Page 57 of Wolf Queen Ruin
“Yeah.What did vampires ever do to her?”I wondered aloud.“Eduardo mentioned seven vampire princes she buried alive, but that sounds like she was already at war with vampires.”
“The conflict between shifters and vampires predates written history.Most accounts suggest she emerged during a particularly bloody period when vampire lords were hunting shifters to near extinction.”
“Why?”
“Shifter blood, particularly from alphas, was believed to temporarily enhance vampire powers.Some ancient texts suggest consuming the heart of an alpha wolf shifter could allow a vampire to walk in daylight without harm for a full year.”
I stared at him.“Really?Is that true?”
“I don’t know.”A shadow passed over his features.“The practice was outlawed by the Vampire Council over a millennium ago.”
“How progressive of them,” I muttered.
“Necessity, not altruism,” he said.“The shifter packs were organizing, developing powerful magic specifically targeted at vampires.The Wolf Queen was among the first to successfully implement such defenses.”He gestured toward the barrier we’d crossed.“Her innovations nearly destroyed vampire-kind entirely.”
“But there are atrocities on both sides of our shared history that neither species cares to remember.”His eyes met mine.“Not all of us are enemies, though.”
The frank admission surprised me.Most vampires’ accounts in books tended to sanitize their history or present it as more enlightened than it was, that the war was all the shifters’ fault.
We resumed our journey, cresting the ridgeline by midday as planned.The view from the top took my breath away—miles of unbroken jungle canopy stretching in all directions, the distant glint of a river snaking through the green expanse, and far to the east, the misty outline of mountains.The air here felt different, crackling somehow, like the atmosphere before a storm.
While Damien consulted the GPS and map, I found myself drawn to a small clearing just off the path.Wildflowers unlike any I’d seen before carpeted the ground, their petals a deep indigo at the base transitioning to silver at the tips, swaying in perfect unison despite the absence of wind.As I approached, they turned toward me like sunflowers tracking the sun.
“Luna.”Damien’s voice carried a note of warning, his posture alert, positioning himself closer to me.
“Just looky, no touchy.”I crouched near the edge of the clearing, fascinated as the flowers leaned toward me.
Without understanding why, I extended my hand, palm down, above the nearest cluster.
The flowers trembled, then arched upward until their silver tips brushed my skin.A tingling sensation spread through my arm—not unpleasant, more like the momentary lightheadedness after standing too quickly.For a dazzling instant, my senses sharpened dramatically.Smells became richer, colors more vivid, sounds clearer.I could hear a stream bubbling, catch the musky scent of a large animal that had passed through hours earlier, feel the subtle vibrations of insects moving through the soil beneath the flowers.
Then it faded, leaving me blinking in disorientation.Leaving me drowning in the loss of what once was.My wolf senses, gone.
“What happened?”Damien was suddenly beside me, his hand on my arm.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, staring at my hand.The skin where the flowers had touched me shimmered for a moment before returning to normal.“It was like…my shifter senses came back for a second.Full strength.”
He nodded slowly.“The Wolf Queen’s domain strengthens shifter blood while suppressing vampire power.These flowers seem to be magical amplifiers specifically keyed to your nature.”
“It’s more than that,” I said.“It’s like the jungle is responsive.To intent.To blood.”
“Your shifter heritage gives you an advantage here,” Damien said, helping me to my feet.His eyes held a flash of what might have been admiration.“You can perceive things I can’t.”
I brushed soil from my knees.“This place operates by different rules than either of us fully understands.”
He inclined his head in agreement.
We continued along the ridgeline, making better time now that we were following elevated terrain with less dense vegetation.
By midafternoon, we’d descended halfway down the opposite slope when I picked up an unmistakable scent, this time with my normal nose.Human sweat.Mine, definitely, but this was more than that.
I pushed aside a screen of foliage to reveal the source.
Below us, a ragged group of perhaps twenty people picked their way through the jungle.Men, women, and children carried meager possessions in backpacks and plastic bags.Their hollow-eyed exhaustion and northward trajectory identified them clearly: migrants attempting the incredibly dangerous journey through the Darién Gap.
“We should avoid them,” Damien said quietly, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.
A woman carried a sleeping toddler, her face set in lines of fatigue, her mouth firmed in determination.Another child, perhaps seven or eight, stumbled alongside her, holding tight to her shirt.My chest constricted with unwelcome recognition—the desperate look of someone willing to risk everything for a chance at safety for their family.
