Page 67 of Curses and Casualties
Erik and Ethan exchange a look, then nod. They carefully lift the wolf between them, and he’s dead weight, barely conscious.The journey back is tense and difficult, punctuated by howls that seem to come from every direction.
By the time we stumble into camp, true dawn is breaking, painting the sky in shades of rose and gold. The moon has set, taking its silver light with it, but the vial in my pack still glows faintly.
“What the hell?” Scarlett says as we emerge from the tree line. She’s on her feet instantly, weapons still in hand. “You’re five minutes late and?—”
She freezes mid-sentence, her whole body going rigid like she’s been struck by lightning. The knives fall from nerveless fingers, clattering on the rocky ground.
“Oh my god.” The words are barely a whisper.
“He’ll be OK, Scar,” Ryan says, but Scarlett is already running toward us, her face white as bone.
“Put him down,” she orders, her voice cracking. “Carefully! Please, just—carefully.”
Erik and Ethan lower the wolf to a cleared space near the fire. In the growing daylight, the extent of his injuries is even more apparent—deep claw marks across his ribs, bite wounds on his legs, what looks like a broken rib or two. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.
Scarlett drops to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his bloodied fur like she’s afraid to touch him. “You stupid, stubborn son of a bitch.” Her voice shakes. “Why did you do this? Why didn’t you just stay in your weird-ass castle?”
She finally touches him, burying her face in the wolf’s ruff with a low, broken sound. “You don’t even want me.”
No one moves or speaks. Even Lucien sits completely silent for once.
Amara kneels beside them, her hands beginning to glow with healing magic. “Let me see what we’re dealing with,” she murmurs, extending her power over the injured animal.
Her expression shifts from concern to confusion to something like awe. “This is indeed Magnus’s wolf,” she says slowly. “Fenris. But this is...” She stops, her magical examination growing more intense.
“What?” Scarlett demands, one shaking hand on Fenris’s massive head. He whimpers at the touch, pressing weakly into her palm even while unconscious.
“The binding,” Amara says, wonder and concern warring in her voice. “It’s completely shattered. Destroyed from the inside out. This shouldn’t be possible. Evanora’s bindings are absolute.”
“But?” I prompt, sensing there’s more.
Amara’s hands hover over the wolf as she probes deeper with her magic. “He won’t shift back,” she says after a long moment. “He’s refusing. The wolf fears being bound again. He’d rather die free than live caged.”
“Can you help him?” I ask, watching Scarlett cradle the massive wolf’s head in her lap.
“I can heal the physical wounds,” Amara says grimly. “But the damage from the binding... the forced separation and violent reunification—the wolf and human sides are tearing each other apart. Without integration, without accepting both sides of himself...” She shakes her head. “He can’t continue living while torn in two.”
Scarlett’s face crumples. “What if we force Magnus to accept the bond? Make him stop fighting what he is?”
“That’s not how bonds work,” Ryan says gently. “They have to be chosen freely.”
“Then what about...” Scarlett’s voice breaks. “What if Fenris could find someone—a new vessel—who actually wants him? Someone who?—”
“No,” Amara says sharply, making everyone look at her. She’s staring at Scarlett with sudden intensity, her magical sensesclearly picking up something new. “That’s... oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, my dear. You don’t understand, do you?”
“Understand what?” Scarlett snaps. “Fenris needs a vessel, or he’ll die! If Magnus doesn’t want him then?—”
“Wait.” Lucien, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly sits bolt upright. “Did you call that wolfFenris?” His voice has lost all its casual drawl, replaced by something sharp and almost... afraid.
“That’s his name,” Scarlett confirms, still stroking the wolf’s fur. “Why?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lucien breathes. “His name is Fenris? And he just took out a whole group of enforcers by himself after breaking free from Evanora’s binding?”
“You know the name?” I ask, though the tension radiating from him makes it clear this is significant.
“In Norse mythology,” Erik puts in. “Fenris is the wolf destined to devour Odin during Ragnarök.”
Lucien nods, his usual sardonic expression replaced by genuine unease. “So if Magnus named his wolf that, he either has a sense of humor or...”
