Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 19

19

brONTE

I t’s still daylight when we leave the hotel, all three of us out of glamour and wearing sunglasses to cover our eyes. Humans passing by stare at us as we stand on the sidewalk while West waves down a cab, a clear reminder that the average wolf — were or shifter — is considered unnaturally tall and muscular by human standards. Not that I would ever call West average ; among wolves he still stands out, both handsome and intimidating all at once, like a god among mere mortals.

The fact that the human world isn’t made for larger species is emphasised once our cab pulls over, the driver begrudgingly allowing Sam to sit in the front passenger seat, a hint of stress and fear lacing his scent once all three of us are in the car. West has said before that he’d love for the universal glamour to end, and I can understand why, but I do wonder about the impact on humans if such a thing were to occur. They often seem so full of fear, like this man here, nervous now that he’s subconsciously registered that he’s trapped in a vehicle with three beings that aren’t like him, though I doubt he’d consciously understand why our presence is bothering him so much. Still, the realisation that I’m going to be spending a great deal of my life pretending to be human just because I’m choosing this realm dawned on me yesterday morning as I lay in bed, and I’d spent a good deal of time reflecting on the past week, trying to analyse just how much energy I extended with each spell to take us in and out of glamour, and how it would feel to do that day in and day out.

For decades.

It’s obvious to me that my future lies here in the Second Realm. Meeting my teenage daughter and seeing the way she so seamlessly interacted with her human friend really hit home that this is the way things are going to be, but I’m not sad. How can I be, when all I feel is freedom when I look out the cab window at the city passing by, or when I think about the house in my latest vision, and the stunning views of the beach and ocean? Lykia is beautiful, its beaches and crystal clear water coveted, but here in this realm — and with West’s wealth — it feels as if the entire world is within reach. I don’t think there’s anywhere we couldn’t go. Selfish, silly little brat… I’m almost certain that’s what my grandmother will say when I tell her this, and I do feel guilty but I want to live in this realm with West. The glamour is a pain in the ass, but that’s all it is. With my magic I can take it off at any moment, I can take us into the First Realm whenever I want.

I have more freedom here with my mate.

There’s a big part of me grappling with the fact that I am probably (definitely) being ungrateful. That thousands wish they could be in my position, with political power already mapped out for them. Another part of me loathes that I’m going to give up that future, and give it up for a man no less.

Does that make me a shitty feminist, when it’s not my fault? The reality is that if West were a werewolf, I wouldn’t be worrying about choosing one over the other. I would have my mate and my children, and I would not be giving up anything, but I already know what the coven will say, and what my grandmother will deem unacceptable. It won’t matter that I can move back and forth between realms with ease. She won’t accept that my mate is a shifter, and she won’t accept that I’ll need to spend time in this realm. Our female-driven policies only extend so far — you can have a mate, but if that mate is a man, he needs to be the right kind of man. I can hope that I’ll be mistaken, but I’m no fool, and I’m preparing myself for the worst.

And I suppose that’s what bothers me the most, because in giving up my opportunity to lead House Maheras in the future, I’m giving up my ability to create real change, and there are so many things that I would change about my House and the way it functions. Whether I’m the right person for the job is another question entirely, but like all the old Houses of the First, House Maheras is not and has never been a democracy, and so merit is only one factor in the decisions made around succession.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that when West reaches over and places a hand on my knee I jump in fright. “Sorry, I was thinking about…” I try to think how best to sum up the frustration of knowing that your House puts forward the public facade of being matriarchal and female forward, without ever accounting for the very real phenomena of fated mates, or even just love . “My grandmother,” I finish lamely, though she’s only part of the problem, and I’m beginning to wonder if she ever wanted to have it all in the way that I want the mate, the children, and the freedom to move between realms.

Knowing the way that she is, it’s hard to imagine that she could have ever been like me, and that’s also part of the problem. I’ll never lead like her, anyway. I am too soft and too caring , and she’s reminded me of that a hundred times at least.

“I’ll be with you, when the time comes to confront her,” West says, and I take his hand, squeezing it in thanks.

“I know.”

Seeing West and Sam in action is at once both exhilarating and horrifying. While I already knew about their old enforcer days, the discussion we had yesterday while planning this upcoming confrontation emphasised the violence of their younger years in a way that was impossible to ignore. The casual way in which they discussed witnesses and bodies and weapons (two hidden firearms and one knife for each man, plus two knives for me) had shivers running down my spine.

Now we’re casually approaching the back entrance of this old brick building — a former factory that Anita is converting into apartments. One of West’s hands is on the small of my back as he glances around, the other one held loosely at his side, and I know he’s prepared to whip out his gun in an instant if he needs to. Sam carries himself in the same way, two steps behind us, protecting his alpha’s back like any good second would.

Oh so quietly — wolves have great hearing, after all — West tries the handle on the old wooden door. I hold my breath, letting it out in a deep sigh as the unlocked door opens.

Logan did his job.

West gestures with his head and Sam takes the lead, entering the building, pulling out his gun as soon as West closes the door with the quietest click possible. West pulls out his gun too, and with his free hand gestures to my jacket, worn open over a tee. Right. My knife.

My magic should be enough to defend both myself and these men — I’ve learned plenty of tricks over the years — but there’s something reassuring about holding a very sharp thing in my hand. West and Sam had debated whether to give me a gun, and in the end I had told them both I didn’t want one, anyway. I’ve never used a pistol before, and the last thing we need is me accidentally shooting my own husband in the back because I don’t know how to aim.

We follow Sam through the empty lobby, stepping around various pieces of construction equipment and materials — cans of paint, stacks of wooden planks, crates filled with brass bathroom fittings — and locate the internal stairwell exactly where we expected it to be. The acoustics are far too good inside the concrete space, the sound of our breathing even appearing to echo, and we move as quietly as we can, single file up the stairs, West leading once more, with Sam at my back.

We stop on the eighth floor, West checking his watch, and with a nod he steps forward, giving the door a single tap. West’s gun is aimed directly ahead, ready to shoot, and I have to remind myself to breathe. This is part of the plan. A moment later the door opens slowly, a gun pointing directly at West’s chest, and even though I know this is supposed to happen, I feel sick seeing someone aim a weapon like that at my mate.

Logan, the young, lanky enforcer we saw singing Sinatra at the gala last week, steps through, and for a tense moment no one moves.

“ Alpha ,” Logan whispers, lowering his gun, and I close my eyes, sending a quick thanks to the Goddess. Yesterday, in the most fortuitous timing anyone could ever ask for, Logan had reached out to West, calling him on the number reserved only for pack members. It wasn’t a secret that Logan was in a long-distance relationship with one of the young women in West’s pack, but Logan’s request to formally join the Livingston pack was a surprise. I’d listened in, eyes wide as West had told Logan he would call him back, shaking my head in disbelief when West hung up the phone.

“He’s one of Anita’s enforcers, isn’t he?” I’d asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I do,” West had replied, “ and my wolf has never let me down, when it comes to these things. Logan will have the information we need.”

He did have all the information, and hearing the words, “The stone is being traded at exactly six-fifteen tomorrow in Anita’s new SoHo apartments,” had made me feel euphoric. Not only did it confirm the legitimacy of my time-travelling visions, it also gave us the peace of mind that we could trust this guy to pull through for us.

West had called Anita an idiot over the fact that she hadn’t used her alpha bark to ensure loyalty from her enforcers. “It’s fine to have that stance that you want every enforcer to have full control over their decisions if you’re an alpha that’s doing everything above board, but the moment you start doing dodgy shit, you need to lock those enforcers down. I can’t believe Anita hasn’t done that yet.”

Without an alpha bark to keep him loyal, Logan was happy to admit that he would betray Anita if it meant he could join the pack and officially claim his girlfriend. It was Logan who made sure the door downstairs was unlocked. He’d told us he would excuse himself from the group assembled on the ninth floor to ‘take a piss.’ Instead, just as we’d planned, he’d waited here on the eighth floor for his new alpha to arrive.

And now the madness is about to begin.

“Alpha,” Logan says again, and I immediately feel the change in him, the shedding of his old pack ties, and the gaining of his new ones — to West, and to his new pack. Just like the other day at the redwoods, I can see the web of ties that West has to his own pack, including this newest connection.

But if West has gained a connection which he can sense in his mind as alpha, that also means that Anita has lost one, her young enforcer no longer hers at all. That will be noticeable, and I’ve got no doubt that she’s currently panicking, wondering what the hell is going on.

West wastes no time in using his bark. “Logan, you will remain loyal to me, your alpha, unless I tell you otherwise.”

“Yes, alpha.”

It was quiet before, but now the sound of raised voices is coming from above. “Bronte, his glamour,” West prompts, before turning his attention to Logan. “Elevator or stairs?”

“Stairs,” Logan answers as I quickly remove the glamour from him. Logan’s true eyes are the prettiest shade of pale yellow that I’ve ever seen on a wolf.

West is already turning, moving fast up the stairwell, trusting us all to follow at his pace.

“Get ready,” he warns, pulling me close behind him a moment before he opens the door, his gun ready. I see a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye, but West is already prepared, dodging the punch thrown by the guy on the other side of the door, before kneeing the man in the gut and landing a series of heavy punches, leaving him slumped on the floor. “Sorry Jerry,” Logan mutters, stepping over the man. We’re in a long hallway, a single window at the far end providing natural light. “They’re all in there,” Logan says, nodding at the door.

We can hear them, which means they can hear us. “How many are armed?” West asks.

“Ten.”

“In glamour?”

“Yeah. No one can shift.”

West looks at me. “The guns.”

I nod. “Just be my eyes while I focus.” West already knows how vulnerable I sometimes am when I’m mid-spell, particularly when I have to ‘see’ elsewhere, and he wraps his arm around my waist.

“I have you, sweetheart.”

I nod. I’m no expert with telekinesis, but I push my senses out, searching through into the next room, using magic similar to divination and astral travel. I can see the people standing there — the three pixies I chased just a week ago, Elliot, his second, Anita and her husband, another wolf who looks like an alpha, other wolves waiting for us against this closest wall, their guns held ready, even more wolves scattered about the place.

In my mind’s eye I look for weapons, attaching just a tiny bit of my magic to each one. “Ready when you are,” I whisper.

“Do it.”

With a burst I push at all the weapons — guns, knives, even a set of knuckle dusters — tearing them away from the bodies that hold them, concentrating on moving them through one spot in the air. The sound of smashing glass is loud over the collective yelling as the weapons all fly out the window that faces a small alleyway.

“Let’s go!” West barks, and we all move, bursting through the apartment door into the open space, still very much a construction zone. Concrete floors, brick walls, numerous tall windows, and the Maheras Stone sitting on a small table at the back — that’s all the impression I get before I’m dodging a punch and stabbing my knife into a man’s shoulder, lifting my leg to kick him in the chest, sending him flying backwards. Sam catches the guy, landing a hit on the side of the man’s head that knocks him out cold. Logan has already knocked out another of his former pack mates, but it’s West that makes everyone in the room stop.

“Hold back your men or I’ll blow her brains out.”

He holds the smallest of Anita’s enforcers against him, one arm across her chest, the veins on his forearm bulging as she struggles, attempting to free herself. His other hand holds his gun to her head, his finger on the trigger. He presses it harder against her temple now, and she whimpers. “Stop moving if you want to live,” he warns darkly and she stills.

At the far end of the room, Elliot, his second in command, and man I assume is Victor — the rogue alpha who set the hunter’s trap for West to walk into — all stand frozen, their expressions curious.

“Stand down,” Anita says, using her alpha bark, though she sounds dejected. Almost every wolf in the room takes a step back away from us, their hands dropping to their sides. “Weston, let her go. She’s only nineteen.”

“She’s an enforcer?”

“Yes.”

“I was an enforcer at that age, too. That’s on you, Anita, as her alpha. It’s on you if she gets hurt. Don’t make children enforcers if you’re not willing to accept the fact that you’ve put them at risk.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Anita eyes Logan, and if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man right now. “I never thought I’d see the day when one of my own betrayed me in this way. You’re going to be responsible for the death of your pack sister. How do you feel about that?” she asks Logan directly.

Logan shrugs. “I think you’re wrong. She’s not going to die, because you’re going to hand over the stone we want, and we’re going to go on our merry way.”

“Now wait right here,” Elliot says, taking a step forward. “I’ve not come this far for things to turn to shit at the eleventh hour. I actually agree with my buddy Weston over there. If she dies, she dies. Go ahead, West . Shoot her.”

West remains still, giving Elliot one of his very quiet looks.

Elliot laughs, glancing back over his shoulder, talking to the two men behind him. “Now watch him; he’s gonna do the opposite of what I say, just because . He’s like that annoying little brothe?—”

A gunshot rings out, and Elliot jumps with a shout as bits of concrete floor scatter beside his feet. “Shut the fuck up, Elliot,” West says, the gun already pressed back against his captive’s temple. She’s crying now, shaking, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Next time I’ll aim for your crotch.” West says. “You seem to think you’re in a position of power here. You’re not. Remember the last time we met? I was out of glamour back then, too, and you acted like the scared little shit that you are.”

“We have three pixies here.”

“I don’t give a fuck about pixies. Look at them.”

The pixies, still in their human form, have kept their gaze trained on me the entire time.

“They’re scared shitless of my mate. I think that tells you all you need to know about the current situation.”

“I’ll tell you about the current situation, Weston,” Anita says. “I was willing to help you, until I found out what the true purpose of the stone was. About the history of it.” She turns her attention to me. “You should have told us what it can do. He doesn’t know, does he? He doesn’t know what it’s responsible for.”

“Actually, I do, and I don’t give a shit,” West growls. “What I do care about is that someone I considered an ally sought to have me killed, put my pack in danger, is working with fucking pixies, and trading an object around in messy exchanges rather than treating it with the respect it deserves. You think it’s bad? You’re setting yourself up for it to be taken by the fae, and then we’ll all be fucked.”

“That stone is responsible for the deaths of so many of our kind!”

“Five hundred years ago. Yeah, it is. If you give it to the fae, I’m pretty sure we’ll all end up dying, so why don’t you think about that for a moment.”

“It’s not going to the fae, it’s going to me. ”

“And who will protect it? The elf witch old Victor used?” West asks, gesturing with his head to the man at the back. “You should have seen the way she cowered when my wife walked into her little store. They’re in another league, Anita, when it comes to magic. I’m yet to meet a shifter with the same abilities as the Maheras wolves. I’m not convinced that you can keep it safe. My wife wants it, so I’m going to help her take it back. You know what they say: happy wife, happy life .”

Anita rolls her eyes, shaking her head, before staring at me. “I travelled to Lykia twenty years ago, and I was happy to make an alliance with your grandmother, but over time I became extremely disillusioned by the fact that she very clearly looked down on us shifters, and there was no real partnership. And then I met you again last week, and you seemed so refreshing and innocent, and for a moment I had hope that perhaps something could shift politically between shifters and werewolves. Do you know how horrified I was when Elliot told me the truth about what your precious stone does?”

“Because it’s so horrifying that I might turn into a werewolf outside of the full moon? Right. You sound like a hypocrite, Anita.”

“It’s unnatural. It’s not right, and your people used it to murder mine.”

“It was a war.”

“And so is this.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t have to be. Look at West and I.”

She does look between us, clucking her tongue. “You do know he doesn’t love you, right? I’ve seen it time and time again. It’s not love with fated pairs, it’s just lust. It’s biology . You don’t actually care about him, and if there was a way to cut that fated connection you’d have nothing in common. You’re a werewolf, for crying out loud.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. I’m not going to tell her what I know, what I’ve seen and felt and experienced with my mate. I don’t owe her my explanations or proof of the love that West and I have. We don’t owe her the knowledge about our children. “What happened to all your friendliness at the gala? We could have been allies.”

“You, and this. You have no right to a power like this.” She grins, and too late I realise that the pixies have been casting their own spell, every shifter in the room dropping the universal glamour. “We’re going to make sure you don’t ever get your hands on the stone again. You’re not walking out of here alive,” Anita says, before she shudders, shifting into a huge russet wolf.

Absolute pandemonium ensues as every conscious shifter in the large room shifts, filling the space with huge wolves. My men are suddenly outnumbered and therefore outmatched three to one, and I shriek as the closest wolf leaps at me, jaws snapping, West’s bigger wolf knocking him over, fighting, fur flying until the smaller wolf falls limp, a huge tear in his neck.

I know West has some interesting ideas about honour and fighting as wolves, but I don’t give a shit. I focus on the enemy wolves, beginning the spell to put them back under universal glamour, but find that I’m blocked. I try again, cursing under my breath when it doesn’t work. I meet the gaze of one of the pixies, now out of glamour, and she gives me a sharp-toothed smile. Bitch. Pixie magic is fae-based, operating on a different frequency to mine, and she’s somehow managed to prevent me from altering these wolves out of their natural state.

The rich iron tang of spilled blood is thick in the air, the noise of all these wolves fighting deafening. I spot all three of the other alphas still standing at the back of the room, observing as the others do the dirty work for them. Cowards. West wouldn’t do that. He’s here now, fighting with his pack members, protecting me. He left most of the pack at home because he wanted to keep them safe.

I need to get the stone.

West is busy fighting the next wolf, Sam is fighting two at once, and Logan is doing the same. I see another wolf — the female enforcer — attempting to attack West from behind and send a blast of magic in her direction, knocking her back. She tries to get up again, yelping when I repeat the same move, sending her flying into the brick wall.

The wolves are all occupied with fighting each other. The pixies, on the other hand, are now doing exactly what I expected them to — attempting to take off with both the stone and a suitcase. It’s almost laughable, because if my guess is right, that case is full of cash, just like in any of the many action movies I’ve watched over the years. I send a blast of magic at them, knocking them off their feet, and the case falls open as it hits the concrete.

My goddess, I was right. Wads of bills tumble out onto the ground, and the pixie holding the case makes a pained noise, one of her iridescent wings bent at an odd angle. I have no idea why they need so much human money, but I don’t have time to think any further, my attention drawn by Elliot’s grey wolf. Up until this point he’s stayed back, out of the fray, but now he stalks towards me, hackles raised, ears back, and teeth bared, growling ferociously, and I may not be a shifter but I can read that body language perfectly.

If he gets any closer, I’m screwed.

I didn’t need to worry. West leaps in front of me, mimicking Elliot’s stance. I stare at his back, holding my breath, praying to the goddess as they begin to fight. I look across and see both Logan and Sam still occupied, both backed into the same corner by a number of the other wolves, including Anita. The only other wolf I haven’t accounted for is —

Victor seems to come out of nowhere, snarling, biting down on West’s back leg, my stomach sinking as I realise it’s the same leg that West never let me fully heal. Swept up in everything else, I’d forgotten to check it over the last two days.

West turns his head to bite at Victor, and that’s when Elliot leaps on him. “ No! ” I yell, watching my mate being overwhelmed, fighting two alphas at once. I shoot a blast of magic at Victor, and then Elliot, knocking them down temporarily, but I’m panicking, and it’s not enough.

“Give them hell.”

The memory of West telling me about this in the future comes to mind. He’d been speaking to me when he said that.

What needs to be done is so fucking obvious.

I run at the pixies, who, caught between Logan and some other wolves, and the door, are still trying to escape. I’m bigger, taller, and stronger than them, and I tackle the one with the stone to the ground, the large raw crystal tumbling away from us both.

“Move back!” I yell at one of the other pixies, and I’m not even sure what language I’m speaking now as I fire a blast of magic at her, knocking her off her feet. With that same magic I create a physical loop, a golden rope that wraps around the stone, and with a tug it is sailing through the air and into my hands. “ Give me the power,” I command it, feeling the first spark. It needs the spell, it needs…

“Give me the power of the Goddess Divine, of the moon in full, of stars aligned, our celestial bodies that rule all realms, give me the power of the planets combined, let the Moon Goddess come alive! Bring her to life! Bring her to life! Bring her to life! Bring her to life! Bring her to life!”

I’m panting, my throat hoarse from screaming, eyes transfixed on the Moonstone floating high above me, shining bright as a star, as a moon, as the full moon, the power of it filling me deep within my soul, my wolf growling as she breaks free. Bones growing, skin stretching, fur sprouting. I am all jaws and teeth and the urge to bite everything .

The moments immediately after the change are always disorientating, a battle between myself and my basest instincts, and in that small period of time it’s always tempting to lose oneself completely to the madness. I see the big grey wolf cornering my mate and I don’t care that I can’t recall his name; he is the enemy, regardless.

Kill.

I’ve never been so sure of something in my life than this moment and my need to wrap my teeth around that wolf’s throat, my lips curling back in a snarl as I picture it. Blood will be spilled, and I spring forward in a rush, the grey wolf so transfixed on his opponent that he notices too late. I slam into his side, knocking him off his paws, his yelp echoing in the room. I don’t stop, snarling as I slash at him with my clawed fingers. He leaps to his feet, teeth snapping at my shoulder, but I am stronger, shoving him back with a growl and my own bites. I tear through flesh with my teeth, biting and pulling and ripping, growling, feeling the wolf grow limp, the life draining from him. He slumps to the ground, his yellow eye looking up at me as his blood pools beneath his head, the taste of it on my tongue, and in those final moments I feel like a monster. I don’t want this. I don’t want our kinds to kill each other when we are all wolves, when we’re not the ones to watch out for. This, everything about this fight, feels like a distraction, a way to cause division for future generations, pulling our attention away from our real enemy: the Unseelie Court, and the fae that rule it.

A sharp chill pricks at the back of my neck and I whip my head around.

The pixies.

They’re creating a portal to escape, but another wolf — Sam — is onto them, biting down on the arm of the first one, and the portal fizzles out into nothing as the pixie screams. There’s a yelp from Sam as another pixie jumps on his back, stabbing him repeatedly with a knife, and West leaps into action, tearing across the room, biting at the pixie’s leg, dragging them off his second and tossing them onto the floor.

“I curse you!” the pixie screams at West as he stands over her, her voice a frantic high pitch, and I can feel the magic behind her words. “I curse you and your first bor —”

West’s teeth are around her neck, cutting off her words and her spell, and with a shake of his head her neck is severed through, her lifeless, headless body landing limp on the ground, her head following a moment later with a loud thump.

West stares directly at me, his muzzle dripping with red blood, his chest heaving as he pants. He’s exhausted.

Sam rises to his feet, but I don’t like the way he’s limping or the way his head slumps. Still, there’s no time to rest — the sharp feeling is back, the third pixie making a second attempt at escape. Logan’s wolf takes him out, barrelling into the pixie, tearing into his chest with a level of violence I know will give me nightmares in the months to come. West had warned me that Logan had a mean streak, and he wasn’t wrong. All around us wolves lay injured, dead, or dying, the concrete floor painted red with blood. The one pixie still alive slumps against a wall, holding the stump of her arm that Sam bit clean off.

Only Anita and Victor are left standing. While Victor snarls, his hackles raised, Anita looks defeated, cowering, so different from the powerful alpha I met a week ago.

“I didn’t want this violence,” I say to her. In this form of mine I tower over them all, and my voice is a deep rumble. I look directly at Anita, but I feel the eyes of all the other wolves in the room. “It’s unnecessary.”

Her gold eyes are filled with hurt, and I don’t think it has anything to do with her physical injuries.

“I can still save them,” I say, gesturing with my clawed hand to the wolves laying on the ground. A few of them are whining in pain. “I can heal wounds. I can save their lives, but you have to promise me that the stone is mine, and that you will hold them back. They can’t attack us.”

Anita nods, but Victor leaps at me, biting my arm, and I scream in pain as he cuts through layers of skin and muscle. West and Sam are on him in an instant, and he lets go to fight them. It’s short-lived, and I turn away as West finishes him off.

All of this violence over a single item.

My arm is on fire, and I’m not so noble that I’ll sacrifice myself first. I place my good hand over the wound, doing my best to ignore the stench of death as I tap into my healing magic, the puncture wounds on my arms closing slowly. The bare minimum is what I allow myself — I can heal myself more later, but I need to fix these other wolves.

“I know you think this stone is bad,” I say, kneeling beside the first injured wolf. He has a series of bites to his flank, and more on his back leg where the bone is snapped. “But I wouldn’t be able to heal this many wolves without it. It gives me the power to fix them all.”

I move about the large space, kneeling and healing, each round making me feel weaker, lightheaded, nauseous, but I need to keep going. West barks at me and I know he thinks I’m doing too much, but I can’t stop, not when I can save them.

“He’s also going to need a long recovery,” I say, lifting my claws from the fur of the wolf I’ve just worked on. “I’ve stopped all the life threatening issues, but I don’t have the energy to fully heal his bones, even with the stone’s power helping me. All his ribs were broken.”

Anita walks over slowly, whining, licking the face of the wolf before me, and I realise that he’s her mate. It’s enough to make me begin to cry, whining along with her.

I’m exhausted, and West barks at me, more insistent this time.

“No,” I say, standing and pushing him away when he tries to prevent me from walking to Sam. “He was stabbed, West! Let me fix him!”

West growls and huffs angrily, but I ignore him, moving to the empty corner of the room, where Sam has settled, far away from the others. He’s laying on his side, breathing heavily, and I know he’s worse than he initially let on.

“Oh Sam,” I say, whining as I sense just how extensive his wounds are. Punctured lungs, bruised ribs, bites across his back. “You’re lucky that pixie missed your heart.”

I heal him slowly, giving it more than I really should, but he protected me today, and more than that, he’s my friend.

West is the very last one that needs attention. He shakes his head, stepping backwards.

“No. Come here,” I say. “Don’t make me chase you!”

He gives a dissatisfied snort, but there are multiple sets of eyes on us now, and he reluctantly complies.

“You should have let me heal your leg properly the other day,” I growl at him. He huffs, and I give him a proper snarl, baring all of my teeth. “Listen to your wife next time.”

I fix his leg, all the bites he sustained, and three broken ribs. “You might scar,” I say, as quiet as I can in this form, and I can’t help the whine that escapes my throat.

I’m ready to collapse, but I need to have the stone in my hands first. It still floats near the high ceiling, and I force myself to walk over to it, lifting my hand up and retrieving it. I manage to sit myself on the ground near Sam before the spell wears out completely, the stone no longer glowing. Without that power, I begin to change, growing smaller, my fur disappearing, leaving me naked and shaking, and I collapse forward, the stone rolling out of my grasp. I reach for it, but I’m too tired to move the final distance. My hands are stained red with blood.

West’s wolf collapses beside me, whining at me, licking my face. “I’m fine,” I whisper, using what little energy I have to reach up and grab at his fur, scratching at his ruff in what I hope he knows is a reassuring gesture. “I love you.”

He whines again, licking my neck, crying more in his canine way and I know he’s spotted the wound on my back that I didn’t heal.

“It’s fine,” I whisper, my eyes closed. “It’ll be fine, darling. I just need a little sleep, then I’ll be fine.”

I’m too tired to move, but I feel it, the moment more magic appears in this space. My grandmother. I whimper, but my tongue feels too heavy. I can barely keep my eyes open as I watch West’s wolf stand, setting himself between me and the multiple portals appearing. He’s growling, head down, teeth bared and hackles raised, and I can do nothing but watch as the High Witch steps through, her expression one of distaste as she surveys the mess.

I see the face of my mother, worried and shocked as she spots me.

“West,” I whisper. Don’t fight them. I can’t tell if I’ve spoken the words out loud.

My vision grows dark, and I’m falling again, being pulled away into —