Page 75 of Curses and Casualties
It’s been completely transformed.
Where once there were scattered heartstones in natural formations, now hundreds—maybe thousands—are arranged in neat piles along the walls. It’s as if they’ve been…sorted. But why?
“Elder Gray.” Ryan moves slightly in front of me, and I feel his wolf rising beneath his skin.
“Ryan Blackwell. The failed guardian.” Elder Gray’s smile is thin as paper cuts. “And Dr. Harper, the unfortunate vessel. Do you know what I find amusing?”
“Your sparkling personality?” Fear makes me mouthy. It’s a character flaw.
His eyes narrow, but he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “For three centuries, we’ve suppressed the knowledge of Soul Bonds. Hidden the rituals, destroyed the texts, eliminated those who asked too many questions. All to prevent this moment.” He gestures at the elaborate heartstone patterns. “And yet here you are, playing out a script written in desperation by those who didn’t understand what they were meddling with.”
“Get to the point,” Ryan growls.
“The point, boy, is that without Luna’s curse, all you would have needed was a simple mating ceremony during the supermoon. Any clearing would have done. A few words, a physical joining under the moon’s light, and the bond would form naturally.” His smile widens. “But the curse requires such specific steps, doesn’t it? Moonwater blessed by a witch. Wolfsbane to weaken the barriers. A sacred space aligned with ancient power. And Luna’s heartstone...” He lets out a cynical laugh. “Good luck finding those fragments now. We’ve been very thorough with our... clean up of the space. What do you think?”
My hand tightens on the ritual pouch. He knows. He knows exactly what we need to do. And he thinks he’s made it impossible.
“It really doesn’t matter what you think. But the point is, you made this trap so very easy to set,” Elder Gray continues. “You had to come here. You had to follow these exact steps. All we had to do was wait.”
Two figures step from the shadows behind him. Witches, both female, their hands already glowing with sickly green light—no wonder we couldn’t sense anything as we approached. And they’re helping him.Shit.
“No convenient rescues this time,” Elder Gray says. “No sympathetic pack members to provide distraction. Your allies are rather busy dying on the mountain. It’s sad to see, really.”
“You’re lying.” Ryan keeps his face neutral, but his voice shakes just enough for his wolf’s growl to thread through it. “You want us to give up. But you underestimate what we are.”
Elder Gray lifts a single finger. The witches step forward. Their magic hums in the air—sharp, electrical, a charged field that makes the fine hairs rise on my arms.
“There will be no heroic last stands tonight,” Elder Gray says. “You are both property of the Council now. But first, I think a demonstration is in order. Let the pack see what happensto those who defy the natural order. Your deaths will be... instructive.”
The witches raise their hands, power building. Ryan tenses to spring, but we both know he can’t reach them before the spells hit. This is it. We’re going to fail here, right in sight of our goal. Everyone who fought for us will have died for nothing?—
The symbols on our robes flare to life.
The light is blinding, silver-white and sharp as lightning. It tears through the green magic like it’s made of cobwebs. I hear the witches curse—actually curse, not cast—and the air tears open with the distinctive sound of reality being politely asked to step aside.
“Shit!” one witch yelps. “High fae!”
A figure steps through the tear, elegant and inhuman—our fae guide from camp, their shimmering cloak now radiating with enough power to bleach the stone walls. They glide rather than walk, every movement smooth as water.
“You are not invited,” Elder Gray sputters, but the fae simply smiles, unbothered.
“Neither were you,” they answer. Their hand flicks once, and both witches are yanked to the ground by invisible force, their magic snuffed out in the same gesture you’d use to close a book.
Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He lunges, shifting so quickly his dark fur and human form merge, twisting into something enormous and terrifying. He hits Elder Gray’s midsection, slamming the ancient wolf into the wall. Bone cracks loud enough to echo around the chamber. Robe torn, Gray snarls and drops the human guise, his own monstrous wolf form erupting in a ripple of fur, fangs, and sheer size.
Luna is howling in my ears—Do it now, do it now, do it now!—but the heartstone altar is at least fifteen feet away. In slow motion I see Gray’s jaws snap for Ryan’s throat, and I know I have maybe two seconds before the witches recover or the faelose interest in helping and decide to simply wipe us all away and start over. The air convulses with power—feral, pulsing, totally unrestrained. I know, in this moment, that the only way out is forward. The ritual, or death.
My feet pound the uneven cave floor, every step a jolt through my bad leg, but I don’t focus on pain. Only on finding the right space to use as an altar, the shimmer of the fragments Owen risked everything to give us still wrapped in Evanora’s bundle. I claw the kit open with my teeth, cutting my chin in my hurry—don’t care, doesn’t matter—moon water, check; wolfsbane, check; witch’s blood, check; Luna’s fragments, glowing like a dying galaxy, check. That’s everything.
Ryan and Elder Gray are everywhere. Fur and teeth, clumps of blood-dark hair, the scrape of claws on stone and the snapped-off yelps as fury eclipses all reason. Ryan is bigger, but Gray is old, his movements weirdly precise even through his rage. Every time Ryan takes the upper hand, Gray counters, smashing Ryan into stalagmites, biting with ice-white fangs that barely miss the arteries in Ryan’s throat. Something cracks, and the cave ceiling rains dust and chunks of rock.
Fae light dances at the edge of my vision. The witches are flat on the ground, their magic useless, but I know that can’t last forever. Elder Gray’s entire focus is on taking Ryan’s life, and Ryan is losing ground. Despite being stronger than a regular alpha, they’re still outmatched by the elder’s decades of brutality. Every time Ryan slams Gray down, the old wolf comes up laughing, jaws frothing, eyes black with annihilation.
I upend the moon water onto the small ritual dish, ignoring the way my hands shake and the pain that blooms as I collapse to my knees. I dump the wolfsbane—no time for subtlety, just a rough pinch crushed between my fingers and scattered through the sacred water. The vial of Evanora’s blood feels heavier than it should be. I fumble out the stopper, and a single silvery dropclings to the mouth before gravity pulls it free. It falls in slow motion, spooling a little thread of light through the mixture.
On cue, Luna slams through my body. A howl so loud it splits my vision, leaving everything saturated with silver and blue. My skin blazes, my nerves on fire. I feel her everywhere at once. In my bones, in the beat of my heart, in my belly and the roots of my hair. I am Luna, I am Georgia, two voices roaring in chorus.
The heartstone fragments pulse warm in their silk wrapping. I need to grind them—Evanora was specific about that. I grab two stones from the cave floor, using one as a makeshift mortar and the other as a pestle. The fragments resist at first, but Luna’s power flowing through me helps crack them. They crumble into glowing powder that sparkles like crushed stars. I measure out roughly half a teaspoon and sprinkle it into the mixture. The powder dissolves instantly, lunar veins spidering through the liquid. I finally look up to see how close the disaster is.
