Page 62 of Curses and Casualties
“We’ve been a little busy,” Georgia says dryly.
Behind Amara, an unlikely army emerges. Two witches flanking her radiate power despite their modern clothes—one silver-haired and stern, the other younger with intricate braids I recognize immediately.
“Jules!” Georgia exclaims, genuine pleasure breaking through her nerves. “You made it.”
Jules grins, the same mischievous smile she wore when she masked Scarlett’s mark with her tattooing talents. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don’t accidentally blow yourselves up with that ritual.”
A vampire in designer jeans steps through next, looking bored but sharp-eyed. I recognize him immediately—the one who raised his glass to us at The Crossroads, acknowledging us with that knowing salute.
“Well, well,” he drawls, catching my recognition. “The famous soul-bonded pair. I had a feeling we’d meet again. Nice to see you survived this long.”
“You were at Crossroads,” Georgia realizes. “I remember you watching us.”
“Darling, everyone was watching you. You lit up that place like a supernatural Christmas tree.” He examines his manicured nails. “Though I must say, your current glow is much more... contained. Lucien Ashford, at your service.” He nods his head and steps to the side.
Three figures emerge last, and Georgia gasps. Where the other supernatural beings look mostly human with subtle otherworldly features, these three are unmistakably something else entirely. The fae.
The first appears almost human until you notice the way light bends around her, how her movements leave brief afterimages in the air. Her hair shifts color with each step—silver to deep blue to forest green. The second is tall and willowy with elongated limbs and fingers that end in what might be claws or might be thorns. And the third... the third barely maintains a human shape at all, its form flickering between what looks like a person made of starlight and something that might be a deer with too many eyes.
“Holy shit,” Scarlett breathes.
“The fae courts have decided your bond serves their interests,” Amara explains as the three otherworldly beings arrange themselves with movements too fluid to be entirely natural. “They’re the oldest supernatural beings on this continent. Their magic predates even the first shifters.”
The first fae speaks, its voice like wind chimes made of crystal. “We remember when the barriers between worlds were thin. When magic flowed freely between realms.” Its eyes, which seem to hold stars, focus on Georgia and me. “Your bond will tear holes in the current reality. Create... opportunities.”
“Opportunities for what?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.
“For the old magic to return,” the willowy fae answers, its voice layered like multiple people speaking in harmony. “For the courts to operate as they once did in this realm.”
The third fae’s form stabilizes into something more human-like, though its skin still shimmers like oil on water. “The Council’s suppression of magic has weakened the pathways between our worlds. Your union will restore them.”
“And bringing up the rear,” Amara gestures to a young Úlfhéðnar warrior I recognize from Ragnar’s compound. “This is Erik. Ragnar sent him with twenty warriors. They’re positioned five miles north, ready to move when the moon rises tomorrow.”
“Twenty warriors is good,” I say, trying to process this supernatural war council.
Erik grins, all young warrior bravado. “The Jarl says fighting under the supermoon will honor the old ways. Besides, your old pack needs a lesson on how it feels to be set upon by unwelcome guests. We shall feast over their bones when we win!”
Georgia blinks. “Well, that’s… vivid.”
Scarlett just gives a low whistle. “I’ll bring the beer. Maybe some snacks.”
Erik raises his thick arms. “Yes! We’ll have much to celebrate!”
“Uh, sure?” I say, not sure if Erik’s enthusiasm is reassuring or intimidating, but for a moment his outright candor makes me believe we might actually pull this off.
Chapter 23
Ryan
Lucien languidly claims a picnic table as the others settle into easy camaraderie. “Partying over the spilled blood of our enemy is fun and all, but I do hope someone has a more detailed plan than ‘charge when the moon is high and hope for the best.’“
“We have a plan,” Georgia says, shooting me a sidelong glance I know means we absolutely do not have a plan. “It’s a simple one. But essentially, we need all of you to distract while we complete the bond ritual at the Soulcave. Once the bond is complete, we’ll join the fight and push out the rest with you. But the timing is crucial—we need to start the ritual as the supermoon rises.”
“And if the distraction fails and the Alpha gets there first?” the color-shifting fae asks, its voice almost too smooth to stick in the air. Its eyes are blue glass, unblinking. “Because he will. They’re already moving. I heard his howlers running the basin at sundown.”
“We go through them,” I answer, anger making every word flint. “We have to.”
“Well, that’s a wonderfully wolfish solution,” drawls the vampire. “But maybe consider a touch of misdirection, hmm?Feeding time usually brings out the best in my kind, but there are only so many wolves I can take down directly. I’d rather not get my own entrails on these shoes if it can be helped.”
