Page 39 of Curses and Casualties
“That was fucked up,” Scarlett finally says. “The whole thing. The feeding, the compulsion, that creepy old vampire who probably knew Shakespeare personally...”
“He was older than that,” Darius says quietly. “Much older. We’re lucky he honored Bjorn’s marker.”
I study the business card in my hand. The hand-written address puts Magnus’s property deep in wilderness, miles from the nearest town. “We need transportation. And supplies.”
“And a plan,” Georgia adds. “We can’t just drive up to a paranoid, self-hating werewolf’s fortress and knock on the door.”
“Actually,” Ethan says thoughtfully, “that might be exactly what we do. If he’s as isolated as Nicolai suggested, he’ll know we’re coming long before we arrive. Any attempt at stealth would just make him more suspicious.”
“Great,” Scarlett mutters. “Our plan is to walk up to a crazy powerful werewolf who hates other werewolves and ask pretty please for help. What could go wrong?”
Through our bond, I feel Georgia’s fear mixing with resolve. She’s thinking about the Úlfhéðnar, about everyone who’s risking their lives for us. We can’t fail them.
Long road ahead,Kane observes.Broken wolves are dangerous. But mate needs this. So we go.
We go, I agree silently.
“We should rest first,” Amara suggests. “Dawn’s coming, and we’ll need our strength. I know a place—neutral ground where we can regroup and plan.”
As we follow her through the lightning streets, I catch Georgia’s hand. “You OK?”
She considers the question seriously. “No. But I will be.”
I squeeze her hand, feeling our bond pulse with shared resolve. Behind us, the supernatural district fades into normal city streets as the glamor reasserts itself. Ahead, mountains wait, and with them, a broken alpha who might hold the key to everything.
Or might try to kill us on sight.
Either way,Kane growls,we will be ready.
I hope he’s right. Because something tells me Magnus Erikson won’t be interested in sob stories or noble causes. And whatever price he demands for his help, we’ll have no choice but to pay it.
The supermoon is coming. And whether we survive long enough to see it… depends on a man who’s caged his own wolf.
Chapter 17
Georgia
The rental car Amara procured for us smells like stale cigarettes and broken dreams, but at least it runs. I’m wedged in the passenger seat, studying the topographic map spread across my lap while Ryan navigates the winding mountain roads leading north from Sugar City.
“According to this, we should hit the turnoff for Magnus’s place in about an hour,” I say, tracing the route with my finger. The geological features fascinate me despite everything. Volcanic activity created these steep ridges, and I can see where glaciers carved deep valleys thousands of years ago. The scientist in me notes the unstable terrain, prone to landslides. Perfect for someone who doesn’t want visitors.
“Assuming Nicolai’s directions are accurate,” Ryan mutters, white-knuckling the steering wheel as we round another blind curve.
In the backseat, Scarlett shifts again. She’s been restless for a solid hour now, unable to find a comfortable position. “Are we there yet?” she asks, her voice tight with something beyond simple impatience.
“Same answer as the last three times,” Ethan says gently. “Soon.”
“This is ridiculous.” Scarlett presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I feel like... like there’s electricity under my skin. Getting worse every mile.”
I twist around to study her. Her face is flushed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool mountain air. Her breathing is shallow, rapid. “Scar, what exactly does it feel like?”
“Like...” She struggles for words, hands clenching and unclenching. “Like my wolf is trying to claw its way out, but not to shift. To run. Toward something. It’s this pull in my chest, like someone tied a rope around my ribs and they’re just... yanking.”
Ryan catches my eye, and I feel his alarm spike.
Wolf calls wolf,Luna murmurs.
The road climbs higher, and the scenery shifts from dense pine forests to more exposed terrain. Snow dusts the peaks above us, and the air grows thin enough that I crack my window despite the cold.
