fur. The eye slits are deep, shadowed, making it impossible to tell where they’re looking. Some are lined with streaks of luminescent fae light, thin strips embedded in the design, pulsing softly in the dark. The effect is spectral—like the faces of long-dead gods watching from the abyss.

“What is this?” I demand, trying to wrench my arms free, but my path is blocked again by the first male. He doesn’t touch me—he doesn’t need to. His presence alone is enough to make my wolf stir uneasily, but his magic keeps me in place.

A female—judging by the small mounds on her chest—steps forward, her silver hair catching the light from where it peeks under the mask. “Welcome, Novaleigh,” she says, her voice melodic and dripping with amusement. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“For what? A late-night ambush?” I snap.

She chuckles. “For the chance to prove yourself.”

“Prove myself for what, exactly?” I stand still while I try to turn my wrists to reach the small, enchanted blade I’ve got tucked into my back pocket, but can’t quite reach it.

“To join us, of course.” Another male steps forward as he gestures toward the group. “We are the Made Fae Society. And you, High Princess, are the perfect candidate to stand with us.”

I raise my chin, staring them down. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t belong with the fae born,” the silver-haired female says, circling me now, her steps slow. “No matter how much you pretend. You’re like us, Novaleigh. You weren’t born into this life—not entirely—you were made for it.”

Her words linger in my head, echoing with a truth I want to reject. I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to give them any reaction. But disappointment gnaws at me—some small, desperate part of me hoped they’d have information about Callum or at least a clue about why he’s ghosting me. Something. Anything. Instead, they’re here for me, and my unanswered questions keep piling up.

“And before you ask,” the first male says, his tone almost bored, “you won’t be meeting the leader tonight. But if you’re serious about joining, there’s a vow you’ll need to take.”

“A vow.” I narrow my eyes. “To whom?” I ask, lifting my chin. Even as I speak, my thoughts are elsewhere, stewing over the fact that this meeting gives me zero answers about my Highlander.

The silver-haired female pulls a small, sleek phone from her pocket and tosses it to me. The magic disappears from around my wrists just in time for me to catch it. “To our cause. Follow the instructions.”

I weigh whether I can snag the blade I’ve got tucked into my sleeve, frowning as I glance at the screen. The display glows bright, showing an encrypted app I’ve never seen before. At the top of the screen is a single message from a username I also don’t recognize.

Echo

Are you ready to commit to the cause?

“What if I say no?” I look up, calculating the odds of getting put back in time-out again.

Another male chuckles. “Then you walk away and pretend this never happened. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what you’ll do.”

The silver-haired female steps closer, head canted as she studies me. “Think about it, Miss Drake. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re one of us. And when the time comes, you’ll see that it’s the Made Fae who hold the power—not the fae born.”

I glance at the phone again, my thumb hovering over the screen. My wolf growls low in my chest, torn between distrust, curiosity, and excitement. But me? I don’t know what to feel.

Maybe I won’t stab anyone again, not until I learn more.

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” I raise a brow. “A group of fae who corner me in the middle of the night and throw cryptic vows at me?”

“You’re not supposed to trust us.” The silver-haired female rejoins her group, calling over her shoulder. “You’re supposed to trust yourself.”

The first male steps closer, offering my dagger hilt-first. It’s the same blade I buried in his side, now extended back to me—a wordless sign of trust. I slowly reach my hand up and take it from him. The group begins to shift, their forms flickering in the moonlight as they return to their wolf shapes. Within moments, the clearing is filled with massive wolves, their fur and eyes a variety of shades, from white to black and silver. One by one, they disappear into the forest, their glowing eyes the last thing I see before the darkness swallows them.

I glance around the hot springs, looking for the clothes and masks, but find none. So they’re made fae who are powerful enough to shift while keeping dressed?

I look down at the phone in my hand, the message still glaring back at me.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

Before I can decide what to do with the damn phone, another rustle in the bushes makes me spin around, but the clearing is empty again. The heat of their presence lingers like an invisible weight warming inside me. My wolf, however, isn’t alarmed. She’s purring, practically preening, thrilled by the interaction.

They’re right, she whispers, her voice smug in the back of my mind. We don’t belong with the fae born. You felt it, didn’t you? That connection. That power.

“No, what I felt was a trap,” I mutter out loud, glaring at nothing in particular as I shove the phone into my hoodie pocket.

My wolf isn’t deterred. They respect strength. They see us for who we really are, not what they want us to be.

“What they see,” I snarl under my breath, “is an idiot they can manipulate.”

It’s not the first time someone has tried to use my status to do their bidding.

The faintest of chuckles drifts through the trees, like the remnants of a shared joke I wasn’t part of. My hands ball into fists, and I whirl around, half-expecting one of them to still be there, watching. But the clearing is empty, save for the steaming water of the springs.

There’s no way I’m waiting around to see if they come back.

My wolf protests, growling low in my chest. You’re running.

No, I’m being smart, I hiss, tightening the drawstrings on my hoodie as I stalk back toward the path that led me here. Something you should try for once.

The forest closes in around me as I leave the hot springs behind, the cold nipping at my cheeks. My wolf simmers in silence, her dissatisfaction tangible, but for once, I don’t care. This is too much. Too weird. Too fast.

But as I near the edge of campus, my steps falter. The phone in my pocket feels heavier than it should, like it’s burning a hole straight through the fabric.

I pull it out, glaring at the screen. The message is still there, waiting.

Echo

Are you ready to commit to the cause?

A second message pings just as I’m about to shove it back into my pocket:

Echo

Sneaking out so late, Princess? Careful, wouldn’t want your guard to catch you.

My heart skips a beat, and I whip my head around, scanning the shadows. There’s no one in sight, but the implication is clear—they’re watching.

I tighten my grip on the phone, my teeth grinding. My first instinct is to toss the damn thing into the woods and be done with it, but something stops me.

Not curiosity. Not even fear.

No, it’s my wolf, practically wagging her tail with excitement.

They see us, she says, her tone almost reverent. And they want us.

Yeah, well, they can keep waiting , I mutter, stuffing the phone back in my pocket as I head for the dorm. But even as I push open the door and creep past Tai’s bed, my mind keeps circling back to the note. To the wolves. To the way their magic felt—wild and untamed, like something I’d been missing without even knowing it.

And I hate that, deep down, a part of me is already wondering when they’ll come calling again.

I’ve just shucked off my clothes when the door opens again, and Sylus pauses at the threshold, his eyes widening as they take in my naked form.

Ooh, yay, my wolf purrs. Big alpha is back!

No , I snarl, shoving my head through my T-shirt.

Sylus shuts the door behind him. “If you insist on riling my wolf and perfuming all over our room, you could at least have the decency to follow through.” His eyes flash amber, his wolf prowling just behind them.

He wants us.

Only because you stink up the place!

He likes our smell.

Only because it shouts, breed me!

I back up until my legs hit the bed, my pulse racing. "I'm not riling anyone," I protest weakly. “Control your wolf.”

He raises his hands, summoning his magic to open the window and usher in a gust of freezing night air. The scent of pine and earth fills the room.

Sylus stalks forward, the move so predatory in its calculation. “You think I can control him when you’re pumping out so many fucking pheromones?”

My wolf whines, yearning to submit, to bare our throat to the powerful alpha. She whimpers in disappointment as he moves to his side of the room, putting distance between us. He strips off his shirt, revealing the rippling muscles beneath, and my wolf can't help but stare.

It’s definitely my wolf in control right now.

"Like what you see?" he asks with a knowing smirk. “Your boyfriend know you’ve been hanging out with made fae trash?”

I avert my eyes, heat rising to my cheeks. He’s got some fucking nerve. And how the fuck does he know where I’ve been. Did he follow me, too? I don’t know what his problem is, or why he’s always so hot and cold with me. He’s giving me whiplash. “The only reason my wolf likes you is because you’re an alpha. I wouldn’t fuck you if I were in heat and you were the last alpha in existence.”

No alpha knot during a heat and I’d be dead, but I couldn’t care less. What an arrogant asshole.

He chuckles darkly, the deep timber of it rolling through me. “Keep telling yourself that, little omega. We both know the truth. Luckily for you, I’d never fuck a made fae. Even if you begged for my alpha knot to save you, you would still die knowing not even the last remaining alpha in existence would knot someone like you.”

My wolf whines, and I can’t shut her the fuck up.

“That’s enough,” Tai snarls, sitting up in his bed, hair a rumpled mess.

Sylus’s lips twist into a cruel smirk as he turns to face the other side of the room. “Did I strike a nerve, beta? Can’t handle the truth about your little girlfriend? That she’s trash?”

I lunge for my nightstand, ignoring the way my stupid, simpering wolf whines at the insult. My fingers fumble for what I need.

Shadows surge across the room, slamming Sylus against the wall, pinning him there as Tai stalks across the room.

He shoves him before wedging his forearm against the alpha’s neck. “You will watch your fucking tongue with the way you speak to your High Princess, lest you want to lose it.” He glances down, noticing I’ve already flung a dagger at the asshole, lodging it deep into his shoulder. Blood trickles from his bare skin as he grits hit teeth against the pain.

“You think I answer to either of you?” He laughs, struggling against Tai’s hold and the shadows binding him. "I’m an alpha, born to rule. I don't take orders from a mere beta, even if he is the mut’s lapdog.”

“You’re going to regret this,” I hiss, grabbing another dagger from the drawer.

Stalking towards Sylus, I twirl the small knife between my fingers. “You think being an alpha makes you untouchable? Above consequences?” I lean in close, the dagger’s point resting against his chest. “I might not be adept at magic yet, but I know how to wield something sharp.” Grinning up at him, I press, feeling the warm trickle of his blood slide down my knuckles.

He grunts, but his eyes flash with defiance. “Do it then, mut. Prove you’re more than just a simpering, half-breed omega bitch.”

I snarl, dragging the blade down his skin, carving exactly what he is. He thrashes against Tai’s hold, but he’s not able to break free. Stepping back, I admire my handiwork—the word UNWORTHY carved into his flesh, blood dripping down his chest.

“You make such a pretty canvas.” I chuckle, holding up the blade so he can see its enchantment.

Recognition flashes across his face the moment he realizes what kind of charm this is. He’ll heal himself, but the mark will remain for at least a few weeks. He’s far too proud of an alpha to tell the dean and get me in trouble, too.

“You’ll pay for this,” he snarls.

I pat his cheek with the knife. “Call me trash again, wolfy, and I’ll hang you by your knot in the commons.”

“She’ll figure out a way to do it, too.” Tai smirks, and I press a kiss to his shoulder.

Tai releases Sylus with a shove, and the alpha stumbles back, clutching at his chest. The shadows dissipate, and the room brightens once more as my guard’s magic recedes.

“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he grunts, backing towards the door.

I laugh, twirling the dagger. “Oh, I know exactly what I’ve started. The real question is, do you have the balls to finish it, pup?”

Sylus’s eyes narrow to slits as he whips his head towards us, hand on the doorknob. “Better put a leash on that bitch before she ends up buried in the mountains with her throat ripped out.” With that final threat, he yanks open the door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him.

I let out a harsh breath.

Tai pulls me into his strong arms. "You okay, love?"

I swallow hard, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if it can anchor me to reality. A wave of dread rolls through my stomach, but underneath it lingers an unsettling hint of curiosity—like I’m not as terrified as I should be. The question gnaws at me: Was Luka always evil, or did something twist him along the way? And if I’m heading down that same path … what does that say about me? Or is it just my hormones fucking up again?

“No,” I manage, voice rough. “I think I might be more like Luka than I thought.”