Page 31

Andros

We rode swiftly, silence broken only by the steady rhythm of horseshoes against the frozen earth and Dain’s occasional chatter. As we crested the final ridge and descended toward the small fishing village, an unease settled over my chest like ice.

This was the village I’d stormed through weeks ago, hunting down the last pathetic heir of the Crescent Moon pack.

But now, in daylight, without rage colouring my vision, it felt different.

It was no longer just some rundown human settlement; it was where Lexa had built a life.

Where she'd hidden herself, carved out something of her own, away from packs and pain.

I saw the thin lines of smoke rising from scattered chimneys, heard the distant call of fishermen hauling in nets along the shore. The scent of salt and fish hung heavy, mingling with the sharp cold air.

Beside me, Dain brightened instantly, waving excitedly at a young woman standing by her small home, three children clinging shyly to her skirt.

“That’s Jena!” he said brightly, almost bouncing in the saddle. “Lexi was friends with her. I played with her kids sometimes!”

The woman began to wave back, offering the child a gentle, weary smile.

But her expression froze, smile vanishing swiftly into careful neutrality when she realized exactly whose company Dain was in.

Her gaze dropped quickly to the ground, fingers tightening protectively around her children’s shoulders as she ushered them inside.

But Dain was oblivious. Joy bubbled from him, unrestrained, nostalgic as he rambled, pointing eagerly.

“That’s the bakery, right there! Sometimes Lexa got fresh bread from them, and it was so warm, especially in winter—” He paused, breathing quickly, flushed with excitement.

“Oh, and there’s a bench we sat on sometimes!

And over there—” he gestured to a small, barren field just outside the village “—that's where daffodils grow in spring. Lexi loved them.”

His voice faded slightly as we moved further, his enthusiasm softening as his small body stiffened subtly.

Because we had reached their house.

It was little more than a shack, run-down and shabby, clearly neglected even before my men had stormed through its doors.

But now the signs of theft were obvious—broken hinges, splintered wood, belongings tossed carelessly across the frozen ground.

My men had left the door hanging open when they’d taken Lexa and the boy, and clearly scavengers had done the rest.

I dismounted slowly, walking closer, boots crunching on frost and splinters. Inside was worse.

Poverty lingered in every corner, the air stale with old ash and dampness. Blankets threadbare and worn, wooden bowls cracked. In the corner, a broken toy carved roughly from driftwood lay abandoned.

This was Lexa’s life—her chosen exile, a refuge from the horrors she’d fled. A prison of her own making, held together by sheer stubborn willpower.

Suddenly, the bond surged again, sharp and clear— her memories, her life flashing before my eyes. The cold, endless struggle. Hunger gnawing her bones, long nights spent awake and frightened, curled protectively around Dain for warmth.

I stumbled slightly, gripping the doorframe as waves of emotion crashed through me.

Dain tugged anxiously at my sleeve, concern in his large, innocent eyes. “Andros? Are you alright?”

I swallowed hard, forcing my expression neutral as I steadied myself. “I’m fine,” I murmured, voice tight. “Show me where Lexa kept the bottles from the witch.”

He nodded, stepping carefully into the shadowed room, guiding me toward the remnants of a small cabinet.

But even as I followed him, images lingered in my mind—Lexa, young and afraid, fighting daily to survive. And I felt it then, sharp and clear as a blade in my chest.

I owed her more than just saving her life.

I owed her a better one.

I carefully pulled the wax seal free and brought the vial cautiously toward my nose, inhaling. And nearly choked.Rot.

Pure rot and mould and decay, so strong it felt like acid in my throat.

My stomach churned violently, disgust crawling over my skin as memories surfaced—Lexa, on that first day I'd found her, masked in this same vile stench.

Back then I'd thought it was simply the scent of a frightened omega, of poverty, desperation, neglect.

But now—now I knew better.

My fingers shook, the realization hitting me so hard I nearly staggered. I knew exactly where I'd smelled this before.

Tanya.

The last time she’d approached me, touched me with those sharp, cunning fingers—she'd carried this exact same foul scent beneath her expensive perfume and polished silks. The witch Lexa sought out was the same witch Tanya had recently visited. It couldn’t be coincidence.

Something dark, twisted and deliberate was happening.

Something that connected these two women in ways I hadn’t seen before.

I cursed violently, dropping the vial. It shattered on the wooden floor, glass shards glinting dangerously in the dim light.

“Andros?” Dain whispered fearfully, eyes wide with confusion.

“Take him,” I roared to the men waiting outside the door. “Get the boy safely to the citadel—now! Guard him with your fucking lives.”

Without waiting for their response, I stormed into the street, lungs filled with freezing air, searching desperately for the faintest trace of that horrible scent, the witch’s signature of mould and rotted earth and tainted herbs.

And beneath it, Tanya’s perfume—dark, cloying, toxic—confirming my suspicion, igniting rage in my veins like wildfire.

I growled low in my throat, vision darkening at the edges, the wolf inside me rising to the surface. The scent was faint, hidden deep beneath layers of other smells—but I had it now. I locked onto it, letting my instincts guide me, feeling the wolf claw its way forward.

I shifted without breaking stride, the air ripping from my lungs as bones realigned, fur replacing skin, teeth elongating, senses sharpening in an instant. Then I was running, paws pounding against the frozen ground, heart roaring in my chest like war drums, teeth bared in silent fury.

This ended now.

I tore through the forest like something unhinged—feral, maddened, unstoppable.

Branches snapped against my flanks, snow churned to mud beneath my claws.

The wind howled around me, but I didn’t hear it.

All I heard was the blood pounding in my ears.

All I smelled was her—that sick rot of dark magic soaked in flesh and time.

The witch's scent twisted deeper through the trees, clinging to the soil, growing stronger. She was close.

And then—I saw it.

A crooked hut tucked between dead trees and blackened roots. The ground around it was littered with bone fragments and broken glass, the air so thick with magic it made my fur stand on end.

But what froze me wasn’t the place. It was the two wolves standing outside, armed, alert, blades already drawn. They weren’t locals. They were trained. Guarding.

They turned at the sound of my approach—too late.

I launched at the first before he could speak, claws sinking into his throat, bone cracking beneath the weight of my fury.

The second barely had time to blink before I tore into him, teeth sinking into the soft place between shoulder and neck, hot blood spurting over my muzzle as I drove him into the snow.

Two bodies. Two heartbeats. Gone. I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t breathe. I smashed the door inward with a furious snarl, eyes burning, ready to rip apart whatever was inside.

A wolf lunged at me from the shadows—this one faster, sharper. His blade grazed my shoulder, slicing into fur and skin. Pain flared—but it didn’t matter. I was stronger. Faster.

I slammed him into the wall, his spine cracking beneath the blow, then ripped the blade from his hand and sank my teeth into his throat. He didn’t scream. None of them did.

The room went still, heavy with blood and magic and rot. Then I saw her. The witch.

She lay crumpled on the wooden floor, bound and gagged, arms twisted behind her back, blood smeared across her face. One eye was swollen shut. She trembled violently, eyes wide as she stared at me, her mouth working around the gag like she wanted to scream but couldn’t.

I shifted partially, just enough to grab her and rip the gag from her face. But before I could speak—before I could demand answers—the smell hit me.

Blood. Sweat. Steel. And underneath it, something familiar. I turned slowly, heart pounding. I sniffed the air again.

The scent of the wolves I’d just slaughtered—it wasn’t foreign. It was mine .

Faint traces of the Blood Night citadel clung to them. Leather treated with oils only we used. The mark of the northern steel on their blades. Even the scent woven into their clothes— Roran’s men.

A cold wave of dread spread through me, choking off the fury just long enough for horror to slip in.

Why would Roran send men to silence the witch?

Why gag her? Beat her?

Why guard her?

I stared at the bodies littered across the floor. This wasn’t a rescue.This was a cover-up. My breath hissed between clenched teeth. Something inside me shifted—not rage this time. Something darker.

Roran.

He was hiding something. And he’d just sent wolves to kill the one creature who might save Lexa’s life. I turned back to the witch, my voice low, trembling with wrath.

“Start talking. Now.”

The witch coughed, blood flecking her lips, and winced as she tried to sit upright. I knelt beside her and caught her by the arm—not gently, but not cruelly either.

“Talk,” I growled, voice shaking from the restraint it took not to destroy the walls around us. “Tell me what happened. Everything .”

She looked up at me, her one good eye wide and sunken with fear, her body still trembling.