Page 60 of Curses and Casualties
Scarlett considers this, then nods firmly. “Do it.”
Evanora places both hands on either side of Scarlett’s neck. Her eyes flash bright again, and this time the magic in the air turns sharp, almost angry.
Scarlett screams.
It’s brief—maybe three seconds—but the sound of pure agony that tears from her throat makes us all lurch forward. Then it’s over, and Evanora is stepping back, looking satisfied.
“There,” she says calmly. “That’s done.”
Scarlett is gasping, tears streaming down her face, but when she touches her neck, wonder replaces the pain. “It’s gone. The mark—I can’t feel it anymore.” She looks around, searching. “I can’t feel him anymore. Oh my god, this is wonderful!”
“Excellent. You’re now free of that particular bastard forever.” Evanora moves toward the door. “Now, I’ll let you be on your way. You have a ritual to prepare for, and the supermoon waits for no one.”
As we prepare to leave, she looks directly at Scarlett. “And child? When you see him again—and you will—remember that sometimes the people who fight love the hardest are the ones who need it most.”
As we ride the elevator down, I notice Scarlett touching her neck where the Alpha’s mark used to be, a look of wonder on her face.
“How does it feel?” I ask.
“Like I can breathe again,” she says. “Like I’m finally myself.” Then her expression shifts, and she presses her hand to her chest. “But the other thing... it’s stronger now. Like she warned.”
“Well, maybe as soon as this ritual is done, we can all travel back to his compound and shake some sense into him for you?” I suggest, and Scarlett gives me a half smile.
“Don’t call me crazy. But… I kind of feel like maybe he’s not at his compound. Like maybe he’s…”
“The one following us,” I finish. She nods.
“I know it makes no sense—the man has bound his wolf—but… there’s a wolf out there, Georgie. And I can’t shake the feeling it’s his.”
Chapter 22
Ryan
The campground materializes exactly where Amara said it would be—tucked into the foothills of Whisper Valley, hidden by granite outcroppings and a witch’s subtle misdirection. Our wolves feel it first. This close to home, the urge to shift and howl is nearly overwhelming. I hear it from Ethan first, just a low, involuntary note that shudders the windows of the rental. Scarlett snarls, clamping a hand over her mouth as her eyes burn gold in the rearview. Georgia is silent, but her hands, folded in her lap, tremble as if Luna is kneading her bones from the inside.
“Everyone stay focused.” I bite down on Kane’s eagerness. We can’t lose control now. “We’re here less than a day before our supermoon deadline. We’re not letting our guard down this close to the end.”
We pull into a gravel turnout, headlights painting the trees before I cut the engine. The air is cold and sharp, the wind riffled with scents that make my hackles prickle: pack, pine, the distant but damp smell of the Soulcave beckoning us home.
Scarlett’s out of the car first. She paces at the treeline, hands in her jacket, jaw set. Ethan follows, standing close but doesn’t touch her. Instead, his eyes track the forest, taking inevery shadow and movement. Georgia hangs back, clutching Evanora’s kit like it’s the last parachute on a flaming plane.
“You ready, love?” I brush her sleeve, and she lets out a laugh, thin and shaky, more nerves than humor.
“I think so. I mean, I have no idea what’s going to happen. But I’m as ready as I can be.”
Her eyes find the moon, not quite full but so bright it carves silver from the night. I can sense Kane’s excitement, a purring wolf-song building in my chest. Next to us, Scarlett stares toward the ridgeline, her own wolf so close to the surface I catch the scent of wild musk and ozone.
Ethan walks around the old fire ring in the center of the campsite, a series of weathered picnic tables nearby suggesting normal hikers once used this spot. For the next twenty-four hours, it will serve as our war council.
“Cozy,” Ethan mutters, dropping his pack onto a table. “Very ‘planning to overthrow the supernatural order’ chic.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes and takes a seat on the table beside him. “As long as it’s not a car full of sweaty wolves, I’m in heaven,” she says, resting her head on her folded arms.
Georgia helps me gather kindling, her control over her partial shifts so natural now that she extends claws without thinking to strip bark from dead branches.
“I need to call Owen,” I say, the words heavy as stones. “He’s the last piece of this puzzle, but I’m loathe to bring him into this.”
“I mean, we could just hope that we can sense which heartstone shards belong to Luna once we get into the cave,” Georgia suggests. “There’d be more there, right?”
