“You bleed, shadow wolf,” he observes, indicating the silver injuries that continue to burn across my hide. “Soonyou’ll weaken. Then you’ll die. All as the Grand Alpha has foreseen.”
I snarl in response, my patience exhausted. This creature’s life means nothing.
We clash again, my greater mass against his enhanced speed. His claws find purchase, opening new wounds across my shoulder and back, silver burning into flesh with each strike. But he’s fighting for duty, for a master who values him only as a tool. I’m fighting for my mate, for the bond that defines my existence.
It’s no contest.
My jaws close around his throat despite the silver claws tearing at my sides. Blood fills my mouth as I crush his windpipe, maintaining my grip until his body finally stops its struggle.
I drop him, blood dripping from wounds that heal too slowly thanks to the silver contamination. I shift back to human form, approaching the doors with caution. The runes carved into them seem to pulse as I near, resonating with a magic that makes my skin crawl.
Kitara, my wolf growls. He too can smell her on the other side.
Her familiar sweet scent is tinged with sweat, blood and fear. They’re hurting her. Preparing her for whatever ceremony they’ve planned
I place my hands against the ancient wood, feeling the magic push back against my touch. It burns, not like silver but deeper, seeking to repel something fundamental in my blood.
But Thaddeus made one critical miscalculation. The wards were created to repel shadow blood, but they don’t account for a claiming bond that connects that blood to another. Through Kitara, I have an anchor. Just as I’m a tether for her when she scries, so too is she a tether for me.
I lean into the doors, and the wards flare, magic cracklingvisibly along inscribed lines as they resist. I push harder, dropping my shoulder to heave against it. A crack appears—small at first, then widening as the protective magic fractures. With a sound like breaking glass, the wards shatter and the massive doors swing open to reveal the chamber beyond.
Torches line the walls, casting dancing shadows across rune-inscribed floors. At the center of the circular room stands a raised dais where silver chains bind a familiar form to an altar of black stone.
Kitara.
Her eyes find mine across the distance, relief swimming in their depths.
“Ryker.” My name has never sounded so sweet.
Between us stand a dozen wolves—guards and what appear to be ritual practitioners in ceremonial robes. At their center, a woman with steel-gray hair holds what looks like a silver dagger.
“The shadow wolf breaches the Sacred Chamber,” she announces, sounding more surprised than alarmed. “The bond must be even stronger than we calculated.”
I step forward, naked and blood-covered but radiating enough lethal intent to make several guards step back instinctively.
“Release my mate,” I order, my voice carrying the full weight of alpha command, “or what follows will become legend for its brutality.”
The woman—clearly the leader of whatever ritual they’ve been preparing—studies. “The bond manifests physical effects even through silver suppression. Remarkable. We really must document this before severing it.”
“You know not what you meddle with,” I warn her, taking another step forward. The guards tense but don’t attack, clearly waiting for their command.
“On the contrary,” she replies, “I understand precisely what I’m dealing with. A claiming bond of exceptionalstrength, maintained across silver suppression, between an alpha with shadow blood and a seer who cannot shift. The scientific implications alone?—”
“Ryker!” Kitara yells, struggling on the dais. “Lithia! They took her?—”
The woman signals, and a guard strikes Kitara across the face, silencing her. The blow makes rage explode through me, vision narrowing to a crimson tunnel focused entirely on those who dare harm my mate.
“Touch her again,” I growl, “and I will ensure your death lasts days.”
My growl—or perhaps the blood dripping from my silver wounds onto the ancient stone—finally penetrates the woman’s scientific detachment. Fear flickers in her eyes for the first time.
“Guards,” she orders, backing toward Kitara with the ritual dagger still in hand, “kill the shadow wolf.”
They attack as one, silver weapons gleaming in torchlight. But these aren’t the enhanced monsters that guarded the doorway—these are ordinary wolves, skilled but unprepared for the fury they face.
I shift again, ignoring the burning agony of transformation with silver still in my system. My massive form fills the ceremonial space, claws scrabbling for purchase on smooth stone as I launch toward the first line of guards.
They try to form a defensive wall between me and the altar, but their formation breaks under the sheer momentum of my charge. Bodies fly, silver weapons clatter against stone, screams echo as I tear through flesh and bone with single-minded purpose.
