Page 37

JACE

T he forest didn’t whisper that night, it roared.

The ground trembled with the weight of approaching fury, like the earth itself had drawn breath and was holding it, waiting for blood.

Jace stood at the clearing’s edge, shoulders squared beneath the weight of war.

His wolves—his people —flanked him, their eyes glowing in the dark, jaws tight, spells laced across their armor and skin.

The coven stood behind them, flanked by enchanted sigils glowing along the treeline, a kaleidoscope of protection and defiance.

Lyra’s chaotic energy pulsed beneath his ribs like a second heartbeat.

He’d never felt more alive.

Or more sure.

“We hold the line here,” he said, his voice carrying across the clearing, low and commanding. “This is our land. Our home. And they don’t get it. Not today.”

Logan cracked his knuckles beside him. “Hell of a night for a reckoning.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed toward the black veil rising beyond the trees.

“It’s time.”

A howl split the air—high, sharp, wrong .

It came from the other side of the veil, just before Ezra’s rogues breached the treeline.

Half-shifted forms, glowing eyes, tangled furs.

Some ran on two legs, others on four. And leading them, with that same smug smile carved onto his too-pretty face, was Ezra.

His pack poured into the clearing like poison.

And Jace, he met them head-on.

With a primal roar, he shifted mid-stride, bones snapping clean as his wolf form surged forward—midnight dark and massive.

The first rogue that lunged was met with teeth and fury, his neck broken with a single twist of Jace’s jaw.

Around him, the clash broke out in chaos—wolves tearing through wolves, magic flaring from coven witches, townsfolk holding the line with weapons and will.

A cry rose behind them.

Lyra’s voice.

Strong. Commanding. Ethereal.

“By root and ash, by thorn and flame—forest spirits, rise and claim!”

The earth cracked beneath her.

From the Whispering Woods came movement —not just wind, but shapes. Old ones. Spirits in bark and bone, antlers and moss. The forest answered her call, stepping into the clearing with eyes like starlight and breath like stormwind.

The rogues faltered.

Jace didn’t.

He broke through the enemy line like a shadow, tearing toward Ezra, who stood grinning on a rise just ahead, sword in one hand, dark magic coiled in the other.

“About time,” Ezra sneered. “You always did like to make an entrance.”

Jace shifted back into his human form mid-leap, landing hard with a sword drawn from the ether. He had put on his enchanted battle garb that reappeared on him when he shifted back instead of being left in tatters and him naked. His scabbard was there too. “You always did like running your mouth.”

They collided.

Steel against steel. Alpha against alpha.

Every blow struck with purpose, every parry a promise. The air around them crackled with tension and raw power as their weapons clashed, sending sparks flying into the night. The ground beneath their feet trembled with each impact, mud and leaves churning under their relentless battle dance.

"You think these people will follow a wolf who lies to his mate?" Ezra taunted, dodging left with the fluid grace of a predator. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight as he added, "Who hesitated when she needed you most?"

Jace's blade missed by inches, slicing through the air where Ezra's throat had been moments before, but his voice didn't waver.

The storm in his grey eyes intensified, muscles coiling beneath his battle-worn henley.

"And yet I've got the whole damn town behind me.

What've you got, Ezra? A pack of traitors who'll scatter like rats when this is done?

Men without loyalty are just bodies waiting to fall. "

Ezra snarled, his handsome face contorting with rage.

He threw a bolt of corrupted magic, the kind he had learned when being a shifter wasn't enough—black and red tendrils that writhed like living shadows—but Jace ducked, rolled across the blood-soaked earth, and came up swinging.

His blade sliced clean through Ezra's side with a satisfying resistance.

Blood bloomed across his coat, darkening the expensive fabric.

The rogue alpha stumbled, one knee nearly touching the ground.

But only for a breath. His recovery was unnervingly swift, fueled by whatever dark power he'd been channeling.

"I should've taken her when I had the chance," Ezra hissed through clenched teeth, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper as he circled Jace.

His fingers twitched with barely contained magic.

"She was meant for more than you. All that chaos magic wasted on a wolf who can't even protect what's his. "

"You so much as speak her name again—" Jace lunged forward with primal ferocity, blade catching Ezra's collarbone with a crunch of bone and steel "—and I'll rip your tongue out while you're still breathing to feel it."

They broke apart for half a second, panting, sweat glistening on their foreheads despite the cold night air.

Around them, the forest burned with spellfire and snarls.

The ancient spirit guardians Lyra had summoned tore through Ezra's pack with otherworldly precision, their bark-covered limbs moving with terrifying efficiency.

Jace could feel Lyra standing at the edge of it all—glowing with silver-tinged power, auburn curls whipping in the magical winds, her moss-green eyes locked on him with everything she had.

The scent of her magic—wild honey and storm clouds—reached him even through the chaos.

That was why he was here. That was who he was fighting for. Not just his pack or his town, but the witch who'd turned his orderly world upside down and made him believe again.

He charged again, sword raised high, heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.

And didn't see the dagger until it was too late.