Page 6

Chapter

Six

Harek and I don’t stop running until the trees thicken around us. My heart pounds in my throat, and I don’t realize how tightly I’ve been holding his arm until we collapse behind some trees and I let go. He scans the tree line behind us, hand on his blade, every muscle coiled.

“They’re safe.” I say it mostly to convince myself.

He doesn’t answer. Just exhales hard and turns away, pacing like he’s trying to shake off the urge to go back and burn down the whole village.

“We need to leave and never come back. It’s too dangerous for everyone involved.

The townsfolk are against fae, and even my parents fled. My house is abandoned.”

I reach for his arm. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that.”

He doesn’t look at me. “How could I not?”

“We can stay with Einar for as long as we need to.”

“I know.”

Seeing him in pain makes my heart hurt, so I thread my fingers through his. “I’m sorry I brought all this on you.”

He finally turns to me, and we communicate without a word. We don’t need to speak—not when we’ve known each other since before we could walk.

“We’ll find them,” I promise him.

“They’re safe.” Harek straightens his back. “My parents are the strongest people I know. Worst case, they’ll find our pack.”

Another silence passes between us. His parents and my mother fled our ragtag werewolf pack and have been living among humans in Skoro for more than two decades.

Complicated doesn’t begin to describe those relationships.

Harek and I have never met any of them, and he’s always known he was a werewolf.

Unlike me. Until my mother’s dying day, I believed I was fully human.

Harek clears his throat. “We should get back to Einar and Sapphire.”

“I need to see Gunnar first.”

Harek’s mouth falls open. “Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking your permission.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

I pull my hand from his and glare at him.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t look apologetic.

“He has the power to turn all of Skoro against us. They could track us to Mirendel, and then what? Everyone we grew up with would be decimated by the fae city. I have to try to find a truce with my stepfather.”

“It would be a mistake.” His voice is low, tight. “Did you forget what happened the last time you saw him? He swore to have you hunted. The man wants you dead—you’ve already cost him so much. Not only is his pal Vog dead, but he isn’t getting the dowry he expected.”

I meet his glare head-on. “That was months ago.”

“Exactly, Eira. He’s had months to nurse a grudge. Months to twist everything into something darker. And he’s never liked you. Now with your mother dead, he has no reason to hold back.”

“Gunnar helped raise me and my siblings. If there’s even a chance I can get him to back off, I have to try.”

“You think he sees you as a daughter?”

“Obviously not, but I can try talking to him as one adult to another. He respected my mother, and I’m part of her.”

“He didn’t respect her enough to treat you as she’d have wished.”

There’s no denying that. “I have to do this. Not for me. But for my siblings. They’re still his, and that has to count for something.”

Harek watches me for a long beat. Something flickers in his eyes. Not anger, but something closer to concern. Tinged with fear.

When he speaks again, it’s quieter. “If he lays a hand on you, I’ll kill him.”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that. He’s bitter and unpredictable.”

“So am I.”

That draws a slight smirk from him. Brief, but there.

“I’m coming with you.” He crosses his arms.

“So I gathered.”

“Not just to watch your back. To keep you from doing something reckless.”

I flick a brow. “Since when do you stop me from that?”

He steps closer, his voice dropping. “Since it stopped being amusing and started scaring me.”

The air shifts. Heat pulses between us—unspoken, unresolved.

I look away first, then pull up my hood. “Let’s go.”

He hurries, staying at my side. We make our way back toward the farm, and I watch for movement in the distance. My sisters said Gunnar went to the market today. It’s nearing midday, so he should be on his way back. The man wouldn’t ever be late for lunch.

Harek and I hide near the edge of the property, where we can easily watch the dirt road he would take back home. We don’t have to wait long.

Gunnar appears at the edge of the orchard path, a sack over one shoulder, his limp more pronounced than after I bit him in wolf form. He walks like he’s pretending not to hurt, with his back too straight, jaw too tight.

He doesn’t see us at first, but when he does, he freezes mid-step. The sack drops to the dirt with a soft thud. His eyes narrow. “You’ve got some gall coming back here.”

I step between them. “You and I need to talk.”

“No.” He turns away.

“Please.”

He hesitates, his features scowling and calculating. Then he jerks his head toward the old barn by the edge of the field. “Five minutes. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Perfect.”

Inside, it smells of hay and dust and old iron. Light slices through the slats, catching motes dancing in the air. Gunnar slams the door behind us, the thud a warning.

He doesn’t look at me right away. “You should’ve stayed gone. You’ve already done enough damage.”

“I came to ask for peace.”

He laughs sharply. “You want peace, you can start by telling me the truth. What are you?”

I meet his eyes, my muscles tensing. “You already know.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re a wretched halfling.”

I don’t bother correcting him. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You think that matters?” He takes a slow step forward, cruelty in his eyes. “You’ve got his blood. That cursed fae who left you and your mother in my hands.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

“Excuse me?” He goes still, not blinking or breathing.

“He didn’t abandon us. She fled. He wanted me. Both of us.”

Gunnar scoffs, his nostrils flaring. He looks like I’ve punched him.

His face twists with revulsion, confusion, and maybe even grief.

Then it hardens. “So it is true. You’re not just fae.

You’re worse. Born of a monster, raised like a secret, and now walking around like you’re the gods’ gift to war. ”

I stare him down. “I came here hoping you’d remember who I was to you. Who my siblings are.”

He doesn’t answer.

Outside, a wind picks up. The barn creaks.

Finally, he says, “You want my silence? Then keep them out of it. Keep the rot away from this farm.”

“And Leif?” I ask, referring to my brother, the oldest of my younger half-siblings.

His eyes flick to mine, shadowed now. “He’s got his own ideas. Dangerous ones.”

“He learned from the best.”

Gunnar turns from me, pacing a slow line along the edge of the barn. His limp catches now and then, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “He’s been speaking in the square. Leif.”

I frown. “About what?”

“Rousing the old ones and planting fear in the young. He’s talking about ‘tainted blood’ and ‘halfling corruption.’” He spits the words like they taste foul before staring me down. “He says you’re the start of a disease, and if Skoro doesn’t cut it out, it’ll spread.”

My mouth goes dry. “He’s saying that? About me ?”

“Correct.”

I take a step back, stunned. Leif, the brother who used to carry Runa on his shoulders, who taught me how to tie a string and start a fire, is doing this? “Why would he?”

“Because fear’s easier than truth,” Gunnar mutters. “And power’s easier than peace.”

“You would know.”

He doesn’t deny it.

I stare at him, something inside me cracking in two. “You’re letting him do this.”

He turns slowly. “I’m not stopping him. There’s a difference.”

“This will come back on you.”

Gunnar’s hard expression doesn’t waver.

“You don’t even realize what you’re starting,” I say.

He only shrugs. “I can handle it.”

“You need to talk him down.”

“I don’t have to do anything you say.”

Harek moves, silent and steady, and opens the door.

He’s right. This is going nowhere. I’ve warned him not to let this get worse.

Without a word, I exit. Harek and I hurry toward the same hidden door in Skoro’s wall we came in through. We don’t speak until the barn is behind us, the path ahead winding back into the trees.

Harek doesn’t speak, and I’m grateful. The silence lets the weight of everything settle. Leif’s betrayal, Gunnar’s disgust, and the widening rift between what I was and what I’m becoming.

But underneath the ache, something steadier burns.

My brother thinks I’m rot, nothing more than a disease. He could possibly have more disdain for me than my stepfather. Let them think what they want. They can whisper, carve warnings into doors, and preach about corruption and curses. It doesn’t change the truth pulsing beneath my skin.

I’m not afraid of what I am. What scares me is what I’ll have to do to protect the siblings who believe in me.

And if that makes me the nightmare they see in the dark? So be it.