CHAPTER NINE

FREYA

The forest sang with blood.

I stood among the chaos, velvet gown untouched, watching the night rip itself apart. Wolves tore into each other with reckless abandon, claws splitting fur, teeth snapping bone. The ground was black with gore, the soil struggling to drink fast enough. The stench of iron and sweat was thick, clinging to the air like smoke, and yet it comforted me.

Death was an old friend, and tonight it danced for me alone.

Paige of Silvercrest had arrived like a storm, shattering the delicate balance I had woven with such precision. Her pack had poured into the clearing with teeth bared and hearts foolishly brave. I should have been furious at the intrusion. But anger is a waste—it burns too quickly, leaving only ash. Curiosity lasts longer. Curiosity endures.

I was curious why she would risk her wolves in this slaughter. Curious why she would throw herself against Vincent’s forces when every path led to ruin.

And most of all, I was curious about Mira.

She fought like a creature with nothing left to lose, her eyes blazing with the kind of pain that calcifies into rage. I recognized that fire. Once, long ago, I had carried it myself before I learned to wield it. She was raw, unshaped, but there was potential in her. The kind of potential men like Vincent loved to crush under their boots, snuffing out the spark before it could ever grow into flame.

I wondered if Kael even understood what he carried at his side.

Anderson dragged himself upright, face bloodied, teeth bared, his once-proud armor hanging in shreds. “We cannot hold them,” he rasped, voice thin with panic.

I did not look at him. Anderson was a tool, useful when it pleased me, disposable when it did not. My eyes remained fixed on the girl.

Mira slashed through one of Vincent’s thralls, her body trembling from exhaustion but her movements sharp, honed by desperation. She screamed as she fought, a sound torn from the gut, primal and raw. That scream unsettled me. It was not the cry of a cornered animal. It was the war cry of someone who refused to die quietly.

The false Paige—the one with black hair and cold eyes—lunged at Mira again, blade flashing. Mira ducked and countered, but her strike was sloppy, clumsy with fatigue. The warrior would have gutted her had Kael not intervened. He tore Paige back with brutal strength, his fangs sinking into her shoulder.

Typical. Always the savior. Always so noble.

The sight bored me. Predictable, dull. I wanted more. Something different. Something that would tip this night from common chaos into legend.

So I made a choice.

I lifted my hand and whispered words only the night remembered. Shadows thickened around my fingers, writhing like snakes desperate for freedom. I flicked them outward, and the ground beneath two Silvercrest wolves split open. Screams echoed as they vanished into the dark, swallowed whole by the earth itself.

The others stumbled back, fear cutting through their frenzy. Paige of Silvercrest—the true Paige, golden braid gleaming under moonlight—snarled at me and charged. Her sword swung with righteous fury, her body gleaming with strength. But strength without fear is brittle. It cracks when pressed.

I caught her mid-step with a glance. Her body froze, suspended in the invisible grip of my will.

“Impressive,” she spat, jaw locked against my hold. “But power alone will not save you from us.”

“Us?” I tilted my head, intrigued by her certainty.

Her eyes gleamed with defiance. “Silvercrest does not walk alone.”

The forest answered her claim.

A horn blew in the distance—long, deep, resonant. It rolled across the battlefield like thunder, a sound that belonged to no mortal hand. Every wolf froze mid-motion. Even Kael stopped mid-fight, his body going still like prey sensing a greater predator.

I smiled. At last, the night was becoming interesting.

Figures emerged from the far treeline, cloaked in pale gray that shimmered faintly under moonlight. Their steps were soundless, yet each carried the weight of inevitability. Hunters—but not wolves. Not vampires. Something older. Something I had not seen in years.

Anderson swore under his breath. “Wraith Keepers.”

The name rolled across the battlefield like a curse.

The cloaked figures carried weapons carved from bone, polished until they gleamed with death’s own luster. Their faces were hidden behind masks painted pure white, featureless and cold, like the skulls of forgotten gods. One lifted a spear, its tip glowing faintly blue. The light was not beautiful. It was the light of graves, of rot, of silence.

“By order of the Keepers,” a voice boomed, distorted beneath the mask, “the balance must be restored. Blood has been spilled without sanction. The debt will be collected.”

Mira’s eyes widened, confusion cutting through her rage. She did not understand, but Kael did. His face drained of what little color remained, his body rigid with recognition.

He seized her wrist, yanking her back. “Do not look at them,” he hissed, voice low and sharp. “Do not speak.”

But Mira was Mira. Defiant, reckless, doomed to disobey. She lifted her chin and met the Keeper’s gaze head-on.

The masked figure tilted his head, as though amused. “Interesting. A wolf that defies her chains.”

The others shifted, whispering in a language older than the soil itself. Their words slithered through the clearing, scraping against the bones of every listener.

Paige of Silvercrest strained against my hold, fury etched across her face. “Release me, witch. They are not here for me.”

“No,” I murmured, voice soft as silk. “They are here for all of us.”

The Keeper raised his spear high, and the blue glow spread across the battlefield in waves. Wolves whimpered and collapsed, thralls scattered like ashes in wind, even Anderson stumbled backward. The light sought to touch me, but shadows curled tighter around my gown, shielding me in their embrace.

The Keeper’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “One of you carries the mark of the Betrayer. Surrender them, and the rest may leave with your lives.”

The mark of the Betrayer.

My heart quickened, though my face remained calm. I knew exactly what they meant.

Kael.

Of course it was him. The mark burned in his bloodline, a curse laid upon him when he dared defy the old order. It was the reason Vincent hunted him with such ferocity, the reason he would never truly be free. He was a wound on the world, and the Keepers had come to cauterize it.

I glanced at him. His jaw was set, eyes blazing with that familiar defiance. He would not surrender. He would fight until his last breath, even if it doomed everyone else.

Predictable. Always so predictable.

My gaze slid back to Mira. She did not yet know the full truth, but she sensed it. Her body trembled as her eyes darted between Kael and the Keepers. Her choices were written across her face in hesitation, in fear, in dawning comprehension.

And I saw opportunity.

If I wanted the night to become unforgettable, I needed Mira to break. To make a choice that would haunt her forever. To make her dangerous.

So I whispered into her mind. Not aloud, not in a way Kael could hear. Just a thread of shadow curling into her ear.

He will sacrifice you. He always does. Give him to them, and you will be free.

Her eyes widened, lips parting as though she had heard a ghost.

Kael pulled her closer, shielding her with his body, but I saw the hesitation in her stare. The seed was planted. It would take root. It would grow.

The Keepers advanced, weapons raised, steps shaking the very ground. Wolves whimpered and fled into the trees, leaving behind only their dead. Paige of Silvercrest tore free of my hold, vanishing into the chaos, dragging her wounded with her. Anderson stumbled after them, muttering curses that reeked of fear.

But I remained still. Watching. Waiting.

Mira’s hand trembled at her side. She looked at Kael—the man who had saved her, bitten her, bound her fate to his—and then at the Keepers, their glowing weapons promising an end to it all.

Her choice was coming.