Page 36

CHAPTER 36

POV: Briar

Dawn breaks differently in this part of the forest. The light filters through silver leaves in fractured patterns, casting everything in a ghostly glow that makes the world seem half-real. My stomach growls, reminding me that I've eaten nothing since fleeing the central haven yesterday. Emotions might drive us, but bodies have more practical demands.

I follow the sound of running water through a stand of twisted blackthorns, their bark seeping red sap that gleams wetly in the morning light. The claiming bond stretches inside me like an overtaxed muscle—a constant, hollow ache that pulses with each heartbeat. Cadeyrn hasn't followed, respecting my need for distance, but the connection between us remains—damaged but unbroken.

The stream appears between the trees, clear water flowing over smooth stones. Watercress grows along its edges, and I spot clusters of blood berries hanging from nearby branches. Nothing to make a feast, but enough to quiet the gnawing emptiness.

As I kneel beside the water, frost spirals from my fingertips across the surface, creating delicate patterns I didn't consciously form. My magic responds differently now, flowing from emotion rather than calculation. Wild rather than controlled—like a storm that obeys its own nature.

"Look what we found, brother," a voice like autumn leaves crushed underfoot breaks the silence. "A winter flower blooming out of season."

I freeze, not from magic but from bone-deep recognition. I know that voice. Those voices.

The Raveling Brothers emerge from the trees on the opposite bank, moving with identical grace that makes it difficult to track them as separate entities. Their russet hair falls to their waists, skin bearing the subtle patterns of fallen leaves that shift with each breath. Both are shirtless, displaying the ritual scarring on their forearms that distinguishes them—Prynn with vertical marks, Blaim with horizontal.

"Lost your Winter Prince?" Blaim asks, amber eyes developing vein-like patterns that spread across his face like cracks in thin ice. "Or did he abandon you after discovering your deception?"

I rise slowly, careful not to make sudden movements. The brothers are known for hunting as a unit, their coordination making them more dangerous than individual alphas of greater strength.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, though my racing heart betrays the lie.

"The courts know everything, copper-beauty," Prynn responds, inhaling deeply as if savoring my scent. "How you stole another's place in the Hunt. How you've activated Wild Magic that hasn't flowed freely for centuries."

They begin crossing the stream, perfectly synchronized steps placing them on identical stones as they approach. The water doesn't splash around them but parts, as if the stream itself acknowledges their power.

"We sensed your bond stretching thin," Blaim continues, his voice eerily merging with his brother's at certain syllables. "The Winter Prince has released his exclusive claim."

"He has not," I counter, backing toward the denser forest behind me.

Both brothers laugh, the sound musical and terrifying. "Then where is he?" they ask in perfect unison. "When an unclaimed omega in heat stands before us?"

I need to run. The rational part of my brain screams this obvious fact, but my body seems rooted to the earth. Fear, yes, but something else too—a strangely calm certainty that running would only delay the inevitable. These brothers have hunted together for three centuries. No omega outruns them once they've locked onto a scent.

"I'm claimed," I insist, displaying the cillae crawling across my skin. "These marks protect me."

"Dormant patterns," Prynn observes, now close enough that I can see the golden flecks in his amber eyes. "The connection stretches, weakens."

"The courts have ruled," Blaim adds, circling to flank me while his brother approaches directly. "An omega who rejects her alpha's protection returns to the Hunt pool."

My back hits a tree, rough bark scraping through my torn clothing. The brothers have maneuvered me exactly where they want—pinned between them with nowhere to run.

"The courts don't rule me," I spit, fists clenching at my sides as frost gathers around my fingertips. "And neither do you."

"Such defiance," Prynn purrs, close enough now that his autumn scent—fallen leaves, woodsmoke, spiced wine—floods my senses. "The claiming's fire hasn't broken you yet."

"A challenge," Blaim agrees, moving in from my left, effectively trapping me between them. "Synchronized claiming should solve that problem."

The memory of what they did to Lira flashes through my mind—passing her between them, tearing her from one to the other like she was nothing but a vessel for their pleasure. The horror of it must show on my face, because both brothers smile with identical anticipation.

"She remembers our performance," Prynn notes, pleased. "Did you enjoy the show, copper-beauty?"

"Learned what to expect?" Blaim adds, close enough now that his breath warms my cheek.

"I learned what I'll never allow," I growl, gathering frost into my palm. Wild Magic responds to my fear and rage, ice forming without conscious direction but from pure instinctive need.

The brothers notice too late. With blacksmith's strength and desperate fear, I drive an ice blade directly into Prynn's chest, aiming for where I think his heart must be. His eyes widen with genuine shock as frost spreads from the wound, crystallizing his blood as it tries to escape.

"Brother!" Blaim's cry contains centuries of connection suddenly, violently severed.

Prynn staggers back, looking down at the ice protruding from his chest with something like wonder. "She... cut through... our connection," he gasps, blood freezing on his lips as he speaks.

I don't wait to see more. With Prynn incapacitated, I lunge past him toward the stream, hoping to put water between myself and the remaining brother. I make it three steps before pain explodes across my back—Blaim's claws tearing through fabric and skin in a single savage swipe.

The attack sends me sprawling into the icy stream, water turning pink with my blood. I roll, gasping at the twin shocks of cold and pain, to see Blaim transformed by grief and rage. The beautiful fae alpha is gone, replaced by something feral and monstrous—skin darkening to deep russet, amber eyes now glowing like hot coals, teeth elongating into points designed for tearing flesh.

"You killed him," he snarls, voice no longer musical but guttural and raw. "Severed a bond three centuries in making."

Behind him, Prynn collapses to his knees, ice spreading from the wound in beautiful, terrible formations across his chest. His eyes remain locked with his brother's, some silent communication passing between them even as death claims him.

"You will take his place," Blaim promises, advancing into the stream after me. "Your womb will carry what was meant to be his legacy."

I scramble backward, water soaking my clothing as I try to find my footing on slippery stones. The pain across my back makes movement agony, warm blood mixing with cold water down my spine. This is nothing like facing Cadeyrn in the early days of our confrontation. There's no calculation here, no strategic threat assessment—just pure, animalistic rage directed at the creature who killed his other half.

"The Wild Magic protects me," I say, though I have no idea if that's true. The cillae across my skin pulse weaker now, my power depleted by the desperate attack that felled Prynn.

"Wild Magic is court magic's bastard offspring," Blaim spits, closing the distance between us with unnatural speed. "Undisciplined. Unreliable. It will abandon you when you need it most."

His hand closes around my throat, claws pricking the delicate skin beneath my jaw as he lifts me from the stream. Water cascades from my clothing as my feet leave the ground, air cut off by his crushing grip.

"I will claim you in the water," he hisses, face inches from mine as I struggle for breath. "Where my brother's blood mixes with yours. The symbolism will please the Autumn Court."

Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as oxygen deprivation sets in. The claiming bond flares with distant concern—Cadeyrn sensing my peril but too far away to help. I kick uselessly, my strength fading as Blaim's grip tightens.

This is it, then. After everything—stealing Willow's place, surviving Cadeyrn's claiming, learning the truth about the cullings, fleeing the central haven—I'll die here in a shallow stream at the hands of a grief-maddened alpha.

No.

Something breaks open inside me, a reservoir of magic I didn't know I possessed. Not the controlled frost abilities Cadeyrn has been teaching me, but something wilder, more primal. The forest around us responds immediately—water surging in the stream, silver leaves rustling with sudden wind, the very earth trembling beneath our feet.

Blaim's grip loosens slightly as he senses the change, amber eyes widening with belated understanding. "You're not just claimed by a royal alpha,” he breathes, the realization dawning too late. "Your bloodline has awakened."

"I don't know what that means," I rasp, frost gathering around my hands despite my depleted strength. "But I know you won't claim me."

The magic builds between us, no longer just frost but something more fundamental—the Wild Magic responding not to technique or training but to desperate need. Ice crystals form in the air itself, suspended like tiny daggers around us.

"Wait," Blaim says, something like fear finally entering his voice. "The courts would value?—"

I don't let him finish. With every ounce of will I possess, I direct the suspended ice toward him in a single, devastating surge. Thousands of crystalline needles drive into his flesh simultaneously, each carrying the cold of ancient winters.

He releases me with a howl of pain, staggering back as ice penetrates his skin from every direction. Unlike the single blade I drove into Prynn's heart, this attack comes from everywhere at once—less precise but impossible to defend against.

I collapse into the stream, coughing as air returns to my lungs. Through watering eyes, I watch Blaim's desperate attempts to remove the ice needles, each effort only driving them deeper.

"What are you?" he gasps, amber eyes fixed on me with a mixture of terror and awe as frost spreads through his veins, visible beneath his skin in branching patterns.

"I don't know anymore," I answer truthfully, watching as the Wild Magic works through him, ice reaching for his heart with merciless intent.

Blaim falls to his knees in the stream beside me, blood and ice mixing in the water between us. The beautiful patterns that once shifted across his skin grow rigid, fossilized by spreading frost. His eyes—still fixed on mine—glaze over as the cold reaches his heart, freezing it mid-beat.

"Neither human nor fae," he whispers, his final words carried away by the current as he topples forward into the reddening water.

I remain kneeling in the stream long after he stops moving, my body trembling with shock, pain, and the aftermath of whatever power just surged through me. The forest has gone utterly silent, as if holding its breath in the wake of what it witnessed.

When I finally find the strength to rise, I look down at my hands with new understanding. Frost still clings to my fingertips, but now tiny silver threads run beneath my skin like metallic veins, pulsing with power that doesn't belong to Cadeyrn's claiming but to something older, something that was always mine.

The wound across my back burns with each movement as I drag myself to the stream bank. Blood soaks the remnants of my clothing, each step leaving crimson footprints on white stones. I need shelter, need to treat these injuries before infection sets in, but exhaustion pulls at me with gravity's insistence.

I manage three more steps before collapsing against a nearby tree, its silver bark cool against my feverish skin. Through our stretched bond, I sense Cadeyrn's growing alarm—he feels my injury, my depletion, though distance mutes the specifics. Part of me wishes he would come, would find me here broken and bleeding. The rest fiercely guards this moment of terrible, necessary transformation.

Because that's what happened today. Not just the killing of the Raveling Brothers—though that alone would mark me forever—but the awakening of something the courts have spent centuries trying to suppress. Wild Magic flowing through human veins, responding not to fae protocol but to primal need.

I press my palm against the tree bark, feeling its living energy respond to my touch. The forest knows what I am becoming. Perhaps it always has.

"Help me," I whisper, not sure if I'm speaking to the trees, the magic, or some forgotten deity who might still walk these woods.

To my amazement, the forest answers. Roots shift beneath me, creating a natural hollow against the tree's massive trunk. Branches bend downward, their silver leaves forming a canopy that shields me from view. Even the wound on my back seems to burn less fiercely, as if the very air around me works to soothe rather than irritate.

The Wild Magic flows differently now, not in controlled bursts for attack or defense, but in gentle waves that sync with my breathing, my heartbeat. It feels less like wielding power and more like becoming part of a greater whole—a living system that recognizes me as kin rather than master.

I curl into the hollow the roots have formed, no longer fighting the exhaustion that pulls me toward darkness. The cillae across my skin pulse faintly, but beneath them, those new silver threads grow more pronounced, spreading in formations that follow no court design but some older, forgotten pattern.

As consciousness fades, one certainty remains: whatever emerges from this hollow when I wake will be neither fully human nor fae, but something the courts never intended to create when they established the Hunt's brutal protocols.

A vessel for Wild Magic answering to no alpha and no court.

Just to itself—and to me.