Page 64 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

Kylie tosses Sophia a sweater, which she drags over her shoulders and me my pants and mutters, “You’re welcome.”

“Appreciated. Not Cain,” I say.

“Not Lina either,” Sophia murmurs. “Older.”

“Worse,” Max says, stepping around the ruin of a hybrid, his face drawn tight. “Whatever’s behind that gate, it’s not just trying to break through. It’s adapting. Every time it pulses, it gets smarter.”

Sophia stares at the windglass. “It’s stabilizing itself. We damaged the ritual, but the gate’s learning. It’s forming its own anchor now.”

The windglass pulses again. Just once. No creatures come through this time. It’s waiting. Stalking.

Max steps into the circle of light, eyes fixed on the gate. “They don’t need to open it anymore.”

We all look at him.

“They just need us to.”

The windglass pulses again—gentler this time. Almost like a heartbeat.

I stare at it, jaw tight, every instinct I have screaming. I know what that voice meant now. Feed the gate. Feed the bond. They’re not just using Lina’s glyphs. They’re using us.

The bond between me and Sophia is the final seal. And if we break, if we fail, if we so much as touch that anchor in the wrong way… we’ll be the ones who open the damn thing.

Nope. Not today.

I walk to the edge of the dais, stare into the still-glowing heart of the gate.

“You want a bond?” I mutter. “Come and take it.”

And for the first time since we entered this cursed place… the gate doesn’t pulse back.

CHAPTER 18

SOPHIA

We’re bleeding, bruised, and panting like we just ran through hell—and maybe we did—but the moment the thick stone door seals behind us and Kylie’s last ward flares to life, the world narrows to this space. This silence. This team of five, clinging to the space between now and whatever nightmare waits on the other side of that gate.

The chamber is small, carved directly into the mountain. Crude, old. No glyphs on the walls, thank the gods. Just black stone and a cold floor slick with something that reeks of the familiar scent of ash and old iron. Kylie slumps against the wall and starts inspecting her thigh. Max drops into a crouch near the door, eyes closed, lips moving—counting glyph sequences under his breath as if he’s trying to predict the next collapse.

I find Lucas in the corner.

He’s on one knee, blood running from a long gash across his ribs, and I can feel him pulling on the last of his control like a lifeline. His form is still humming with residual storm energy, mist flickering at his edges, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I drop beside him. “Let me.”

He doesn’t argue. Not with me. I press my fingers to his side, frowning at the wound. It’s already starting to seal, but it’s slow. Too slow. Whatever those things were made of is hindering our healing. Lucas grits his teeth as I drag the ripped fabric aside, exposing more of the wound.

“You took the full hit,” I murmur.

“You took two.” His voice is rough, low, thick with something that isn’t just pain.

“Mine didn’t get its claws in me, and I’m used to dealing with wind and storm energy.”

“Whatever those things are, the one that came after you tried to gut you.”

“I’m still upright.”

“So am I.”

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