Page 103 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Ready to burn down whatever stands in our way.
Because we’re not just fighting monsters tonight.
We’re fighting a curse.
And I’m going to make damn sure we don’t walk into that circle unarmed.
I press forward, slow and low to the ground, until I reach the edge of the clearing. Moonlight bleeds through the trees in shafts of pale silver. My breath catches.
There they are.
The Bensons.
Bound to two thick stakes, gagged and unconscious, but alive. Their limbs hang limp, heads slumped forward, but I can make out the subtle rise and fall of their chests. Relief floods through me, followed by cold fury. The flames lick gently at the edge of the circle still far enough away from them…from the pyre.
And then I see the others.
Wolves.
Six of them, hulking and snarling, pacing in the shadows just beyond the circle. Their eyes glow like embers. I spot Marcus among them, halfway between man and beast, crouched and trembling. He hasn't attacked—but he hasn’t left either.
Bode steps out from behind one of the stones, still in human form. Bare-chested. Barefoot. Covered in ceremonial paint that glows faintly under the moonlight. His voice is a low rumble as he begins to chant in some archaic tongue, words I can’t place but feel deep in my bones.
This isn’t just a sacrifice.
It’s a ritual.
A power grab.
A claiming.
I turn back toward the shadows, searching for Noah. He’s nowhere in sight, but I sense his approach.
I raise one of the ash root pouches and grip it tight.
“This ends tonight,” I whisper.
And step into the light.
As I step into the circle, time slows.
The chanting falters.
All eyes—wolf and human—snap to me.
The tension crackles like dry leaves underfoot. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, but I keep walking. Calm. Measured. I’m betting everything on Bode's pride. His arrogance. He’ll want to toy with me before making his next move.
And I’ll use every second he gives me.
Bode’s painted eyes narrow as he watches me approach the stakes. “Ah, the witch returns,” he says, his voice thick with false warmth. “Right on time.”
“Let them go,” I say, motioning toward the Bensons. “This has nothing to do with them.”
“On the contrary,” he replies, glancing at the wolves around him. “This has everything to do with them. With blood. With legacy. With magic. They could have let the Lunaris pack die off, but they took him in and protected him.”
Behind me, I feel the trees stir—Noah.
He’s almost here.
