Page 67 of The Midnight Death Match

I tighten my jaw, forcing my breath slower, but every step forward thickens the pressure. The magic woven into these walls knows what I am. It calls to me, tickling my ears. Singing for me to rise to what I could become.

Behind me, Lys’s voice slips softly through the dark. “Do you feel it?”

I can’t even get the words out.

“It’s drawn to you.” His words slither under my skin. “You walk the edge of what they tried to create. Hunter and wolf fused together, but still resisting. No wonder the walls call to you.”

He’s right, and because of that, the part of me that wants to stop resisting grows louder with every step.

As we continue, the tunnel narrows into a twisting corridor, the air thickening with every breath. My skin prickles—my wolf pressing harder, sensing what my mind tries to ignore.

My thoughts spin. It’s getting harder to focus.

The corrupted ward is close.

Einar slows, holding up a hand. “Careful.”

Faint symbols pulse along the ceiling—a twisted version of the coven’s old markings, warped like melted wax.

“This ward was tampered with,” Lys observes quietly, almost admiring. “Meant to target hybrid blood.”

I grit my teeth. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be aimed directly at me? Especially since the magic itself is probably older than me by a long shot.

Einar carefully steps forward, analyzing the strands of old magic shimmering like faint threads in the air. “I can try to?—”

The magic snaps. A sharp pulse ripples outward, slicing through my mind like a blade of cold light. The world tilts.

With a jolt, the tunnel walls stretch, distort, twisting in impossible angles. My breath catches as the air thickens into something almost liquid.

Then I see myself standing across from me. Not fully human, not fully wolf. Something monstrous—eyes glowing amber-orange, claws slick with blood, and muscles tense and wild with hunger. The wolf inside me fully unleashed, merged with the hunter, but without control. Without mercy.

The creature tilts its head in eerie mimicry of me.

My stomach turns, my chest tightens. This is what I could become.

The creature’s mouth pulls back in something like a smile. “You fight us,” it whispers in a voice that isn’t mine but at the same time is. “You pretend you can hold it. But you’re already changing.” Its claws flex. “You don’t need to resist. You only need to surrender. Surrender…”

I stagger back, mesmerized, confused. A spike of excitement races through me. Nothing makes sense, but it’s starting to. I could become something unlike anything the world has ever seen.

“Eira!” Einar’s voice cuts through the warped space. He grabs my shoulder, solid and grounding.

The vision fractures, and the twisted version of myself shatters like broken glass as the ward’s magic collapses, leaving only empty air.

I gasp, knees threatening to buckle.

The tunnel snaps back into place.

Einar steadies me, his voice calm but firm. “Breathe. You’re here. We’re here for you.”

My chest heaves, and the vision clings to me even as it fades. My skin still hums with the aftershock.

Lys steps closer, his voice disturbingly gentle. “You see it now.”

I don’t answer, because the truth rattles inside my bones. For my entire life, I’ve always kept full control of myself. Now this new nature threatens that, but seeing what I could become shakes something loose inside me.

Not because it horrifies me, but because I recognize it. And part of me wonders if surrendering would be a relief.

My father places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”