Constantine’s golden eyes flicked to me. “Different how?”

  I shook my head, struggling to put it into words. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t push back like the cairn ward did. It feels familiar.”

  I stepped closer, ignoring the pull in my chest. The moment my hand reached toward the pedestal, a bolt of raw electricity shot outward.

  “Shit!”

  The force slammed into me, knocking me back onto the stone floor. My body jolted, sparks dancing across my skin as I scrambled away, my chest heaving.

  Constantine was there in an instant, his sword half drawn, his hand at my arm.

  “That looked like Raven’s magic,” he said tightly.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, the hum still echoing inside me. “It was. And I was the source.”

  His gaze sharpened. “How do you deactivate it?”

  I let out a harsh laugh. “No idea.”

  We stared at the fragment, both of us feeling the weight of it pressing down. The runes around the pedestal pulsed faintly, the symbols more intricate than the ones above. They weren’t just meant to keep it hidden.

  They were meant to keep it contained.

  “This isn’t a lock,” I said slowly, forcing myself upright again. “It’s a tether. The ward is tied to me now. My magic woke it up.”

  Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Which means?”

  “Which means if I don’t figure out how to release it properly…” My gaze returned to the fragment, the air still sparking between us. “…this thing might kill me before we get it out of the chamber.”

  Constantine’s gaze stayed on the fragment for a long moment, then he drew in a slow breath. “Step back.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What are you⁠—”

  “I’ll try.” His tone left no room for argument.

  I wanted to snap at him, to tell him it was pointless. But the stubborn line of his jaw was one I knew well. If I didn’t let him, he’d do it anyway. So I took a step back, tightening my grip on the spear.

  He approached the pedestal with the same calm precision he brought to every fight. His hand hovered briefly over the fragment, golden eyes narrowing before he finally reached.

  The ward struck instantly.

  The bolt cracked like lightning, hurling him backward. His body slammed into the chamber wall with enough force to rattle the runes carved there. Sparks arced across his chest before dissipating, leaving the smell of ozone in the air.

  I rushed to him as he straightened, his coat singed, his mouth set in a grim line.

  “That didn’t go well,” he said flatly.

  “Ya think?” I shot back, though the sharpness was half born of relief he was still standing.

  He dusted himself off, exhaling slowly. “It reacts to anyone who touches it, not just you. Which means this isn’t about the Pentacoris fragment itself—it’s about the magic woven into the ward.”

  I frowned, still catching my breath from my own encounter. “So how do we deactivate it?”

  We paced around the pedestal together, eyes scanning the glowing runes. They pulsed like veins of light, interconnected, feeding into the stone. The hum was constant, but uneven—like a heartbeat skipping, faltering, straining against its tether.

  “This isn’t brute force,” I muttered. “It wants something from us. Something specific.”

  Constantine’s brow furrowed as his hand brushed the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t draw it. “Raven once told me…” He trailed off, his voice quiet, as if recalling a lesson he’d filed away long ago.

  I looked at him sternly. “Told you what?”

  “She said wards aren’t walls. They’re negotiations. The caster sets the terms, and the magic listens. If you try to smash through, it’ll push back harder. But if you give it what it’s asking for, it opens.”

  I blinked at him, impressed despite myself. “That’s… actually smart.”

  His mouth curved, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  I snorted, though my chest tightened with something warmer. “So what do you think this one wants?”

  His gaze returned to the fragment, the runes reflecting gold in his eyes. “That’s the part we need to figure out—before it decides to negotiate with your life.”

  I stared at the fragment, my chest still aching from the last backlash. Constantine’s words echoed in my head—The caster sets the terms, and the magic listens.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe I’d been treating it like an enemy instead of what it really was—a bargain waiting to be struck.

  I drew in a long breath and lowered my spear, pressing my palm flat against the cold stone of the pedestal again. This time I didn’t shove. I didn’t force.

  I let Raven’s magic unfurl from my chest, not like a spear thrust, but like an open hand.

  The hum shifted immediately. The runes around the pedestal warmed beneath my touch, glowing brighter, softer, almost pulsing with curiosity. I closed my eyes, following that thread deeper.

  It felt old.

  Older than any coven ward I had ever encountered, its edges frayed like a parchment handled too many times. But it wasn’t weak. No, it was weary—tired, as though it had been holding back the world for centuries and was finally ready to rest.

  The sensation startled me. The ward wasn’t just magic. It was alive.

  I reached further, letting my own magic twine with it, not demanding but offering. A whisper rose in the back of my mind, faint but insistent. Not words—just intent. Recognition. Release.

  “Yes,” I breathed, my voice trembling. “I see you.”

  The runes flared in answer, then dimmed one by one, unraveling like knots being undone. The hum tapered into silence.

  And then it was gone.

  The ward fell, the air in the chamber lightening, the oppressive weight lifting from my chest. The fragment lay bare on the pedestal now, unguarded.

  But the effort cost me.

  The moment the last thread of magic slipped away, my knees buckled. My body felt hollowed out, drained, like I’d poured every ounce of myself into the stones.

  Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

  Constantine.

  He pulled me against him, his chest hard and steady, the scent of leather and steel grounding me. My head fell against his shoulder, and before I realized it, I nuzzled instinctively against the curve of his neck.

  The warmth of his skin was a balm, my fangs aching with the closeness.

  He went rigid instantly, every muscle taut, his breath catching.

  Because for him, my fangs at his throat were never just desire.

  They were chains.

  And yet—for a fleeting moment—I didn’t pull away.

  Neither did Constantine.

  He stayed perfectly still, his arms braced around me, but not with the rigid tension of rejection. No—he was trusting me. Trusting I wouldn’t sink my fangs into his neck, trusting I wouldn’t chain him to me in a bond neither of us could survive.

  That trust settled deep in my chest, heavier than the magic itself. I breathed through the strange sensation humming through my body, my face still buried against him. “I’m sorry. Using magic is far more exhausting than I ever imagined. Raven really downplays it.”

  “She was born with magic,” he said, his voice quiet, grounding. “And trained in it. For her, it’s instinct. For you…” His gaze softened as he looked down at me. “It is new. It takes more out of you.”

  Constantine had always been supportive, even when I didn’t want him to be. Even when I pushed him away. And that was more dangerous than any ward, any spell Valerian could weave.

  I pulled back slowly, forcing my legs to hold me as I slipped from his arms. My chest still ached from the drain, but my body was my own again.

  The fragment on the pedestal drew me like a magnet. I picked up the Serenity Spear, braced myself, and stepped forward.

  It was small—only one sharp point of a greater whole. About the size of my palm, forged from a metal I didn’t recognize. Its edges glimmered faintly in the dim light, catching like starlight on steel. Along the base, tiny nubs jutted outward, clear indicators of where it was meant to connect with other pieces.

  The shape was deliberate, purposeful—like one tooth of a gear waiting to lock into place. I could almost imagine the completed star in my mind, each point snapping together until the artifact was complete

  The hum of magic still clung to it, muted now that the ward was gone, but undeniable. It wasn’t just a fragment of metal. It was alive in its own way, like the cairn’s ward had been.

  And it wanted to be whole.

  The fragment pulsed, the metal gleaming like it held starlight under its surface. I drew in a breath, steadying myself before reaching out. My fingertips hovered just above it, waiting for the sting of magical backlash.

  But none came.

  When I finally touched it, the hum leaped up my arm—warm, insistent, not painful this time. It was like pressing my hand against a heartbeat, faint but steady, syncing with the storm of Raven’s magic already inside me. My chest vibrated with the connection, and for a brief moment, I saw flashes in my mind—five points, six fragments, converging into a single star with a circular base.

  It wanted to be whole.

  The sensation faded as I lifted the piece carefully into my palm. The weight was wrong for its size—heavier, denser, as if it carried more than mere metal. Magic clung to it, coiling around my fingers in threads of light before sinking into my skin.

  Behind me, Constantine’s voice was low and firm. “Put it in your pack. No one else except Manu should touch it.”

  I turned, catching his golden eyes, their glow sharpened by something more than caution. Possessiveness. Protection. He didn’t trust the fragment, and he sure as hell didn’t trust anyone else around it.

  “Agreed,” I said softly.

  He didn’t relax until I crouched to grab my pack. I opened the black leather flap and slid the fragment inside, wrapping it carefully in a spare shirt before tucking it deep in the bottom. The hum quieted once it was hidden, though I still felt the subtle pull, like it was calling to me through the leather.

  Constantine exhaled, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword as if ready for whatever the next step brought. “Good. Until we know what this thing does, you’re the only one who touches it.”

  I zipped the pack shut and slung it over my shoulder, feeling the new weight settle against me.

  The first piece of the Pentacoris was ours.

  And the real game had only just begun.

  CHAPTER 16

  The chamber seemed to sigh as we turned from the pedestal, the runes dimming until only darkness remained. Constantine led the way up the narrow stairwell, his sword still in hand, his presence steady in front of me. My pack tugged heavily on my shoulder with the fragment inside, its hum muffled but insistent, like it wanted me to remember it was there.

  When we emerged into the night air, the cairn groaned behind us, stones grinding together until the opening sealed itself shut. By the time I turned back, the grave looked as untouched as the others—silent, innocent, as if it hadn’t just given up its secret.

  Therrian was waiting, his stance tense, amber eyes locking on mine. “Did you get it?”

  I hitched the pack higher on my shoulder. “I did.”

  Rylan exhaled, relief softening the line of his jaw. “Good. We should return to the pack home. Calder is looking into the scrolls on Valerian and the Pentacoris. He said he’d give you any information he could discern while you were away.”

  “Can we make it back before dawn?” I asked, glancing toward the tree line.

  Rylan nodded. “As long as you use your vampiric speed, and Therrian and I run.”

  Without another word, both wolves stripped off their shirts and kicked away their boots, leaving their pants in place for modesty’s sake. Rylan shrugged out of his backpack, strapped it tighter across his chest, and then dropped to his haunches. His body rippled, bones snapping and reshaping in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck rise. Fur burst along his arms and shoulders, flowing over him in a wave of sandy-brown until a massive lycan stood where the man had been.

  Therrian followed, his shift cleaner, smoother—like water flowing into a new mold. His fur was the color of dark earth, streaked with bronze that gleamed in the moonlight. He lifted his head and let out a low growl, amber eyes flashing at me.

  “We will run in lycan form,” he said, his voice still his own though shaped by the growl. “Let’s go.”

  Constantine and I exchanged a glance. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to.

  Both of us had eidetic memory. Now that we had seen the path from the burial ground, we could trace it back to the pack home without hesitation. But truth be told, neither of us was in a rush to show off. The fragment burned like a coal in my pack, and we both wanted whatever information Calder had on Valerian—and on the other pieces of the Pentacoris.

  So we fell into step, shadow and steel, as the lycans bounded ahead into the trees.

  The rest of the night blurred into the rhythm of movement.

  The lycans thundered ahead through the forest, dark shapes streaking between the trees, their paws silent against the earth. Constantine and I easily matched their pace, our vampiric speed keeping us level as the terrain grew rougher. We wove around roots, leaped over fallen logs, and ducked beneath low branches, the cold air burning in my lungs though my body never tired.

  Rylan led us unerringly, his massive form cutting a path through the night until the shadows of the pack village came into view. Lanterns flickered in a few windows, the scent of fur, woodsmoke, and earth drifting on the breeze.

  Therrian shifted back as we reached the edge of the village, and led us down a quiet lane to a small house tucked between two larger log structures. Its shutters were drawn tight, the door weathered but sturdy. He pushed it open with a shoulder, and I followed Constantine inside.

  The sting hit instantly.

  The faintest lick of dawn pressed against my skin, sharp as nettles, though the blinds were pulled over every window. I hissed under my breath until the door closed behind us, sealing the daylight away. Darkness settled over the room, blissful and thick, soothing the burn until it faded.

  Rylan shifted back to his human form, before brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “Rest here for the day,” he said, his tone practical but not unkind. “Calder will come by before dusk. He’ll share what he’s found.”

  I nodded, adjusting the strap of my pack on my shoulder. “Thank you, Rylan.”

  He gave a brief smile before slipping back out the door, the quiet thud of his footsteps fading into the village beyond.

  Therrian lingered, his expression unreadable. “There are three rooms upstairs. Take whichever you like.”

  “Appreciated,” I said, exhaustion finally clawing its way into my bones. “But I just want to lie down for an hour.”

  I chose the nearest room at the top of the stairs, pushing the door open to find a small but comfortable space. The bed was neatly made, a patchwork quilt folded across the mattress, the wooden furniture plain but polished. A lamp with a floral shade sat on the nightstand, its cord trailing toward an outlet that probably hadn’t seen use in years.

  It reminded me of the bed-and-breakfasts I’d seen on TV once—cozy, tidy, the kind of place people checked into for weekend getaways and small-town charm.

  Not the sort of place a vampire with a fragment of a lost artifact should be resting in.

  But right now, it would do.

  Lying back against the quilt, I let my pack rest on the floor beside me, the weight of the Pentacoris fragment heavy in the room even from a distance. My body ached with fatigue, but my mind refused to quiet.

  The way my magic had responded to the ward still rattled me. It hadn’t been forced open—not really. It had recognized me.

  Or Raven.

  The hum of that power had felt… familiar. Like slipping into someone else’s skin. But how could that be? Raven was only forty years old, barely more than a fledgling in the grand scheme of our kind. This artifact had been hidden for over a thousand years. There was no way her magic should echo in something this old.

  Unless the Pentacoris was tied to her bloodline.

  The thought lingered as my eyes grew heavy, dragging me into sleep before I could untangle it further.

  When I woke, it was to the sound of Calder’s voice drifting up from downstairs—low, rough, commanding even when muffled through the floorboards.

  I sat up quickly, rubbing the grit of sleep from my eyes. The sting of daylight was gone, replaced with the muted calm of dusk. Pulling on my boots, I grabbed the pack and slung it over my shoulder before heading down the creaking staircase.

  The kitchen smelled of cooked meat and old wood polish. Constantine, Therrian, and Rylan were already seated at the table, their postures taut, eyes on the tall man at the head. Calder, broad-shouldered and graying at the temples, leaned forward with his elbows on the wood.

  I slid into the empty chair opposite Constantine. “What did you find out?”

  Every eye shifted to Calder.

  And for a moment, the room held its breath.

  Calder laced his thick fingers together on the table, his gray-streaked hair catching the last light filtering through the blinds. “We found a few references,” he began, his voice even, “about the immortal warlock who betrayed his coven.”

  “That would be Valerian,” I said flatly, the name bitter on my tongue.

  “Yes.” Calder inclined his head. “The records speak of him hiding the pieces of an ancient artifact. One that once belonged to his wife.”

  My brows drew together. “His wife?”

  “There are references to her death,” Calder continued, his expression unreadable. “But I cannot discern when or how she died. The accounts conflict. Some say she perished before he created his realm. Others suggest he made her immortal, and…” His jaw tightened. “…that he killed her himself.”

 

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