Page 80 of Curses and Casualties
“Is this normal?” Georgia asks, tipping her head to the side as she listens to how vibrant the world sounds around us. “Everything is so... much.”
“The Soul Bond enhances everything,” Amara explains. “You’re more than you were before. Both human and wolf, but also something new. Something that hasn’t existed for three hundred years.”
I close my eyes and reach out through the pack bonds, testing this new power. It’s like the difference between a candle and a bonfire. Where before I could sense pack members as vague presences, now I can feel them clearly and practically see where they are.
Ethan,I call through the bond.
Holy shit, Ryan!His mental voice is crystal clear despite the distance.What did you two do? We saw the mountain explode!
We completed the bond. Where are you?
Regrouping with survivors. Scarlett’s here, she’s—His mental voice cuts off as a howl pierces the night.Holy fuck, Ryan. He’s coming your way.
The howl is so loud, so primal, that every hair on my body stands up. The world vibrates with the sound, echoes rebounding from the torn stone walls. Then I know. The Alpha is here.
His voice splits the sky as he crests the rim of the shattered Soulcave, silhouetted in the supermoon’s rainbow corona. Behind him, a dozen wolves fan out, eyes trained on the crater where we stand. And at their center, wearing nothing but a grin and a gash down the side of his face, is Elder Gray in human form, hand raised high above his head in a grotesque salute.
“Open a portal,” Amara hisses at the other witches. “We need to get them out. Now.”
“No,” Georgia says, stepping forward until the edge of the crater crumbles under her toes. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
Amara gives me a sharp look. “You’ve just completed the ritual. You should?—”
“We should show them exactly what a true Soul Bond means,” Georgia interrupts, her skin beginning to glow brighter. “We’re not helpless, Amara. We’re stronger, more alive than we’ve ever been.”
She’s right. The connection between us isn’t depleted by the ritual—it’s growing. Every breath brings more strength, more clarity.
“OK,” I say. “Let’s fucking do this.”
We’re already tearing off the clothes we just put on, fabric hitting the ground as the first wolf barrels into the crater. One of the Alpha’s inner circle, a bruiser named Porter. He charges at us with hackles up and foam spraying from his muzzle.
Three more follow, and in seconds the bowl of the ruined Soulcave seethes with the pack’s best muscle. A month ago, the display would have been paralyzing. Not now.
Kane explodes from my skin like he’s been caged too long, all fang and fury and the sweet relief of finally letting the wolf hunt. We move as one. The first wolf has barely landed when I intercept him, vaulting off the loose scree and catching him by the scruff. My new strength makes Porter’s bulk a toy to toss. I whip him sideways, letting velocity carry him into the second wolf just behind. The collision breaks bones with wet snaps. Porter’s wolf form stiffens first, fur hardening to gray stone, the transformation spreading until he’s a perfect granite statue. Then he crumbles, cascading into dust. His heartstone hits the crater floor and immediately cracks open, releasing a stream of rainbow light that spirals upward to join the magical restoration.
The second wolf follows moments later, his death just as swift, his heartstone adding golden threads to the swirling magic above us.
Georgia shifts in a single, fluid motion, Luna erupting into the air like a silver comet. She lands beside me, all grace and lethal intent. The crater becomes a killing ground. Everywolf that enters meets a storm of fang and claw, their attacks anticipated—then countered—with terrifying precision. We are in perfect sync, an endless loop of violence and velocity and joy. The others were hoping to overwhelm us, but they’re learning differently. With every second, more wolves hesitate at the edge, uncertain whether their loyalty to the Alpha is worth getting eviscerated by the monsters now haunting their nightmares.
It isn’t just physical. Our merged souls pulse, and with that comes something... extra. Call it telepathy or magic or just deep animal knowing, but when a wolf tries to flank us, Georgia is there before he even commits to the leap. When I sense a witch lining up a hex at the crater’s rim, I project raw force at her, just an uncontrolled flex of our combined magic. The spell recoils and detonates in the witch’s hands, leaving her stunned and bleeding. It feels almost unfair, but I don’t care. We won’t be hunted anymore.
By the time the last wolf is subdued, the crater floor is littered with groaning, naked forms—the strongest of the Alpha’s circle, now reduced to shivering humans sprawled in the dust. Still in wolf form, I pace the perimeter, making sure the fallen aren’t thinking of getting back up. Georgia remains as her wolf too, streaked with blood and starlight, she circles once, twice, then returns to my side. Above us, the Alpha looks on, his rage palpable.
“Ready to finish this?” My growl carries both human words and wolf challenge, making the Alpha’s ears flatten in confusion. Wolves can’t talk. But the soul-bonded pair can. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but I’m going to thoroughly enjoy doing it.
“It’s over, Alpha,” Georgia calls out, her voice ringing off stone walls. “Magic is free. Stand down before any more wolves get harmed.”
The Alpha launches himself toward us, shifting mid-leap, claws and bone snapping into fingers and skin. He lands upright,naked and raw and filled with rage at the rim of the collapse. “ENOUGH!” he bellows, every inch the old-world tyrant. His word is law, and every battered wolf on the field, even the fae, falls motionless at the sound.
I catch the shift in the air, the lurch of expectation. This isn’t the challenge. Not yet. This is something else.
Behind him, Elder Gray staggers into view. His eyes don’t scan the mess of idle wolves or the wrecked crater, they lock directly on us. Then he smiles, thin and bloody, and tugs hard on a length of rope.
The body it drags into the light is so battered at first I don’t recognize him. The shape, crawling on hands and knees, is naked and raw in all the worst ways—bleeding from gouges in his back, face swollen and purpled. Only when the man gasps for air, catching the moonlight in his lungs, do I see the familiar lines of Scarlett’s jaw and brow.
Her father.
Through our bond, I feel Georgia’s spike of horror—not just at the brutality, but at seeing Caspian, who risked everything to help us, reduced to this. She takes a half-step forward before I catch her arm.
