As she speaks, she steps over a gnarly tree branch growing up through cracked pavement, and reaches blindly for a broken column for support. The moment her fingers make contact, she gasps, her body going rigid.
I move closer, watching her eyes glaze over. Reaching out, I carefully put my hands on her arm, reach to catch her in case she falls. Just the brief touch of my fingers to her skin fills me with longing, the smell of lilac and honey washing over me.
My god, she’s perfect.
When she blinks back to awareness, there are tears in her eyes. I swallow a knot in my throat at the sight of them, wishing I could make her pain go away—including the pain that I know I alone caused.
“I heard my mother’s voice,” she says softly. “I remember it now. She was calling my father home for dinner, and I was… I was riding on his shoulder. Do you think the memory was real?”
“You were almost two years old when my father brought you to the orphanage, so I’m sure it was,” I tell her, knowing she needs to hear this right now. “The trauma may have made you forget, but whatever magic connects you to this place could be bringing it all back to the forefront.”
Aurora looks comforted by my words, and I feel a brief sense of gratitude leak through our bond. She straightens, and I reluctantly let go of her arm. It feels like denying myself a piece of my own body to move away from her.
We continue through the ruins, Aurora leading the way as if drawn by an invisible thread. Each building she touches seems to trigger new memories, not all of them her own. The land itself gives her many of them—as if it’s been lying in wait for a way to tell its stories. At the remains of a school building, she remembers the sound of young shifters learning to control their wolves. Near the remains of a great hall, she can see snatches of council meetings and new year celebrations.
The deeper we go into the remains of Pack Onyx land, the stronger the lingering traces of magic become, even decades later. My nose burns with it—not just the rot and ruin of faemagic, but something older as well. Something that smells like ash wood and ozone.
“Here, this building,” Aurora says, stopping in front of a broad, imposing structure with a foundation still intact and crumbling stonework columns. “This was important. Something happened here.”
I scent the air for a long moment. “The magic is stronger here… and I think we’re in the center of pack lands.”
She approaches the entrance, where stone steps lead up to a pair of weathered wooden doors, one of which has fallen off its top hinge. The moment her fingers brush up against the wood, another memory seems to strike.
“Something happened here right at the end,” she says, her voice tremulous. “The pack gathered here, and the people, they… they were afraid.” She stumbles back, and this time I do catch her, steadying her with my hands on her shoulders. Warmth blossoms where my thumbs brush against her bare neck, just above the neckline of her shirt. “I can feel their fear.”
“What were they afraid of?”
“I don’t know. But…” Her brow furrows. “I keep seeing symbols. Chalk on the floor. Burning ash wood. And talismans… talismans of fangs.”
That catches my attention. “Fangs?”
“Yes, the two top canine teeth of a wolf.” She shakes her head in frustration. “I keep seeing them over and over again, worn as jewelry and etched into carvings. Almost like they were important in some way. But I’m not clear why.”
Something tickles at the back of my mind—a story I heard once, quickly dismissed, about the fae fearing certain packs more than others. “Did Gran ever tell you anything about Pack Onyx? I know they fought the fae like Pack Granite.”
She thinks for a moment. “She didn’t say much, just that they were feared, even by other packs. That they had a special gift thatmade them dangerous to the fae, but she never said what it was. I don’t think she knew—the packs that hunted the fae often kept secrets even from each other, to keep them out of their enemies’ hands.”
We continue exploring, moving into the building and scoping out what remains of the rooms. There’s a wide open meeting hall, and a smaller room that must have been some kind of council chamber. Aurora trails her fingers along the walls as we walk, each touch seeming to spark new memories.
“They came here before the fae invaded. They knew…” she trails off, her voice sad as she says, “They knew that it was the final days. The fae were coming to target Pack Onyx specifically, and all they could do was make a last stand.”
“I wish the other packs had known. Maybe we could’ve come to their aide.”
Cocking her head to the side, Aurora frowns. “I don’t think it was possible. The fae put magic around the pack lands before they invaded. They made sure no messages went in or out.”
I shudder. “The amount of magic it would take to isolate pack lands this big is immense.”
“And it cost the fae dearly. They weakened themselves considerably for the invasion.” Aurora studies the dirt and leaves at her feet. “There was some reason why, something important… venom?”
The word hits me like a physical blow. “Venom?”
But she’s already moving on, drawn to a raised stage at the far end of the chamber. Ancient symbols are carved into the stone, barely visible after years of exposure to the elements. The ceiling overhead is collapsed, letting light and air in.
Kneeling on the dais, Aurora traces the carvings with her fingers, her hands trembling.
“Something to do with a poison… and fangs.” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I think I do,” I tell her, pieces clicking into place in my mind. “There was something special about Pack Onyx. It must have been their bite—their fangs were venomous.”
