Page 78 of To Carve A Wolf

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 nearlystaggered. 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 wasmine.

Faint traces of the Blood Night citadel clung to them. Leather treated with oils onlyweused. 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.

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