Page 51

Seren

The city was nothing like Vargrheim. It was like Seren had spent her whole life in slow motion and now, everything was changing at the speed of light around her.

The city moved too fast—buzzed too loud.

Buildings climbed toward the sky like they were trying to outrun something. Steel and glass gleamed under grey light, and neon signs blinked over narrow alleyways like restless eyes.

But it wasn't just noise.

"This side of the city's unofficially called the Shifters' Quarter," he said, jarring her from her reverie. "Less scrutiny. Witches, too. Lots of magical bloodlines blend here."

The Shifter's Quarter was like a dream gone sideways.

Storefronts jostled for space—one advertised "Primal Shifter Experiences: One Night, No Regrets!" in glowing red letters. Another boasted "Stripper Witches & Whiskey Wednesdays", its windows fogged with incense and secrets. Flyers for underground fight clubs fluttered across cracked sidewalks .

Every corner pulsed with magic barely leashed—fur beneath skin, claws under smiles, enchantments disguised as perfume samples.

As they sat in traffic, the engine ticking impatiently, a gust of wind funnelled through the narrow street and slapped a crumpled flyer against the windshield.

Talis reached out, peeled it off the glass, and glanced at it.

He snorted and handed it to Seren.

Black ink on smudged grey paper, stamped with claw marks and flecks of something that looked suspiciously like blood.

"THE PIT — Underground Cage Fights. No Rules. No Mercy. This Full Moon. Winner Takes All."

Beneath the bold lettering were the names of the headliners:

brAX "Wolf" HOLLOWBLADE

Vs.

KNOX 'THE RIPPER' VANT H

A stylized emblem of a snarling wolf and a grinning badger framed the bottom corner.

Seren blinked. "A honeybadger?"

Talis chuckled. "Don't laugh. Those little bastards fight like they've got nothing to lose."

She held onto the flyer a moment longer than she meant to. Everything was new and unfamiliar.

It was a far cry from the forest—but not as far as she once thought. And through it all, the forest crept in.

It wasn't just noise.

The forest was still there—watching.

Vines crawled over broken brick. Wild trees clustered at the city's edge as if waiting for the concrete to crumble. The river, wide and moody, ran along the city's side like a wound dividing it from the wilder lands beyond.

But it wasn't the same.

The moment Seren stepped out of the car, her nose wrinkled. The river here didn't sing—it burned. The pollution curled up into her nostrils, acrid and wrong. She felt it like a buzz under her skin, an itch she couldn't scratch .

Still, she was fascinated.

Fast trains rumbled by on high tracks, and glowing underground signs led to deep, echoing tunnels full of people who didn't make eye contact. The smell of food and machinery, strong perfume and sweat clung to the air like smoke.

Talis had parked near a crumbling brick wall covered in ivy.

She took it in—graffiti, low-slung shops with flickering signs, a woman in a shawl waving incense at her front door. "Love potions & lavender salt," one banner read.

Shifters passed on the streets, lean and wild-eyed—construction workers, couriers, barbacks. She caught the flash of fangs in a laugh, a growl in greeting, the show of fur under shirtsleeves.

At one corner, a scene unfolded—a shifter with a wide frame and shaggy hair was being thrown out of a bar like a ragdoll. He landed with a heavy thud, groaned, and rolled.

A massive figure stood at the bar door, unmoving.

"That's a bear shifter," Talis said, not stopping. "Bouncer. Bartender. Depends on his mood.. he owns the place. "

They kept walking.

Talis's apartment was in a worn red-brick building with iron balconies and no elevator. Inside, it was modest, and clean. A two bedroom, with thin walls and the smell of lemon-scented floor cleaner.

"This one's yours," he said, nudging open a door. "Are you hungry?"

Seren absently shook her head as she peeked in. A small bed. A window. A pile of blankets.

They looked at each other awkwardly. talis seemed ready to say something and then changed his mind.

"Get some rest," he said instead, rubbing the back of his neck.

She nodded. "Thanks, Talis."

That night, she didn't dream.

The next two days passed in quiet breaths .

She ate. Slept. Walked the uneven paths of the Shifter's Quarter in a borrowed hoodie and old sneakers.

She wandered through alleys draped in incense smoke, past cluttered stalls selling bone charms and cracked amulets, her steps slow, her eyes always watching.

She listened to the whispers in the wind from shifters as they passed her on the cobbled streets.

There was a market three blocks away and a witch who gave her free saffron buns when she noticed the ink on Seren's forearm.

But even as the city pulled her forward, the past followed.

Thoughts of her old life crept in like wind through cracked windows—uninvited but impossible to ignore.

Hagan's voice. His warmth. The scent of pine and fire that clung to his skin.

The memory of Veyr's quiet loyalty, the way he always stood just far enough to let her breathe.

The Oracle's bittersweet guidance.

And her bear-man—wild and wordless, his sorrow always echoing beneath his strength. Back from the Forgotten. Should she tell someone what happened? Because it had never happened before.

They came to her in moments of stillness—in the hush before sleep, in the scent of something familiar, in the back of her throat when the wind shifted .

The bond felt like it never was. Perhaps Hagan had taken her advice and surrendered to his love for Lia. It hadn't taken him long. With her side of the bond muted, at least she would be spared the pain of knowing when it happened.

But somehow... it didn't feel like freedom.

It felt like a missing piece she hadn't realized she'd come to treasure.

A phantom limb.

A whisper that once curled around her ribs, now just... gone.

She didn't ache for the bond.

But she didn't feel whole without it either.

And no matter how loud the city got, some part of her still listened—for a voice she wasn't sure she'd ever hear again.

By the third day, she was restless. Stir crazy .

"I need to work," she told Talis over reheated noodles. "Can you help?"

He gave her a long look. "You're sure? I make enough to support us both."

Seren did not want that. She needed to stand on her own two feet.

Talis sighed. He worked in cybersecurity—coding and shadow networks—for a shifter-run firm based out of the city's edge. But their social arm had connections to local businesses.

That's how she ended up at a pub hidden in the basement of a building that once served as a morgue.

It sat tucked beneath a crumbling building like a secret only the brave—or foolish—dared to find. A faded brass plate above the stairwell read The Hollow Moon, its edges worn smooth by time and smoke.

Seren stepped down into the darkness.

Inside, the scent hit her first—whiskey, cloves, and faint magic. Then came the glow: low amber lights, mirrored shelves behind a long bar, and a heavy sound system thrumming like a distant heartbeat. The walls were stone, old and cool to the touch, etched with claw marks that went too deep .

The office was behind the bar, through an ornate door made of ironwood.

That's where she met Griff.

The owner was a grizzled wolf-shifter with a growl for a voice and a nose that had clearly been broken one too many times.

His hair was salt-and-pepper, pulled into a messy half-knot, and he had a scar that ran from the edge of his temple down to his collarbone.

He looked like someone who'd survived the Feral wars and still walked into bar fights for fun.

"Experience?" he asked, squinting at her.

Seren hesitated. "I've worked in kitchens. And I'm a quick learner."

He nodded absently—distracted.

Through the narrow glass window behind her, he could see the head bartender wiping down the counter with lazy, practised ease. She was a witch , clearly. Gorgeous and aloof. Her thick curls bounced as she moved, hips swaying like she knew who was watching.

And Seren heard it.

Clear as a bell, dropped like a brick into her mind :

"Gods, that's an arse. How I'd like to bend that over the..."

Her eyes widened—just slightly.

Too much.

She winced internally and tried to shut the channel off, mentally fumbling with the gift like someone slamming a radio dial to mute.

Some things were better left unheard. Griff's gaze didn't waver.

Seren suppressed a smile.

"You'll do," he muttered, without really looking at her. "Talk to Rhea. She'll train you. Don't steal. Don't mouth off. Don't get eaten."

"Noted," she said, standing.

"And don't go near Ryn's stash of cherry bourbon. She'll kill you slow."

Which is when she met her.

Ravaryn .

Tall—almost six feet—with raven-black hair pulled into messy braid, silver piercings threading up both ears and through her septum. A single white streak cut through her fringe like lightning on a stormy night.

She wore a black tank that showed off a full sleeve of black-and-grey tattoos: wolves, roses, runes, and the skeletal wing of a raven perched on her wrist on her left arm and forearm.

A finely drawn open eye looked out at the world, unblinking from the shoulder of her otherwise pristine right arm.

Her skin was creamy white, with pale blue eyes sharp and unreadable, lined in kohl that made her stare feel like a challenge.

"Another stray," she muttered. "Perfect."

"My name is Seren," she offered.

Ravaryn just grunted. "Try to keep up."

Then there was Saryana—"Call me Ana."

She was the warmth to Ravaryn's shadow. Golden-skinned and curvy in all the ways Seren wasn't, with glossy dark-gold hair and whisky eyes that sparkled with mischief. Her smile could melt ice, and her voice was always half a purr, half a smirk.

"Oh, look at you," she said, looking Seren up and down with a grin. "You're like a baby fawn lost in the wolf den. "

Seren blinked. "I'm tougher than I look."

Ana winked. "Good. You'll need it. The regulars love fresh blood."

Then she leaned in, whispering, "Don't worry. I'll teach you the good tricks. Like which booth lets you flirt your way to triple tips. And which one to avoid unless you want to hear a very passionate debate about tail lengths."

Seren snorted. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," Ana said with mock solemnity before her grin returned. "Also, word of advice? Show a little more boob. Cleavage is a currency in this place. Doesn't have to be slutty—just... generous."

Seren blushed, glancing down at her hoodie.

Ana rolled her eyes fondly. "Honey, you're built better than you think. Stop hiding it like you're smuggling contraband."

From the other side of the room, Ravaryn, who had clearly heard everything, flipped them off without turning around.

"See?" Ana grinned. "She approves."