Page 42 of Ruthless Moon

Liam!

I’m a werewolf. I’m the very definition of supernatural. I read fantasy romance books where fantastical things happen all the time, but I’m not prepared for this.

This breaks a whole new boundary of reality. But Rachel had said it was like the Tardis. It was a pocket universe. This is how they’ve stayed hidden for so long...

“It’s okay. Just step through,” Aiden coaxes, his voice a tether pulling me back from the edge of panic and shock.

With a deep breath, I obey. Stepping over the ring of stones through the invisible doorway is like plunging into a river of pure magick. It washes over me, a cascade of bright ethereal energy so potent it makes my skin tingle and my senses sing.

And then, in an instant, everything changes.

Tall, ancient oaks loom overhead, their branches arching toward the sky like silent guardians. The ground beneath my feet is carpeted with lush, mossy grass, a soft cushion against the soles of my boots.

The sky overhead is a deeper hue of blue, the air tinged with an intoxicating blend of earth and fresh-cut grass.

It’s a shift so sudden, so jarring, I’m left breathless.

Ahead there’s a village nestled within what looks like an endless expanse of emerald forest. Houses of stone and wood dot the landscape, and I can see figures moving about in the distance.

A sense of awe wells inside me, momentarily eclipsing the fear gnawing at my heart. It’s beautiful, breathtaking, surreal. But the beauty is a stark contrast to the nightmare I’m living, a cruel juxtaposition that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I’m standing in a different world, a world of magick and mystery, and secrets to be discovered while my own world tips toward disaster. It’s unreal that this exists. I feel just like the characters in the books I read when they find out magick exists. I knew there was some magick. I’m a wolf. But this. I never could’ve imagined this.

Aiden sprints ahead, intercepting a woman who’s rushing toward us from the village. I run to keep up with his pace. Her face is a road map of years lived, etched with lines of wisdom and resilience. Something about her calm confidence soothes the frantic beating of my heart.

We catch up with Liam’s brothers and I stand next to them while Aiden speaks to the woman. They have Liam slung between them on the tarp, using it like a hammock.

“Do you know her?” I manage to croak out to Bast, my voice sounding distant and strained in my own ears.

He nods. “Lila Underwood. One of their best healers. She must’ve felt us come through the barrier.” His voice is grim, but there’s a hint of relief that makes my breath catch. “This is Jackson, I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

“I’m glad you were both there to help him.” I wring my hands and try to remember I’m not supposed to show affection to Liam. I can’t let anyone know the truth.

Lila points us toward one of the closest cottages—rough stone and timber give it a humble appearance. Bast and Jackson, with Liam sagging between them, lumber ahead. My own steps echo their urgency.

Aiden opens the door for us and a wave of fragrant herbs sweeps over me, mingled with a sweet, musky scent I can’t quite identify. It seeps into my senses, wrapping me in an unexpected comfort that should be out of place in this life-and-death situation.

“Put him here on the table,” Lila orders. Her authority resonates through the room, commanding everyone’s attention. “What happened and how long has it been?”

“He was shot multiple times about twenty minutes ago,” I blurt. Each word is a punch to my gut.

Lila’s gaze snaps to me, her intense gray eyes piercing my own. “You’re his mate?”

A gasp escapes my lips and I recoil. “No. He...he saved my life.” My voice wavers, the gravity of my denial ringing in my ears.

In my heart, though, it’s a confession, a desperate plea to the universe to save the man who had saved me.

“He was guarding her. Gen and I are to be married next week.” Aiden’s voice slices through the thick tension. He takes a step forward, placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

The words shatter against my heart, each syllable a painful reminder I’m marrying the wrong man, but I steel my expression and stand unwavering like my father taught me.

“All of you put your hands on him.” Lila’s command reverberates through the hushed space. She turns to a cabinet behind her and pulls out several jars, pouring their contents into a small granite mortar bowl. The rhythmic crushing of the herbs is like a dirge, echoing my own frantic heartbeat.

Everyone does as she asks.

Everyone except me.

Lila turns back to Liam, naked and bloody, wounds still seeping. One in his gut, one in his shoulder. She presses the herb mixture into the wounds, then raises her hands over his chest. “You too, miss. Put your hands on him.”

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