Chapter 28

Ch. 28: Dane

After two days as a Wolf, my mind is sharp, clear, and almost devoid of human thought. As I run, my heart beats wild and free in my breast, my breath flows cool and then hot over my tongue, and my muscles burn with the warmth of exertion.

Freya matches me stride for stride, her long legs and lean form letting her keep up with ease. Of all my siblings, she's always been the most my equal, the most like me, and I'm grateful to have her at my side.

We arrive at the crest of the ridge and come to a halt. I circle the small, flat clearing of stone a few times, orienting myself and absorbing the world through my Wolf's senses, before joining Freya at the edge. Side by side, we sit and admire the lay of the land below.

My land—my territory, my home.

A fierce joy burns through my veins, and I release the pent-up energy with a few loud barks of delight.

The moon is bright, and the sky is clear. It's a good night for a hunt.

Tilting my head back, I let my voice lift from my throat on a long ribbon of Song. Freya's howl joins mine, and together we praise the Wild in our blood, and in the earth on which we stand.

A tone of light, like the thrum of golden strings, goes through my heart as I sense my Mate's approach. He hears me, and although he cannot answer as a Wolf, I sense his reply.

Another Wolf answers as well, and I hear the eager excitement in my younger sister's voice.

I wish all my brothers and sisters could be here to witness me Ascend; wish my parents could be here to look on with pride; but an alpha's ascendence is, by and large, a solitary thing. Except for his witness, he bears the load alone.

As the hour nears, the enormity of it weighs on me—the sense of responsibility growing heavier with each breath, as if I'm absorbing Alpha power from the air itself. It's not a bad feeling, though, and as my heart swells with certainty, I know from the depths of my soul to the tips of my fur that I'm ready.

At my side, Freya's form stiffens, her ears pricking forward as her tail lifts. A warning growl rumbles in her throat. Distracted from my simple appreciation of the night, I follow the point of her snout and turn my attention to the valley below.

Ingrid's cheerful, excited barks have changed, growing sharper and more urgent, signaling not joy but alarm.

Something's wrong.

As the barks grow increasingly frantic and then cut off with an abrupt yelp, my heart leaps with fear and launches me into action.

The way Freya and I had come was the fastest way to ascend the ridge, but the fastest way down is over the cliff's edge. It's not a straight drop—more like a tumbled stone wall leaning on its side—and by jumping from the top of one boulder to the next, we can reach the valley floor in minutes.

At the bottom we pause, breath misting in the moonlight filtering through the ragged boughs of pine and fir, and scan the shadows with hunt-lit eyes.

Freya points her nose east and signals she's picked something up with a low growl. I haven't yet detected anything, but my sister is the best tracker I've ever known, and I trust her instincts. She starts off at a cautious lope and I fall in at her side, but after only a few dozen paces, she slows to a stop.

She raises her head and sniffs the air, then lowers her snout to the ground and runs in a quick, wide circle, as if attempting to pick up a lost scent. It works, and with a soft, breathy bark, she takes off through the trees in a different direction.

As I dash after her, a strange scent tickles my nose, and I draw up short and huff a soft growl. Freya glances back at me and retraces her steps, ears pricked forward with wary curiosity. I lick her face in reassurance and sniff the air, indicating I'd found something. She does the same, then snorts and shakes her head.

I catch the scent again and understand her confusion. It seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. As soon as I catch it, it vanishes, only to reappear from a different source.

It's a strange scent, too: familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. There's a spice of the deep woods about it; the tang of pine and the musk of thick fur, yet something brighter, too—a sparkle like stardust.

A thought strikes me, lancing through the quiet focus of my Wolf's mind to spark against the bedrock of my human soul.

Seized by a sudden thrill of fear, I look up through the trees and spot the moon. Then I turn in a half circle, look up, and spot it again. Freya follows my motions and sees the same impossible thing.

Two moons.

Shit.

Words don't often form in my Wolf mind, but that one comes through loud and clear.

This is Fae magic, and I'd bet my last dollar it's not Julian's.

With a sharp bark to Freya, I circle behind a clump of bushes and Shift. She does the same, emerging with her long hair pulled over her shoulders. We keep a good distance between us, clothing ourselves in shadow. Growing up in a family of Wolves, nudity is no big deal, but we're still more modest in human form.

"What the fuck?" she mutters under her breath, turning in a slow circle. The two moons are directly opposite one another, so we can't look at one while simultaneously looking at the other.

"Come here." I beckon to her. "Stand next to me, but face the other way."

She obeys, so we stand shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions.

"What do you see?"

"The fuckin' moon." She says.

"Me, too."

Bypassing the fact that this is impossible, she remarks, "It was higher, before."

"It's an illusion."

She huffs a laugh. "I sure as hell hope so. I ain't ready for an alien incursion, or broken reality, or whatever else it might be."

"If I'm right, this isn't much better."

"The Fae?"

I nod. "Mom mentioned something like it once."

I scratch the back of my head, wishing Noah was here. He'd paid much better attention to all the Wolf-Fae lore than I ever had, and I'd trusted him to have my back with the info in the unlikely event something like this came up. Unfortunately, he's far away, absorbed with writing the book he hopes will make him famous—or as famous as professors of linguistics can get.

"It's called a 'Confusion,'" I say. "It happens when Fae magic is used to bend the rules of our world. Stories of people who get lost and end up miles from where they thought they were, or who feel as if they've been gone only minutes but were missing for hours or days? Those people probably walked into something like this."

"You think it's Halloran?"

I shake my head. "Maybe. But if so, he's not working alone. This is seriously complex magic. Come on—we need to find Ingrid and Julian."

"Human, or Wolf?" she asks, meaning which form we ought to take.

I think for a moment. "Human. If there are other Fae here, especially Rhiannon, we don't want to give them any excuse not to try diplomacy first."

She scoffs under her breath. "Kinda late for that, isn't it? This is an act of war."

"No, it's not," I mutter, eyes scanning the shadows beneath the trees. "The ritual's not completed yet. Until it is, anyone has the right to challenge my claim—the Fae included."

"Shit. We don't even know which direction we're going."Should we split up?"

I growl in frustration. "No. That's the worst thing we can do. We need to stick together. And stay quiet."

"What about Ingrid?" Freya's whisper sounds strangely loud and I realize it's because the rest of the forest is silent.

"She's a Wolf. She can handle herself."

"She's a kid," Freya hisses. "And she's never been in a situation like this."

"Neither have we," I point out.

My voice sounds strangely calm in my own ears, but the adrenaline in my veins is like fire as fear for my sister and Julian threatens to eclipse the rational part of my brain.

"Come on. We know the steep side of the ridge faces south, and if we know we're looking south, we know the rest. Just ignore what's in the sky and focus on landmarks. We've been over this area enough in the last few days to have it memorized."

"Yeah," she grumbles as she falls into step at my side, keeping a few arm's lengths between us. "That's probably what everyone who gets stuck in one of these things says."

I grunt a reply, most of my attention on our surroundings. She's right, and no matter how careful we are, or how certain of our location, we can't completely trust our senses. Which is why, despite a burning desire to find my Mate, I don't call out to him. If I hear his voice, I know I won 't be able to stop myself from bolting off towards the sound, despite the probability I'd be heading in the wrong direction.

We walk in silence for several minutes, but we hear no further sounds—of Ingrid, Julian, or otherwise—and the eerie stillness begins to grate on my nerves. Worse, it already feels like we've been walking too long without coming across the familiar landmarks that we should have seen by now. I'm about to say as much, when Freya stops in her tracks, staring straight ahead. I follow the direction of her gaze and stop short as well as a shape emerges from the shadows at the base of a tree.

I've never seen her before, but I recognize Rhiannon easily enough.

Freya stiffens, ready to Shift and attack at my sign, but Rhiannon steps forward with raised hands. She stops a dozen paces from us, and looks between us with wide, familiar amethyst eyes. Her resemblance to Julian is striking.

"Rhiannon," I state. "This is your doing?"

Slowly, she shakes her head, keeping her eyes locked with mine.

"Halloran?"

She flinches at his name, but again shakes her head.

"Who, then?"

She begins to gesture with her hands—quick, flowing motions as Julian described. It's clearly a kind of sign language, but I have no clue what it means.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Becoming agitated, she repeats the gestures and begins to back away.

"I think she wants us to follow her," Freya says, staring at the other woman with an intent, curious look.

I glance back at Rhiannon, who nods eagerly and beckons.

"Could be a trap," Freya cautions.

I shake my head. "Something tells me it's not."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then we'll find out," I say, and follow the Fae into the trees.