Where two men had stood, two lycans now shook the last remnants of humanity from their forms. Therrian’s coat was a deep-russet streaked with darker tones, massive and powerful, while Rylan’s was paler, sandy-brown, built for speed.

  They didn’t linger. With one glance toward Constantine—and a snarl that wasn’t entirely necessary—they bounded off into the trees, their feet silent against the forest floor.

  The fire crackled, warm against my face, but the cave still felt colder when they were gone.

  The fire dwindled to embers as exhaustion pulled me down. I drifted against the wall of the cave, the steady crackle lulling me. The mountain air was cold, but the burn of Raven’s magic inside me kept me warm, restless even in sleep.

  When I woke, the flames were nearly gone. Therrian and Rylan were back in their clothes, seated near the ashes. Therrian’s arms rested on his knees, his gaze distant, while Rylan sharpened a hunting knife with slow, precise strokes.

  “The sun is almost down,” Therrian said, his amber eyes flicking to me.

  I pushed upright and nodded, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. Across the cave, Constantine stood near the mouth, every inch of him coiled like a spring, his eyes fixed on the fading light as if he couldn’t wait to leave.

  It took ten more minutes before the last rays sank below the ridge. The moment the shadows deepened, Constantine stepped out first, scanning the tree line. I followed, boots crunching against stone, the wolves close behind.

  Rylan led us upward, the path steep and treacherous. Roots twisted through the soil, rocks jutted like jagged teeth, and the wind grew colder with every step. By the time we crested the ridge, the last smear of sunset had given way to a heavy dusk, clouds hanging low and bruised against the sky.

  At the top, the burial ground came into view.

  Stone cairns dotted the slope, rough-hewn mounds stacked with care over generations. Weathered wooden markers leaned against boulders, many bleached silver by sun and snow. The air smelled of pine sap and old earth, but beneath it was something else—something colder, older.

  I felt it the moment we stepped between the graves.

  The pull.

  It dragged low in my chest, coiling with Raven’s magic, tugging me toward the heart of the cemetery like an invisible thread had just wrapped around my ribs. My pulse quickened, and the spear at my side hummed, vibrating with the same strange resonance.

  This was it.

  The piece of the Pentacoris was here.

  And it was calling to me.

  I moved slowly between the cairns, the rough stones stacked in uneven mounds, the wooden markers etched with runes too old to read. The burial ground stretched wider than I expected, ringed with leaning pines, their branches groaning in the mountain wind.

  The pull was there—constant, insistent—but directionless. It was like standing in the eye of a storm, the force swirling around me, tugging at my chest from every angle. My fingers tightened around the spear until the leather creaked.

  “Anything?” Constantine’s voice was low, but it carried in the silence.

  “Not yet,” I muttered. “It’s here, I can feel it, but…”

  It wasn’t enough.

  I forced my breathing to steady and closed my eyes, recalling the words Raven had drilled into me before we left. The spell had seemed simple then, but my stomach still knotted as I whispered it into the dusk.

  “Blood to blood, bone to stone, call the hidden, make it known.”

  The air thickened immediately. My veins burned, Raven’s magic rising inside me like smoke and flame. I pushed it outward, letting it roll from my chest in waves, searching—probing—straining for the Pentacoris.

  For a heartbeat, the world sharpened. The graves hummed, the cairns glowed faintly at the edges, the storm of power focused into a single, quivering thread.

  And then⁠—

  It hit me.

  Like slamming headfirst into a wall of iron.

  The magic recoiled violently, snapping back into my chest with the force of a battering ram. Pain exploded through me, white-hot, stealing my breath. I stumbled, the spear slipping in my grip as the world tilted sideways.

  A cry tore from my throat before I could stop it.

  Arms caught me before I hit the ground—strong, unyielding, pulling me against a chest that smelled of leather and steel.

  “Cassara!” Constantine’s voice thundered through the haze. His hand cradled the back of my head, his golden eyes blazing as he lowered me carefully into his lap.

  The backlash still burned, my insides searing as if lightning had tried to carve its way out of me. I gasped, trembling, the storm inside me refusing to quiet.

  But Constantine held me firmly, his grip like iron.

  And for the first time since stepping into the burial ground, I wasn’t sure if this was something I could survive.

  CHAPTER 13

  Therrian was at Constantine’s side almost immediately, his amber eyes thick with worry. “What was that? That wasn’t just magic backlash. It felt…wrong. Like the ground itself rejected her.”

  Rylan hovered just behind him, his posture taut, his hand resting near the knife at his belt. “What does it mean? Why would the ward do that?”

  Constantine’s grip tightened around me, his voice rough but controlled. “I don’t know. But she needs a minute to recover.” His gaze cut to the lycans, steady and commanding. “I’m taking her out of the burial ground for now. Take a look around. See if you can find any sign of the artifact’s resting place.”

  Rylan nodded quickly, already scanning the cairns. Therrian lingered, his frown deep, concern etched into the lines of his face. His eyes darted to me, then back to Constantine, as if weighing whether to object.

  “Go,” Constantine ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  After a beat, Therrian nodded, though the tension in his shoulders never eased. He turned reluctantly, striding off with Rylan to examine the graves.

  Constantine shifted me against him, his arms strong and sure as he carried me away from the cairns. Each step drew us deeper into the forest until the heavy pressure of the burial ground faded from my chest.

  He stopped in a quiet clearing, lowering me onto a mossy stone gently.

  I hated it.

  Hated how weak I felt, my body trembling, my chest still aching from the recoil of magic. Vulnerability was poison to me, and Constantine knew it. His gaze lingered on me, unwavering but not pitying, and that almost made it worse.

  The trees swayed overhead, their branches whispering in the cold mountain wind. The forest pressed close, shadows curling at the edges, and without the hum of magic driving me, I felt exposed. Too raw. Too human.

  I swallowed hard, forcing myself upright on the stone, as my insides rebelled. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though we both knew it was a lie.

  Constantine didn’t call me on it, but the muscle ticking in his jaw said he saw through every word.

  And in that moment, the thing I hated most wasn’t the ward.

  It was how much I wanted him.

  The forest was still around us, the wind whispering through the branches above, carrying the subtle scent of pine and cold stone. I pressed my palms against my knees, trying to calm myself, but the words spilled before I could stop them.

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t allow this again,” I said, my voice low. “I wouldn’t be vulnerable. Not after what my human husband did to me.”

  Constantine’s golden eyes caught mine, unflinching as ever. “I know what he did,” he said softly. “The man was a fool.”

  I huffed out a humorless laugh. “It was a different time. And a woman who couldn’t bear children? She was worse than a sterile cow. At least the cow could be slaughtered for meat.” I shook my head, my throat tight.

  He didn’t flinch, just let me speak.

  “At least your land baron respected you enough to give you a blade,” I added, trying to chase the rawness from my words. “I had a dress and a knitting needle. Of course, I honed the latter into a pretty mean weapon. Maybe that’s why I’ve always preferred my spear over a sword.”

  His mouth twitched. “That—and your spear retracts, making it far easier to carry. But respect?” His jaw tightened. “My baron had none. Not for his men. Thousands of us died for nothing. Land he would never touch. Fields not worth the blood spilled to claim them.”

  “You don’t talk about your human life much,” I said.

  “It was a long time ago,” he replied, his gaze shifting to the forest. “And I am ashamed of the men I killed. They were no different than me. Farmers. Sons. Fighting because their baron threatened to cut their rations if they refused.”

  The words struck like a blade. “You fought to eat?”

  “Yes.” His eyes met mine, ancient and heavy. “It was a different time. And barons held power over life and death.”

  I swallowed hard, shame burning hot in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

  He reached out then, his hand warm and calloused as it brushed against my cheek.

  “As am I,” he said quietly.

  But I knew he wasn’t speaking of rations or barons or the old wars.

  The touch lingered, sparking through me like lightning caught under my skin. Raven’s magic surged restlessly in my chest, twisting with something darker, older—desire I had spent centuries forcing into silence.

  The forest around us seemed to fade. All I could feel was his hand, his eyes, the unspoken truth hanging between us.

  And the ache of knowing that one more inch might undo me entirely.

  Leaning into him was like slipping beneath the surface of a pool—weightless, inevitable, every sense accentuated by the plunge. His hand was still against my cheek, steady and warm, his thumb brushing just beneath my eye as if he’d forgotten to pull away.

  For a heartbeat, I hovered there, the air between us charged, trembling. Then I let go.

  My lips pressed to his, tentative at first, then firmer when he didn’t move away. His mouth was warm, softer than I’d expected for someone carved of steel and discipline. The kiss tasted of iron and smoke, of centuries of restraint finally cracking at the edges.

  Constantine inhaled sharply through his nose, his body stiff for only a moment before he leaned into me. His hand shifted to the back of my neck, anchoring me, pulling me closer. The pressure of his mouth deepened, controlled but hungry, as if every ounce of his discipline was fighting to keep from consuming me entirely.

  My fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, clinging to him as though the world might shatter if I let go.

  The surge of Raven’s magic flared inside me, ribbons of heat wrapping around my ribs, rushing into the kiss like it had been waiting for this moment to escape. My pulse thundered, my heart beating furiously when it should have been still.

  For the first time in centuries, I felt alive.

  When I finally broke the kiss, my breath hitched, lips tingling. His golden eyes blazed in the dim forest light, the slight flicker of red pulsing in their depths.

  It wasn’t just a kiss.

  It was a crack in everything we’d both tried so damn hard to hold together.

  Constantine pulled back just enough that the cold mountain air slipped between us. His hand was still at the back of my neck, his golden eyes burning into mine.

  “This is dangerous,” he said, his voice low, rough with something more than warning.

  I smirked, my breath still uneven. “You love dangerous.”

  “Not like this.” His jaw tightened, his restraint clear in every line of his face. But before I could bite out a retort, he closed the distance again, his mouth claiming mine with a force that stole the ground from under me.

  I leaned into him, hungry for the heat, for the crack in his armor I had been waiting centuries to see. My hands slipped beneath his jacket, fingers splaying across the hard lines of his chest, tracing the planes of muscle hidden under layers of leather and steel.

  A growl rumbled up from deep inside him, vibrating through my throat where our mouths still met. But it wasn’t a warning.

  It was an invitation.

  My fangs slid down, lengthening with the rush of magic and want surging through me. I tore my lips from his just long enough to press a trail of kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat, until I reached the place where his pulse thrummed.

  The sharp tips brushed his skin, a whisper of danger against the steady heat of him.

  And that was when his body went rigid.

  His grip on me tightened, but not in surrender—his entire frame tensed, his breath catching, golden eyes blazing with an intensity that wasn’t entirely desire.

  Because for Constantine Vonhof, a vampire’s fangs against his skin weren’t just intimacy.

  They were chains.

  And he’d spent lifetimes fighting never to put anyone in them again.

  The moment his body tensed beneath me, the truth hit me.

  I pulled back, shame already burning my throat. Constantine Vonhof was a lot of things—mentor, protector, warrior—but he was not the kind of man who wanted a blood bond. He would rather die than make me his slave. And if he ever crossed that line with me, he’d hate himself for the rest of his immortal life.

  Neither of us would survive that.

  I eased out of his hold, my fangs retreating, my lips still tingling from his kiss. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking in a way I hated. “I shouldn’t have⁠—”

  “It’s alright.” His tone was calm, almost too calm, his eyes softer than I expected.

  I shook my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “No, it isn’t. The magic is having a strange effect on me. It makes me reckless.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice dropping low, intimate. “Are you sure it’s the magic?”

  A humorless laugh escaped me. “Of course it’s the magic. I haven’t tried to mount you in four hundred years. In fact, the last time you made me vulnerable, I stabbed you in the heart.”

  For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that why you stabbed me? I believe you claimed it was because I didn’t respect your fighting skills.”

  “I was young and struggling with being a vampire.” I gave him a pointed look. “You remember how that is.”

  He grunted, a sound halfway between amusement and dismissal. “Not really. Other than missing mutton and mead, I was happy to relinquish my human life.”

  I blinked at him, incredulous. “I would never have pegged you as a drinker.”

  His eyes flickered, a shadow passing through them. “It was one of the few things that made me forget the misery of my life.”

  That admission caught me off guard. I studied him, the stoic lines of his face softened just enough for me to glimpse the man beneath. “Why have we never talked like this before?”

  He held my gaze, steady and unwavering, his voice quiet but certain.

  “Because you were not ready to.”

  The words settled in my chest like a stone—and for the first time, I wondered if maybe he’d been waiting all along.

  The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things we’d never said. I swallowed hard, my chest aching with the weight of it.

  I still wasn’t ready.

  I had kept Constantine at a safe distance for centuries, and for good reason. He was the only person who could peel me open, the only one who made me feel exposed, raw, unguarded. Even my overseer, vamp daddy, who I’d die for, never made me feel like this.

  Constantine did.

  He made me feel things no man ever had, and I had avoided that like the plague.

  I forced the words out, my voice steadier than I felt. “We should get back and see if Therrian or Rylan found anything.”

  Constantine studied me for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his golden eyes. Then he nodded, rising smoothly before offering me his hand. His grip was firm as he pulled me to my feet, grounding me in a way I hadn’t asked for but needed anyway.

  We returned to the burial ground together.

  The air shifted as soon as we stepped past the cairns again, heavy and electric, like stepping into the center of a storm. The graves appeared spooky in the moonlight, the runes carved into their markers glowing with some buried magic. The pine trees surrounding the cemetery leaned inward as if listening, their branches creaking in the wind.

  The pull in my chest returned, faint but insistent, tugging at me like a hook buried in my ribs. My magic thrummed, restless, aching to be used again despite the backlash that still lingered like an echo.

  Ahead, I caught the silhouettes of Therrian and Rylan moving among the cairns, their low voices blending with the whisper of the wind. They hadn’t given up the search.

  And neither had I.

  Constantine’s voice cut through the silence as we stepped back into the burial ground. “Did you find anything?”

  Therrian and Rylan both straightened from where they’d been crouched near separate cairns, the firelight from their lanterns catching the amber in their eyes.

  “I did,” Rylan said first, brushing dirt from his palms. He motioned to a cairn near the far edge of the cemetery, smaller than most but ringed with stones that looked newer, as if they’d been replaced over time. “This one doesn’t belong. It’s a false grave. The runes carved into the marker are too shallow, too modern. Someone added it later.”

  Therrian’s voice followed, low and certain. “And here.” He gestured to a tall cairn near the center of the burial ground. The stones were darker, older, streaked with moss that clung like scars. “This grave is layered with wards. Subtle ones, but strong. The air hums around it—you can feel it. Whatever’s inside, someone wanted it hidden.”

  Constantine’s eyes flicked between them, his expression unreadable. “Two possibilities, then.”

  I glanced at both graves, weighing them. The pull in my chest didn’t favor one over the other—it still dragged me in every direction at once, wild and restless.

 

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