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The clearing itself seemed to respond to his fury.

The ground trembled faintly beneath him, as though the earth itself recognized the magnitude of his power.

The scent of crushed grass and damp soil filled his nostrils and mingled with the sharp tang of blood from his wounded palms. His breathing grew more ragged, each inhale a struggle as his chest rose and fell with the effort of containing the storm inside him.

And yet, even as his power surged outward, the edges of control slipping further from Fane’s grasp. His wolf clawed at him, demanding release, demanding action. They’re gone, the beast growled in his mind, its voice thick with anguish. Dalton. Jewel. They’re gone, and we couldn’t stop it.

Fane’s fists clenched tighter, his claws digging deeper into his palms. There was a fresh surge of energy as his wolf lashed out and poured its unbearable grief and rage into the bond.

The pressure in the clearing intensified, and a strangled gasp came from one of the wolves behind him.

Fane didn’t turn. He couldn’t. His vision was fixed on the ground in front of him, his focus narrowed to a single, all-consuming thought: I failed them.

A low growl rumbled in his chest and grew louder until it vibrated through the clearing like thunder.

It wasn’t a growl of warning but a sound of mourning, of indignation, of a pain too deep to put into words.

His wolf’s howl rose within him again, the sound tearing through his mind with a ferocity that made his entire body tremble.

“Fane,” a voice called softly, barely audible over the storm of his emotions.

Jacque. Her voice was steady, but he could hear the strain beneath it and feel the effort it took for her to speak under the heaviness of his dominance. Her presence—a faint flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume him—nudged gently against his mind through the mate bond.

But Fane couldn’t respond. He couldn’t let go. The grief and rage were too big, too overwhelming. They pressed against his chest, threatening to crush him if he didn’t release them, if he didn’t let them burn through everything in their path.

The storm inside him swirled faster, fiercer, until it felt as though the clearing itself might crack. His wolves knelt, unmoving, their breaths shallow as they endured the unrelenting force of their Alpha. And still, it wasn’t enough. The rage demanded more. The grief demanded more.

“We’ve got to get him under control before he crushes us all and levels the whole damn forest.,” Costin’s voice briefly broke through his pain, but it was quickly swept aside as Fane’s howl died down and his eyes focused on Raja, who stood there, calm and unbothered, as though none of this concerned him.

“YOU!” Fane snarled, a sound so guttural that he didn’t even recognize his own voice.

“You think you can stop me?” Raja’s deep voice cut through the clearing. “You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t stop this. What makes you think you can stop me now?”

Fane lunged forward, but before he could reach the ruler, a roar split the air behind him. Fane’s eyes shifted off Raja and focused on Gerick.

The warlock stood apart from the rest. His back was rigid, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

His usually pale skin seemed almost gray, and his normally sharp, calculating expression was gone.

In its place was something raw, something broken.

Gerick’s dark eyes were fixed on the place where the Nushtonia had closed, his face a mask of disbelief and anguish.

Fane blinked, his wolf perking up to this new situation, his own grief momentarily pushed aside as he watched Gerick.

The warlock’s entire body seemed to vibrate with energy—an energy that was foreign, wild, and unstable.

The air around Gerick shimmered faintly, like heat waves rising from pavement, and Fane realized that the magic of the Nushtonia’s release had done something to him.

Gerick’s power had been waning for years, just like the rest of his kind.

The warlocks had once been among the most powerful beings in the supernatural world, but their magic had faded over time, leaving them a shadow of what they had once been.

Gerick had no doubt carried the weight of that loss with quiet dignity, his pride too strong to allow him to lament what could not be changed.

But now, Fane could see that rush of magic from the Nushtonia had awakened something in Gerick—something volatile and dangerous.

The warlock’s hands began to tremble, and faint tendrils of energy sparked around his fingers, flickering like dying embers.

The magic was there, but it was erratic, unpredictable, as if it didn’t know whether to surge forward or fall apart entirely.

“Gerick,” Fane called. He fought to keep his voice low and steady, though his own grief still clung to him like a second skin.

The warlock general didn’t respond. He didn’t appear to hear Fane.

Gerick’s gaze remained fixed on the spot where Myanin had vanished, his lips moving silently as though he was speaking to her, or perhaps to himself.

The energy around him grew stronger, the faint shimmer in the air becoming more pronounced, and Fane’s wolf growled softly in warning.

“Gerick,” Fane said again, this time more forcefully, taking a step toward him.

The warlock’s head snapped up, and his eyes locked onto Fane’s with a ferocity that made even the Alpha of alphas pause.

Gerick’s dark eyes were no longer just dark.

They were swirling, shifting, as though a storm was brewing within them.

His grief was palpable. It radiated off him in waves that rippled through the clearing, brushing against Fane’s skin and sending a chill down his spine.

“She’s gone,” Gerick whispered. The words were hollow, as if they were being dragged from the depths of his soul. “I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t … save her.”

Fane’s jaw tightened, his own grief flaring anew at the sight of the warlock unraveling before him.

He understood Gerick’s pain all too well—the helplessness, the crushing weight of failure.

But this was different. Gerick’s magic was reacting to his emotions in a way that was unpredictable, unstable.

The tendrils of energy around Gerick’s hands grew brighter, more erratic, crackling like lightning in a storm.

The ground beneath him began to tremble faintly, and the earthy scent of the forest was suddenly overpowered by the sharp tang of ozone.

Fane’s wolf bristled. The air around them was charged with a magic that felt ancient, primal, and on the verge of exploding.

“Gerick, listen to me.” Fane took another step forward, his body tense but his voice steady. “You need to rein it in. This won’t bring her back.”

Gerick let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and broken.

“Rein it in?” His voice trembled with anger and despair.

“Rein what in, Fane? There’s nothing left to rein in.

Myanin was my light, my anchor. And now she’s gone.

The Nushtonia, that thing”—he shoved a finger toward the offending object—“has her, and I… I can’t—” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked utterly lost.

The warlock’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, his hands slamming into the dirt. The energy around him flared brightly, and a burst of light rippled through the clearing. It hit Fane like a physical force, sharp and cold, and he staggered back a step as his wolf growled in warning.

“Gerick, stop,” Fane’s alpha command slipped out. “You’re going to lose control.”

But Gerick didn’t seem to hear him. His fingers dug into the earth, his shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his body.

The energy around him pulsed again, brighter this time, and Fane realized with growing alarm that Gerick’s magic wasn’t just growing.

It was unstable—feeding off his grief and getting stronger and more chaotic with every passing second.

Jacque’s hand touched Fane’s arm, and he glanced at her, seeing the worry in her eyes. “We have to help him,” she whispered. “He’s breaking.”

Fane nodded, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer to the warlock. He crouched down. “Gerick, listen to me. Myanin wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want you to lose control.”

The warlock’s head snapped up. His storm-filled eyes blazed as he met Fane’s gaze. “And what would you know of what she’d want?” he snarled. “You have your mate. You have Jacque. But I—” Gerick’s voice broke again, the words catching in his throat as fresh tears streaked down his face.

Fane didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. He held Gerick’s gaze, all while Fane’s own grief burned in his chest. “You’re right.

I don’t know what she would want. But I know what I’d want, Gerick.

I’d want my mate to be strong and controlled amid the chaos.

I nearly let myself lose all control, I won’t let that happen to you, my friend.

You are pack. You are family. And Myanin is not gone. ”

For a moment, the warlock stared at him, his breathing ragged, his body trembling.

But then the energy around him flared once more, brighter than ever, and Fane braced himself for the inevitable explosion.

But Gerick’s gaze left Fane’s and landed on Raja’s.

From one breath to the next, Gerick was on his feet and charging for the ruler of the Realm of the Dead.

The warlock general’s body was surrounded by a shimmering aura of magic, and the ground beneath him cracked and shifted as raw power poured out of him.

His dark eyes were wild, his jaw clenched as he moved, and his fists glowed with energy.

But before Gerick could reach Raja, Peri appeared in a flash of light, her peridot eyes blazing with fury. She held up a hand, her magic forcing Gerick to a halt. “Not like this,” she snapped. “You’ll destroy yourself.”

Meanwhile, Heather’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and exasperated.

“What the hell is going on? Someone tell me! Kale, what’s happened?

I know something’s missing. Something snapped inside of me.

” Her voice was desperate as she spoke of the missing link inside her.

The healer bond. Jewel’s would no longer be tied to theirs.

She was gone, forever lost to the females who had become sisters to her.

“Hang on, love,” Kale’s deep voice rumbled. “Just hang on to me.”

Raja’s laughter echoed once more, and then his form began to shift, dissolving into smoke.

“Another time, Alpha,” he mocked. “Another time.” And he was gone. Poof. As if he’d never been.

Fane’s wolf roared when he realized that their prey had gotten away. All the control Fane had wrangled while dealing with Gerick was ripped from his grasp as he released his rage in a bellow that shook the earth beneath him.

Peri turned to Fane. “Enough!” Her magic slammed into him like a wall, forcing him to his knees. “You’re going to kill them all if you don’t get a grip.”

Fane’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession as he forced himself under control.

He reached for his mate, wrapped his arms around her.

He grounded himself in her scent and let her warmth chase away the cold darkness filling him.

His wolf receded reluctantly, his body shrinking back to its normal size, but the fury lingered in the background waiting to be let free.

Jewel and Dalton were gone. Myanin was missing. Gerick was falling apart. Fane had failed them all.