Page 63 of Dead Wolf Rising (Bad Moon Academy 3)

“All right.” I pull myself out of my thoughts and look at Morg who has taken a few steps away. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Morg claps her hands, and I narrow my eyes at her. She sees me and holds her hands up as if to sayI’m innocent.

“This isn’t some sort of fucked up trick, is it?”

She shakes her head so furiously her curls sway back and forth. “I swear it’s the truth. I’m only excited you agreed to do it.”

Even though I’m still a little suspicious, I decide to believe her. “It might hurt,” I warn, closing the distance between us.

Moving the lantern over, she lies down on the desk and puts her hands on her stomach. “Bring it on.”

“Why are you so excited to die?” I ask with a bite of anger.

Her eyes widen, and she blinks. “Oh. I’m not.” She shrugs. “I was trying to make it easier for you. I assume it would be hard for you to follow through if I were crying, right?”

Twisting my mouth to the side, I nod.

“Well, let’s get this train rolling.” She even makes a toot-toot gesture.

I laugh, surprising both of us, and she gives me a warm grin.

“See. It’s not so bad. I’ll be okay.” Then she snaps her eyes shut and takes slow, deep breaths.

As this is new to me, I think for a moment before deciding on an approach. When I brought Brayden back, I’d funneled a lot of my magic into him. If I gather the power in the same way, and direct it at Bea’s soul, I can use it to bring her all the way back. The hard part is going to be taking some of Morg’s essence to give her a body.

“I’d like to die a final death before I’m old and wrinkly,” Morg says, peeling one eye open to peer at me.

“I was making a plan.”

“Chop-chop, babe. I got a hot date with Death.”

I snort. “Trust me, you wouldn’t like him.”

“What?” She starts to sit, but I put my hand on her chest and push her back down.

“Nothing. I’m ready.”

Giving me a curious glance, she settles on the desktop again and sighs. “You know, I think I love you. Thank you for being a friend.”

I stare at her and swallow around the lump in my throat. “I forgive you, you know. Thanks for helping me get Bea back.” The words come out choked and full of emotion, but I had to tell her that.

A tear slips down her face, and she pulls in a shaky breath, but she doesn’t respond.

I set my hand over Morg’s chest, and her heart thrums in response. Wild and racing, it pounds so hard I hesitate for a moment.

“It’s okay.”

How she’s so sure is beyond me. I don’t think I’d ever be this put together if I were in her shoes. I owe it to her to not drag it out, so I press my lips together and dive into the murky darkness deep within my soul. The connection with the Underworld slithers in response to my attention, like a snake preparing to strike.

I reach for it, extending a metaphorical hand to draw it closer. The ichor latches on to me without further encouragement, almost like we were meant to be together. Flooding into my veins, the familiar oil-like sensation fills my body. I drag more of the darkness to me, letting it cloud my vision until it’s almost impossible to see where my palm rests against Morg’s body.

Grinding my teeth, I hold the power at bay and carefully send a little thread in search of Bea’s soul. Too much and I’ll destroy her before I even begin to save her. Shooting from my body into Morg’s, the thin rope curls around a bright spark next to Morg’s heart.

Bea.

Here comes the hard part.

Shutting off all of my thoughts and ignoring every part of me screaming that this is wrong, I put my free hand next to the other one. Bit by bit, I release most of my control over the magic. Pouring from me like a spout, I transfer the ichor to Morg.

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