Page 23 of Cursed By Fate

“Think we’re supposed to join hands and chant?” I said, masking my unease with sarcasm.

Tristan ignored me, moving to the center of the circle. He stood there for a long time, silent and contemplative, like he was tuning in to a frequency only he could hear. I wanted to tell him to stop brooding, but something in the set of his shoulders made me hold back. Instead, I picked my way through the stones, pretending to study them but mostly watching him. There was a grace to his intensity that I couldn’t look away from.

The air inside the circle was colder, and I swore the light bent wrong around the stones. My mark flared, not hot, but icy—like something ancient had just noticed me. I took a step back, pulse thundering. One of the runes—it looked like the broken moon from my dream.

The runes twisted the longer I stared, like they weren’t meant to be read so much as remembered. My mark pulsed once, sharp as a warning. Or a welcome.

We stayed there for what felt like hours, my own disappointment creeping in despite myself. Nothing happened, no magical revelations or sudden insights. Just the wind whistling through the rocks, making me feel small and foolish.

I crossed my arms, about to say something snarky to break the silence, when Tristan moved to my side. I tensed, expecting another lecture about patience and fate. Instead, he touched my arm, accidental and lingering.

“Serena,” he started, then stopped.

My name on his lips threw me, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I’d been craving to hear it from him.

“We should stay a while longer,” he finally said, retreating back to safer ground.

I gave him a skeptical look but nodded.

We waited, the minutes stretching thin between us, the air full of things we couldn’t quite say. Eventually, we turned to leave, back up the trail that seemed to have grown steeper since we’d come down.

The attack came out of nowhere.

Fangs flashed before our eyes like lethal confetti. Tristan moved fast, shoving me behind a boulder as the forest erupted with snarls and the snapping of jaws.

“Down!” he yelled, but I was already there, instincts taking over.

I glanced at him, getting ready to shift just as a wolf—one of my own pack, out for blood after our failure to heed my father’s warning—struck. The beast lunged, its teeth sinking into Tristan’s shoulder; his face drained of color in an instant beforetwisting in shock and pain. My breath stuttered as I saw the savage bite, the wound deep and bleeding.

The wolf that lunged for Tristan had a scar above its right eye. My breath caught. Kellan. My sparring partner since we were pups. And now, teeth bared, he wanted Tristan dead—and me with him.

“Tristan!” I yelled, my voice nearly lost amid the chaos of growls and crashing undergrowth. He grabbed my arm, pulling me close. “You have to move, now,” he said, teeth clenched.

Blood spread across his shirt, soaking through the fabric like a dark, spreading curse. My heart slammed in my chest, a frantic drumbeat that left no room for thinking, only acting.

“Not without you,” I said, half panicked, half furious. I put my hand over his, feeling the sticky warmth there. “We have to get you out of here.”

His jaw set in that stubborn way I was starting to recognize all too well, but he gave a short nod.

“We need cover,” he managed, each word edged with pain.

We bolted from the open glade, the sound of snapping twigs and distant howls chasing us. A furious snarl rang out as another wolf’s attack shattered the stillness of the forest. I refused to look back, focusing solely on Tristan—on keeping him upright, even as the betrayal of my pack turned our world to a nightmare.

The forest closed around us, a dark and twisting maze. It felt alive, hostile, every shadow a potential enemy. Tristan stumbled, catching himself with a growl that was more than just pain. He was losing blood, too much of it. I slipped my arm around his waist, feeling the strength there waver. He was losing too much blood to shift into his wolf form, and I feared I wasn’t strong enough to carry him on my own, even if I transformed.

“They’re gaining,” he said, his breath ragged.

“They’ll have to catch us first,” I shot back, more defiant than I felt.

We pushed deeper into the woods, the sound of pursuit slowly fading. I could feel his steps getting heavier, each one a struggle. My mind raced, frantic for a plan, a miracle, anything.

Then I saw it.

A wall of vines covered the rock face to our right, thick and overgrown, but not enough to hide the cave entrance behind it. I tugged Tristan toward it, the opening barely big enough for us to squeeze through.

“Here,” I said, urgency propelling me forward.

The space was narrow at first, forcing us into a dark and winding corridor. It opened into a small chamber, the walls smooth and cold against my back. I let Tristan down gently, then tore at his shirt, exposing the wound. Blood was everywhere, slick and red, and I fought the rising tide of panic that threatened to drown me.

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