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“You’re born, you live, you make mistakes, you do some good things, and maybe you do some crappy things—like unintentionally become a witch, kill some people, align yourself with a sadistic sprite, and plunge all of your friends and family into mortal peril.

And then you die. If you’re lucky. If you’re not lucky, you wander around a place that isn’t quite hell wondering if you will ever actually get to die. ” ~ Jewel

T he group's footsteps echoed faintly in the eerie silence of the Realm of the Dead, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive stillness. Jewel trailed behind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to ignore the icy tendrils of dread that seemed to seep into her bones with every step. Her mother’s ghostly form hovered at her side, its presence both familiar and alien, and every so often, that phantom chill brushed against her skin and made her shiver.

It wasn’t just the cold. It was the weight of everything—the guilt, the memories, the unspoken pain.

Jewel wasn’t sure what was worse: the oppressive quiet of this cursed place or the fact that her mother’s specter didn’t speak or show any sort of emotion.

The apparition simply stared, its hollow eyes boring into her.

Jewel didn’t know whether it was a comfort or a torment. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Ahead of her, Fane’s shoulders were rigid, his movements sharp and purposeful.

He’d said they needed to move, but Jewel could feel the frustration radiating off him.

He was a wolf separated from his mate, and Jewel knew what that kind of separation could do.

She’d felt it herself every time she’d been torn away from Dalton, even when it wasn’t against her will, but an active choice she’d made when she’d shut down the bond.

And now, even though the bond still hummed faintly in her chest, she couldn’t bring herself to reach for it.

She was too afraid of what she’d find—or worse— what she wouldn’t.

Fane’s agitation was palpable, his wolf leaking power into the air like a storm brewing on the horizon.

It prickled against her skin and mingled with Andora’s steady presence and Heather’s restless energy.

The sprite queen walked with her usual grace, her movements fluid and composed, but Jewel caught the faintest furrow of her brow every time they passed another stretch of barren, featureless landscape. Even Andora was unnerved.

Heather, on the other hand, was doing what she always did: talking. Filling the silence with her sharp, sarcastic humor, even as the tension weighed heavier with every step they took.

“So,” Heather said, breaking the quiet, “any bets on how long it takes before something jumps out of the shadows and tries to kill us? I’m giving it … ten minutes. Tops. We’ve already been here way too long without a single soul, pun intended, making itself known.”

“No one’s taking that bet,” Andora replied dryly. “It’s a certainty, not a question.”

“True,” Heather conceded. “But you know me—I like to spice things up with a little optimism.”

Jewel bit back a laugh. Somehow, even in the middle of what was essentially a supernatural purgatory, Heather still managed to keep things light.

But Jewel couldn’t bring herself to join in.

Not when her mother’s ghost was staring at her, silent and still, like it was waiting for Jewel to do something. Say something.

She glanced at the specter out of the corner of her eye. "What do you want from me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The ghost didn’t answer. Why she suddenly wasn’t willing to speak, even though she’d sure had plenty to say in the clearing, telling her over and over to let go— whatever the hell that meant— Jewel didn’t know.

But its eyes—those dark, empty eyes—seemed to bore into Jewel even deeper, as if it was trying to communicate something it couldn’t say.

Jewel looked away, swallowing hard. She couldn’t deal with this right now.

Not here. Not when every step felt like it was dragging her closer to some unseen abyss.

“Jewel.” Fane’s voice, sharp and commanding, cut through her thoughts. She looked up to see him glancing back at her, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you with us?” She could hear his wolf in his voice.

“Yes.” She forced herself to straighten. “I’m here.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing, before nodding and turning back to the path—or what passed for a path in this endless expanse of red dirt and jagged rock.

Jewel felt a twinge of guilt. She wasn’t the only one struggling.

Fane was holding himself together for the group, but she could see the cracks forming.

The way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

The way his head tilted slightly, as if he was listening for something—or someone—he couldn’t quite hear.

“Jacquelyn,” he muttered under his breath, so softly that Jewel barely caught it. Her heart ached for him. For all of them.

“This place sucks.” Heather’s voice broke the silence again. “Like, on a scale of one to ten, it’s a solid ‘I’d rather be anywhere else.’”

“Noted,” Andora replied curtly, though there was a faint hint of amusement in her tone. “Along with all the other titillating information you’ve shared over the past hours we’ve been in this dreadful, dreary place.”

Heather sighed dramatically. “First, that’s my new favorite word: titillating. Damn, can you just hear all the things Jen would do with that word? Second, I’m just saying, if Creepy-No-Name-Ruler-Guy is going to show up, he could at least do it sooner rather than later. The suspense is killing me.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing killing you,” Andora muttered.

Jewel’s lips twitched despite herself. But the moment of levity was short-lived. The air around them grew heavier, thicker, as if the realm itself was pressing down on them. Jewel’s steps faltered, and she glanced around, her heart pounding. Something had changed.

“Do you feel that?” Jewel whispered.

Fane stopped, his head snapping up. His nostrils flared as he scented the air, his wolf on high alert.

Andora’s hand went to her waist, and she pushed her long robe aside.

There, tucked away was the hilt of a short blade.

She made a mental note not to piss the sprite queen off because the woman’s face had suddenly taken on that of a warrior.

The ethereal appearance gone, she silently pulled the dagger from its concealed sheath.

Even Heather noticed something was up. She stiffened, her usually playful demeanor giving way to a tense stillness.

Her head swiveled from side to side as she, too, attempted to hear something.

Jewel wondered if being blind made the situation more terrifying to Heather, but then she considered what she knew about the other healer and decided that it probably didn’t.

Heather was one of the bravest people Jewel knew.

She’d face down this new threat and most likely laugh in its face.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them seemed to hum—a low, vibrating frequency that set Jewel’s teeth on edge.

The shadows around them deepened, twisting and writhing like living things.

And then, faintly, Jewel heard it—whispers, just on the edge of hearing.

Words she couldn’t quite make out, but they sent a shiver down her spine nonetheless.

“We’re not alone.” Fane’s voice was low and dangerous.

“No kidding,” Heather muttered, her hand tightening around Andora’s arm. “Even us visually challenged folks figured that out.”

“Heather.” Fane’s growl was a clear warning.

The healer cleared her throat. “My bad. I get snarky when I’m stressed.”

“You and every other female in your group,” Andora whispered.

Jewel’s gaze flicked to her mother’s ghost, but the apparition was gone.

Vanished, as if it had never been there.

Her head whipped around frantically, and her breathing increased.

Where the hell had it gone? Her stomach twisted.

Whatever was coming, if it caused a ghost to run, it wasn’t going to be good.

And in the depths of her mind, Jewel felt a flicker of something—an echo of the bond she’d been too afraid to reach for. Dalton. Was he trying to find her?

The whispers increased, and Jewel’s pulse quickened. Whatever was waiting for them in the shadows was getting closer. And she wasn’t sure they were ready to face it.

The murmurs grew into a cacophony, a swirling storm of voices that seemed to rise from the ground itself. They weren’t just sounds. They were feelings . Anguish. Rage. Despair. Each wordless cry clawed at Jewel’s mind, pulling her deeper into the suffocating weight of the Realm of the Dead.

The shadows coalesced ahead of them, forming a figure so tall it seemed to scrape the top of the huge cavern.

Jewel froze, her breath catching in her throat as the darkness took shape.

It wasn’t a man, not really, though it had the vague outline of one.

Its body was made of swirling black mist, and its eyes…

Its eyes were two burning orbs of crimson light, staring down at them with an intensity that made her knees tremble.

Fane stepped forward, shoulders squared, his wolf’s power crackling in the air like lightning. “Are you the ruler of this realm?” he demanded, his voice steady despite the oppressive presence before them.

The figure didn’t speak, not at first. Instead, it leaned its head first to one side, and then to the other, as if studying them. When it finally answered, its voice wasn’t a voice at all. It was every voice . Male, female, young, old—layered together into a sound that made Jewel’s head spin.