Page 44

CHAPTER 44

POV: Briar

The purification plants have spread further by morning, their luminescent tendrils reaching like delicate fingers across the once-barren soil. I sit at the edge of our makeshift camp, watching the crimson dawn filter through ancient branches above. The forest feels different today—more alert, somehow. More present.

"They're watching us," I murmur, not expecting anyone to hear.

The Hound materializes from the shadows, his mismatched eyes reflecting the early light. "You feel it too."

It's not a question. Since the blood ritual, my awareness has sharpened beyond normal senses. The quadruplets shift restlessly inside me, as though they also perceive the forest's growing consciousness.

"It's like the trees are... listening." I press a hand against my swollen belly where one of the babies stretches. "Like they're waiting for something."

"The Wild Magic awakens old awareness." The Hound crouches beside me, scanning the forest with predatory focus. "The Bloodmoon Forest was never just trees and earth. It remembers what it once was, before the courts divided magic into seasons."

Cadeyrn approaches from where he's been scouting our perimeter, cillae pulsing across his skin. Even from this distance, I can sense his agitation through our claiming bond.

"Something's happening," he says without preamble. "Court emissaries are gathering at the stone circle. All four courts."

A chill traces my spine that has nothing to do with Winter Court magic. "They never work together."

"They do when sufficiently motivated." Cadeyrn's expression darkens. "The last time all four courts united was to suppress the Wild Magic rebellion seven centuries ago."

The babies tumble inside me, one of them pressing uncomfortably against my bladder. My body seems determined to remind me of its rapidly changing state at the most inconvenient moments.

"Can you see what they're doing?" I ask, struggling to my feet.

The ground suddenly shifts beneath us, roots breaking through the soil in sinuous patterns. I stumble, and Cadeyrn catches me reflexively, his touch still careful, still mindful of boundaries. But I don't pull away immediately. The threat gathering around us has reshuffled priorities.

"We need to move," The Hound says, already gathering our meager supplies. "The forest will shield us, but we must go deeper."

"Deeper?" I repeat, looking around at the trees that seem to bend slightly inward, creating a natural canopy above us. "How do you know?"

"Listen," he says simply.

I close my eyes, focusing beyond normal hearing. At first, there's only silence. Then, gradually, I become aware of something subtle—a low vibration traveling through the soil, up through the soles of my feet, resonating in my chest where it meets the rhythm of four tiny heartbeats.

"The forest is singing," I whisper, eyes flying open in wonder.

"It's been silent for centuries," Cadeyrn says quietly. "Since the courts divided Wild Magic into seasonal territories."

The Hound nods. "The bloodlines were separated. Summer from Winter, Autumn from Spring. No mixing allowed except under strict breeding protocols during the Hunt."

I place both hands on my belly, suddenly understanding. "And now these four carry markers from all courts. They're... reuniting what was divided."

"The ultimate threat to court authority," Cadeyrn confirms. "Children who embody unified Wild Magic rather than divided court magic."

A branch cracks sharply in the distance—too deliberate to be natural. The Hound's head snaps up, nostrils flaring.

"Court scouts," he confirms. "Moving faster than expected."

The forest responds before any of us can move. Roots surge upward, forming an intricate barrier between us and the approaching threat. Branches interweave overhead, creating a canopy so dense that the crimson dawn becomes muted twilight around us.

"It's protecting us," I breathe, watching in amazement as a natural corridor forms ahead, leading deeper into the forest.

"Not us," Cadeyrn corrects, his gaze dropping to my abdomen. "Them."

My skin tingles as understanding dawns. The forest isn't just awakening—it's recognizing what grows inside me. These four impossible lives represent something the ancient trees remember, something that existed before court divisions and breeding protocols.

We move through the forest-formed corridor, The Hound leading, Cadeyrn beside me. I feel oddly weightless despite my growing belly, as though the forest itself supports my steps. Roots flatten beneath my feet, creating smooth paths where moments before there was rough terrain.

"The courts won't give up easily," Cadeyrn says, his voice pitched low. "Elder Iris Bloom has likely invoked ancient treaties that supersede normal rivalries."

"The Spring Court emissary?" I recall seeing her at the Hunt's beginning, her flower-petal skin and deceptively gentle demeanor.

"The oldest living fae," he confirms. "She was already ancient when I was born. If anyone could unite the courts against a common threat, it would be her."

A distant horn sounds—three long notes followed by two short. The forest trembles around us, and the babies shift restlessly in response.

"They've formalized the alliance," The Hound translates, his expression grim. "The signal declares unified hunt protocol. All court forces now answer to a single command structure."

"How many?" I ask, already knowing the answer will terrify me.

"Every available alpha," Cadeyrn replies, frost gathering at his fingertips. "Every court guard, every noble capable of tracking magic. Hundreds."

The magnitude of the threat should paralyze me with fear. Instead, I feel an unexpected calm settle in my bones. Perhaps it's resignation. Perhaps it's the Wild Magic growing stronger in my blood. Or perhaps it's simply that after everything—the Hunt, the claiming, the betrayal, the quadruplets—I've exhausted my capacity for terror.

"Let them come," I say, surprising myself with the steel in my voice. "They'll find we're not so easily culled."

The words hang in the air, potent as any spell. The forest responds with a subtle shift, the path ahead widening slightly, dappled light breaking through to illuminate our way.

"There," The Hound indicates a massive blackthorn tree ahead, its trunk wide enough for several people to hide within. "An entrance to the deeper paths."

We approach the ancient tree, its bark glistening with red sap that resembles blood in the filtered light. As we draw near, a section of trunk splits open, revealing a hollow space within.

"The heart-trees were said to be portals," Cadeyrn murmurs, wonder temporarily replacing concern in his voice. "I thought it was merely court legend."

"Much that was forgotten remains true," The Hound replies cryptically.

I approach the opening, feeling the babies grow suddenly still within me, as though holding their collective breath. The space inside pulses with soft blue-green light, inviting yet ancient.

"What's inside?" I ask, hesitating at the threshold.

"A sanctuary," The Hound says. "One of the original Wild Hunt ritual sites, from before it became a breeding program."

My hand finds Cadeyrn's without conscious thought, our fingers intertwining. The gesture surprises us both. Since discovering the truth about the cullings, I've maintained physical distance except when absolutely necessary. But standing before this ancient portal, facing unified court forces hunting us like prey, old wounds seem less important than present danger.

"Together?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral despite the hope I feel flickering through our bond.

"Together," I agree. "But this changes nothing between us."

The lie tastes strange on my tongue. Everything has been changing between us since the blood ritual—subtle shifts in the damaged fabric of our connection. Not healing, exactly, but perhaps evolving into something new. Something neither of us could have anticipated.

We step through the opening together, the heart-tree sealing itself behind us. The space within defies comprehension—simultaneously enclosed yet vast, contained yet limitless. Blue-green light bathes everything in ethereal glow, and the air tastes of wild magic—untamed, unpredictable, alive.

"The courts won't be able to track us here," The Hound explains, his form seeming to blur slightly at the edges in this strange space. "The sanctuary exists slightly outside normal time. It was created during the first Wild Hunt as a place of transformation."

"Transformation?" I echo, feeling the babies begin to move again, their movements gentle but persistent.

"The original purpose of the Hunt," Cadeyrn says softly. "It was still about breeding and claiming—still about dominance and submission—but in a way that transformed both alpha and omega. The courts corrupted it, turned omegas into mere vessels rather than equal participants in the ritual."

The concept reframes everything I experienced during the Hunt. The brutal pursuit, the violent claiming, the expectation of total omega submission—all of it twisted from something that once honored both participants, that changed both equally through the primal dance of dominance and yielding.

It resonates with what has been happening between us since that first claiming in the forest. Something older than court protocol, something that has been changing us both in ways neither expected.

A low rumble vibrates through the sanctuary, and the blue-green light pulses once, brightly.

"What was that?" I ask, instinctively placing a protective hand over my belly.

"The courts," Cadeyrn says grimly. "They've surrounded the heart-tree."

The Hound moves to what appears to be a wall of living wood, placing his palm against its surface. The wood ripples beneath his touch, becoming temporarily transparent. Through this strange window, I glimpse the forest outside—dozens of court alphas and guards surrounding the blackthorn tree, their weapons and magic focused on its trunk.

At their center stands Elder Iris Bloom, her youthful appearance belying centuries of existence. Her hands weave complex patterns in the air, spring magic shimmering around her fingers as she attempts to force the heart-tree to reopen.

"Can they break through?" I ask, fear finally finding purchase.

"Not easily," The Hound replies. "But given enough time and combined court magic..."

He doesn't need to finish. We all understand the implications.

"Then we don't give them time," Cadeyrn says, his gaze sweeping the sanctuary. "This place must have other exits."

The Hound nods. "Seven paths for the seven original Wild Hunts. Each leads to a different sacred site."

"Which is safest?" I ask, automatically thinking of the four lives I carry.

"None are safe," The Hound answers honestly. "All seven sites will be watched now that the courts know we've accessed the old ways. But some are less accessible than others."

He indicates a narrow archway formed by intertwined branches at the far side of the sanctuary. "That one leads to the mountains. Difficult terrain, even for court alphas."

"Then that's our path," Cadeyrn decides, cillae brightening across his skin as he prepares for whatever awaits us.

I notice something strange as we cross the sanctuary—my reflection in a pool of still water. The silver streaks in my copper hair have spread further, and my eyes now contain distinct flecks of ice-blue amid their natural amber. The transformation that began with Cadeyrn's claiming continues, accelerated by the Wild Magic surrounding us.

The babies move inside me, their collective presence a constant reminder of what's at stake. Not just our lives, but the possibility of magic unfettered by court divisions. The potential return of something ancient and powerful that the seasonal courts have spent centuries suppressing.

As we approach the mountain archway, I feel a sudden, sharp awareness of the choice before us. We could stay hidden in this sanctuary, protected at least temporarily from court forces. Or we can continue moving, fighting, surviving—not just for ourselves but for the four lives that represent a future neither court nor human has imagined for centuries.

I glance at Cadeyrn, seeing my own determination reflected in his ice-blue eyes. Whatever remains broken between us—whatever may never fully heal—we are bound by something stronger than anger or betrayal. By possibility. By transformation. By the wild, unpredictable magic of what we've created together.

"Ready?" he asks, frost gathering at his fingertips as he prepares to face whatever awaits beyond the archway.

I straighten my shoulders, one hand resting protectively over the four tiny lives that have forever altered the trajectory of two realms.

"Ready," I reply.

The archway begins to open before us, revealing a path into the unknown. Behind us, the sanctuary trembles as combined court magic assaults the heart-tree's defenses. Before us lies a journey none have taken in seven centuries.

We step through together, neither leading nor following—alpha and omega transformed by forces older than the courts themselves. Into the mountains. Into the wild.

The hunt continues, but not as the courts intended. This time, we are not prey fleeing predators. We are something new, something ancient, something the divided courts have forgotten how to recognize.

We are the Wild Hunt reborn.