Page 52 of Primal

“Yeah?”

His sigh is the first thing I hear, the sound mirroring just how exhausted I feel. “Hey, Nick.”

Unable to stay still for this conversation, I stiffly rise from the desk chair. “What’s going on, Canaan? Are you both okay?” Against the instincts screaming at me, I force myself to not ask about her.

“We’re good. Safe,” Canaan says, his voice steady, but more subdued than I’m used to. “Everyone here in Ashvale has been welcoming. Haven’t run into any issues with the Craddock Pack or the witches. Not that I really anticipated to.”

No, I hadn’t expected any either. Both of those groups of people made it clear where their loyalty lies. With Noa. With her well-being. By leaving with her, Rhosyn and Canaan proved the same. They all share common ground, and it’s her.

Shifting to the large window that takes up most of the far wall, I drag back the heavy curtain for the first time since locking myself in this room. Late afternoon light floods in, sharp andunforgiving. My pupils shrink and burn, but I don’t look away. I force myself to withstand it, to let the light cast away the shadows I’ve been cohabitating with.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” I say, and it’s the truth, even if the relief barely makes a dent in the dread coiled in my gut.

There’s a pause. Heavy. Awkward in a way that’s never existed between Canaan and me. That alone tells me something other than the obvious is seriously wrong.

“Listen, man…there’s something you need to know. Something we found out while staying here with her.”

My heart stutters, a painful lurch behind my ribs, like it’s trying to stall out. Every worst-case scenario hits me at once. All of them centered on Noa.

My wolf howls, his own dread a mirror image of mine.

“Is she okay?” The words are out before I can stop them, laced with every ounce of fear that’s currently eating me alive. “Fuck. I know how you feel about what I did, but just…please. Tell me she’s okay?—”

“Stop,” he snaps, sharp enough to cut through my spiral. “No, she’s not okay. I mean, yeah, she’s stopped screaming and convulsing, so I guess that’s a fucking win, but no, Nick. She’s notokay. She’s barely hanging on, but this isn’t about her. Not directly. It’s something else. Something big. And I need you to pull your shit together long enough to actually hear what I’m saying.”

I drag in a breath that feels like razor wire and broken glass. Then another. And another, until I can fake the calm I don’t feel.

“I’m listening.”

His next sentence nearly brings me to my knees. The mixture of shock and the fatigue from the past few days sucking out every ounce of strength my muscles possess.

“We found Yrsa Eklund’s daughter,” he tells me. “Sigrid.Siggy. She’s alive and she’s here with Noa.”

Chapter 21

Noa

My bones begged for sleep.

Every inch of my body ached like I’d been dragged behind a school bus and then spat on for good measure, and still, rest didn’t come. Which feels like a joke at my expense considering I spent three days trying to claw my wayoutof unconsciousness. But last night, when I actually wanted to sleep? The bastard ran off and left me hanging.Which was rude as hell.I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything. How quickly it all unraveled. One trip back to Fallamhain territory and suddenly the axis of my life spun in reverse.

The pounding in my skull didn’t help matters, either. It had been sharp and persistent. That’s what finally drove me to bed last night, putting an abrupt end to Rhosyn, Canaan, and Siggy’s unexpected reunion.A fact that made me feel selfish and weak, but the awful truth was, I couldn’t stay upright a second longer.

We agreed to pick things back up this morning; there was still so much to unpack, and both sides had more to say.

Having given up on the prospect of sleep an hour before sunrise, I now sit curled up in the sunroom on the back ofthe manor. The glassed-in space full of hanging plants and an unbelievably cozy sitting area was a favorite of Mom’s. She spent almost every morning out here drinking her tea while she planned out her day or had quiet moments with our past Nightingales. Before, it’s always been a space that radiates warmth, no matter the weather, but now, huddled under two blankets and my heavy hoodie still firmly in place, I’m cold. Not in a way a heater could fix—it’s the kind of cold that lives in your marrow.It’s not an actual temperate issue, but a lingering effect of my still raw rejection.

Trying to ignore the ache settled deep in my bones, I let my thoughts drift to what happened last night withher.

Siggy.

Or rather, Sigrid Eklund.

A member of the Fallamhain Pack.

I didn’t know. Not even an inkling. There’d been no flicker of recognition, no long-buried memory clawing its way to the surface when I met her. While I now recognized her last name as being the same as one of the long-standing council members for Merritt Fallamhain, I hadn’t remembered Siggy at all from my time as part of the pack. Our seven-year age gap probably playing the biggest contributor of that.

Rhosyn and Canaan, however, had recognized her instantly.

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