Page 66 of The Midnight Death Match

I feel the truth of it pressing inside my ribs. My wolf simmers dangerously close beneath my skin, restless since the moment they dragged Harek into those woods. Since even before, if I’m being honest. It wants out, wants to wreak havoc. Part of me wants that too, but I have to be careful.

Harek’s life is on the line.

Einar exhales slowly. “Then we need another way. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“There is an option.” Lys’s voice is soft.

We both turn toward him, full of the same wariness.

“The old ritual tunnels,” Lys says, as if I know what that means. “They run beneath the southern ridge, forgotten by many. They’re mostly still functional.”

Einar frowns. “The tunnels have been sealed for years.”

“Sealedpoorly,” Lys counters. “They were built by the sages, long before the pacts fractured. The wards there are decaying but passable—if we’re careful.”

I study him. “You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.” His smile is faint.

A hollow pit in my chest twists tight as I stare at the map. Every part of me wants to storm their den right now. Tear through them with tooth and blade until they never harm anyone ever again.

But that’s what they want, for me to lose control.

The wolf claws hard at my ribs. If I don’t keep my emotions in line, the wolf will win. None of us can afford that outcome.

I grit my teeth. “We take the tunnels.”

Einar nods curtly. “Agreed.”

Lys inclines his head. “Then we move before moonrise.”

I pull my blade closer to my side, grounding my hands on the hilt.

Harek’s face flashes in my mind, and the weight of everything unspoken between us presses like a stone against my lungs.

Hold on, I whisper silently.I’m coming.

We discuss the details quickly before heading toward the tunnels. The entrance yawns like a mouth frozen in time at the side of the ridge—half-collapsed, overgrown, and slick with glistening moss. Barely visible marks are etched into the stonearound it, cracked and faded, their protective magic long since bled dry.

As soon as we step inside, the air changes. I shudder at the damp cold. The scent of old magic lingers like food far past its prime.

Einar leads, sword drawn but lowered, scanning each step for traps.

Lys moves just behind him, disturbingly at ease, his fingers brushing lightly against the wall as if reacquainting himself with something familiar.

I follow close, my pulse already hammering harder than I want it to. My inner wolf snaps and paces inside me, making it hard to focus on my surroundings.

The tunnel walls hum faintly beneath my fingertips, pulsing through the old bloodstone veins woven into the rock.

The witches built this. I can feel their lingering presence like whispers clinging to the dark.

Part of me wants to run, but I can’t. This is the only way to Harek. I refuse to turn back, no matter how loudly my instincts scream at me to run.

The deeper we move, the stronger the pressure builds. The air grows warmer and sweeter, and it’s like breathing inside a storm that hasn’t broken yet.

My wolf continues pacing, restless and sharp as my arms twitch. Even my own body wants me to make the shift. Perhaps it knows something I don’t. Could my wolf be the better defense?

No. I’m not going to shift. Not now, not here. I’m in control.

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