Page 26 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Nothing to report.
I breathe a sigh of relief...at least for now.
Could I have been wrong? The pattern was consistent. Every full moon.
Unless we scared them off?
Thank God for that. But then that begs the question: who would have known we were keeping watch tonight?
My mind races through a list of names at the firehouse. In the Mayor’s office. I don’t want to believe any of them are involved.
And then it happens...
A sharp tug slices through my ribs, like a thread snapping under pressure—a burn that has nothing to do with fire. It coilsinside me, primal and instinctive. Something’s wrong. Deeply, dangerously wrong.
I turn my face to the wind and inhale.
My chest tightens.
“Sera,” I breathe, heart suddenly pounding.
I sprint toward the edge of the trees.
Somewhere in the darkness, my fated mate is in danger.
And my wolf is wide awake.
Chapter nine
Crossing the Line
SERA
Just after midnight, I check in with Noah, masking the lie in my voice—then slip away from my post, each step fueled by the weight of secrets I can no longer ignore, heart racing with equal parts fear and resolve.
Tonight isn’t about obedience. It’s about answers.
I leave the body cam perched on a low branch, angled just right to capture a whole lot of nothing. A decoy. It’ll hold for a while, I hope. Just long enough for me to do what I came out here to do.
The forest swallows me whole. Trees loom like sentinels, their branches whispering spells in the cold wind. My boots crunchthrough dry needles and moss, each step humming with an eerie charge—like I'm walking straight into a prophecy I can't escape.
Tonight’s the full moon, the apex of magical potency. It sings in my veins, calls to every part of me that I’ve buried deep for this mission. I follow the path I’ve marked—stones pressed into a spiral, burned herbs strung between branches. My circle.
This is my new magical sanctuary, where I come to ground myself, to reach for clarity, control. To try and summon my familiar under moonlight like this—well, it’s risky. But if the arsonist is connected to magic, they might show up too. That’s part of the goal. And I am the bait.
I crouch low in the center of the spiral, pulling out the small pouch of herbs and the flint I keep stashed in my boot. I draw the sigil in the dirt and close my eyes.
"Ignis... audi vocem meam..." I whisper, voice tight but steady. Fire, hear my voice.
The flames flicker in my mind before they spark in reality, curling upward in a brief plume from the dried herbs.
I can feel the familiar’s presence approaching, distant but real. The bond between us stretches thin and taut.
Then everything shifts.
A gust of wind. The crack of a twig.
My eyes snap open.
