Danika’s papers remained where he and Bryce had left them: in the junk mail drawer. He leafed through them just to make sure they did indeed say all he’d remembered.

  They did. It could be a convenient bit of backup for his claims. See? Even Danika wanted all this to change. And, yes, Sigrid is a Fendyr—but she’s also different—she could be a step in the right direction.

  He’d find some way to say it more eloquently, but Danika’s name still carried weight.

  Ithan gently folded the pile of papers and slid them into the back pocket of his jeans. Outside, the city remained quiet—hushed. Grieving.

  And inside this building …

  Gods, it was weird to see this apartment, so empty and stale without its occupants.

  Ithan glanced to the white sectional, like he’d find Athalar and Bryce sitting there, Syrinx curled up with them.

  How far away that existence seemed now. He doubted it’d ever return. Wondered if his friends would ever return. If Bryce was—

  He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

  He had no choice but to keep going. However it played out. And Jesiba was right. To walk into the Den was likely suicide, but … He glanced down the hall. To Bryce’s bedroom door.

  Maybe he didn’t need to go in unarmed.

  72

  It took too long—way too fucking long—for the gates to yawn open, ice and snow cracking off and falling to the ground. Bryce wedged through them first, starfire blazing under her gloves.

  “I don’t understand,” Ember was saying as she squeezed through behind Bryce, Randall hot on her tail. Hunt came last. “What is the Harpy doing out here?”

  “She’s not the Harpy anymore,” Bryce said. “She’s like … some weird necromantically raised thing made by the Asteri thanks to whatever they managed to do with some of Hunt’s lightning. I don’t know, but we don’t want to meet whatever she is now.”

  Bryce caught the worry and guilt on Hunt’s face. They didn’t have the time, though, for her to assure him that this wasn’t his fault. He’d had no choice but to give Rigelus his lightning. It had been used for some fucked-up shit, but that wasn’t on him.

  Ember protested, “But the Harpy ate the guards—”

  “Which is why we’re going to the Rift,” Bryce said, nodding to Hunt, whose eyes shone with steely determination. “Right fucking now.”

  Hunt didn’t wait before lifting her mother in his arms and spreading his wings. Bryce grabbed Randall and said, “Surprise: I can teleport. Don’t barf.”

  Thankfully, Randall didn’t vomit as she teleported them the twenty-four and a half miles to the center of the walled ring. But he did when they arrived.

  They beat Hunt and her mother there, leaving Bryce with nothing to do but watch her dad puke his guts up in the snow as the dizziness of teleporting hit him again and again.

  “That is …,” Randall said, and retched again. “Useful, but horrible.”

  “I think that sums me up in a nutshell,” Bryce said.

  Randall laughed, vomited again, then wiped his mouth and stood. “You’re not horrible, Bryce. Not by a long shot.”

  “I guess. But this is,” she said, and gestured up at the structure before them. At the swirling mists.

  A massive arch of clear quartz rose forty feet into the air, its uppermost part nearly hidden by the drifting mist. They could see straight through the archway, though, and nothing lay within it except what could only be described as a ripple in the world. Between worlds. And more mist on its other side.

  “The Asteri must have built the archway around the Rift to try to contain it,” Bryce said. “Or try to control it, I guess.”

  “I’ll say this once, and that’s it,” Randall said. Behind him, closing in, Hunt and Ember approached from above. “But is opening the Rift … the best idea?”

  Bryce blew out a long, hot breath that faded into the mists wafting past. “No. But it’s the only idea I have.”

  * * *

  There wasn’t one black ribbon of mourning in the Den. No keening dirges offered up to Cthona, beseeching the goddess to guide the newly dead. In fact, somewhere in the compound, a stereo was blasting a thumping dance beat.

  Trust Sabine to proceed as if nothing had changed. As if an atrocity hadn’t occurred in a neighboring district.

  At this time of year, it was tradition for many of the Den families to scatter into the countryside to enjoy the changing of the leaves and the crisp autumn mountains, so only a skeleton crew of packs remained. Ithan knew which ones would be there—just as he knew that only Perry Ravenscroft, the Black Rose’s Omega and Amelie’s little sister, would be on guard duty at the gates.

  A bronze rendering of the Embrace—the sun sinking or rising out of two mountains—was displayed in the window of the guard station. And it was because he knew Perry so well that he understood that this small decoration was her way of telling the city that there were some in the Den who mourned, who were praying to Cthona to comfort the dead.

  Perry’s large emerald eyes widened at the sight of Ithan as he prowled up to the guard booth. To her, it must have seemed like he’d materialized out of thin air. In fact, his stealth was courtesy of his new speed and preternatural quiet—furthered by the fact that he’d traveled through the sewers, needing to remain out of sight until the last possible minute.

  Perry lunged for the radio on the desk, long brown hair flashing in the afternoon sunlight, but Ithan held up a hand. She paused.

  “I need to talk,” he said through the glass.

  Those green eyes scanned his face, then drifted to a spot over his shoulder, to the sword he carried. Perry stared at him—then opened the door to the booth. Her cinnamon-and-strawberry scent hit him a heartbeat later.

  This close, he could count the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The pale skin beneath them seemed to blanch further as she processed what he’d said.

  “Sabine’s in a meeting—”

  “Not Sabine. I need to talk to everyone else.” Ithan pushed, “You were the only one who checked in to see if I was alive after … everything.” She’d texted him occasionally—not much, but with Amelie as her Alpha and sister, he knew she didn’t dare risk more communication than that. “Please, Perry. Just let me into the courtyard.”

  “Tell me what you want to talk to us about, and I’ll consider it.” Even as Omega, the lowest of the Black Rose Pack, she didn’t back down.

  It was for that courage alone that Ithan told her his secret first. “A new future for the wolves.”

  * * *

  Ithan knew it was due to how loved and trusted Perry was within the Den that so many wolves arrived in the courtyard quickly, as soon as her message went out about a last-minute announcement.

  He kept to the shadows of the pillars under the building’s north wing, watching the people he’d counted as friends, almost family, congregate in the grassy space. The red and gold trees of the small park behind them swayed in the crisp autumn breeze, the wind luckily keeping his scent hidden from the wolves.

  When enough of a crowd had assembled—a hundred wolves, or so—Perry stepped out onto the few steps in front of the building doors and said, “So, uh … almost everyone’s here.”

  People smiled at her, bemused yet indulgent. It’d always been that way for Perry, the resident artist of the Den, who at age four had painted her room every color of the rainbow despite her parents’ order to pick one hue.

  Perry glanced toward him, eyes bright with fear. For him or for herself, he had no idea.

  “Go ahead,” she said quietly, and stepped off the stairs and into the grass.

  Make your brother proud.

  Though those words had come from the Viper Queen, Ithan held them close to his heart as he stepped out of the shadows.

  Snarls and growls and shouts of surprise rose. Ithan held up his hands. “I’m not here to start trouble.”

  “Then get the fuck out!” someone—Gideon, Amelie’s third—shouted from the back. Amelie herself was striding through the crowd, fury twisting her face—

  “Everything we are is a lie,” Ithan said before Amelie could reach him and start swinging.

  Some people quieted. Ithan plunged on, because Amelie’s canines were lengthening, and he knew she’d be making the full shift soon.

  “Danika Fendyr questioned this, too. She died before she could find the truth.”

  The words had their desired effect. The crowd went silent. But Amelie still charged forward, shoving people out of the way now, Gideon a menacing, hulking mass close behind—

  Ithan looked at Perry, standing at the front of the crowd, her green eyes trained on him. It was to her that he said, “The Asteri planted a parasite in our brains that repressed our inherent magic, reducing it to its most basic components: shifting and strength. Yet even those abilities have been cut off at the knees. All so we can remain their faithful enforcers, as we’ve been since the Northern Rift opened.”

  Amelie was ten feet away, muscles tensing to jump onto the stairs, to pin him and shred him—

  “Look,” Ithan said, and held out a hand. Ice swirled in his palm.

  A gasp went through the crowd. Even Amelie stumbled in shock.

  Ithan said, letting the ice crust his fingers, “Magic—elemental magic. It was lying there, dormant in my veins all this time.” He found Perry’s eyes again, noted the shock and something like yearning in them. “A friend of mine, a medwitch, made an antidote for me. I took it and discovered what I really am. Who I really am. What sleeps in the bloodline of all wolves, repressed by the Asteri for fifteen thousand years.”

  “It’s a witch-trick,” Amelie spat, making to shove past her little sister. “Move,” she ordered Perry. Not as her sister, but as her Alpha.

  But Perry, despite her slim frame, held firm. And said to Amelie, her voice carrying, “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  * * *

  Ithan spoke as quickly as he could, giving the wolves an overview of the parasite and what it did to their magic. And then, because they were still looking doubtful, he explained what really happened in the Bone Quarter: Secondlight. The meat grinder of souls.

  When he was done, Ithan found Perry’s face again. She’d gone ghostly white.

  “Queen Hypaxia Enador can verify all I’ve told you,” Ithan said.

  “She’s not queen anymore!” a wolf called. “She’s been kicked out—like you, Holstrom.”

  Ithan bared his teeth. “She’s brilliant. She figured out how to fix this thing in our brains, to give us this magic back. So don’t you take that fucking tone about her.”

  And at the snarl in his voice, the order, the wolves in the crowd straightened. Not with anger or fear, but …

  “What did you do?” Perry said, staggering forward a step. “Ithan, you’re—”

  “There is another Fendyr,” Ithan said, plowing ahead, bracing himself.

  The crowd stirred. Perry gaped at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. He couldn’t stand the confusion and hope in her voice, her bright eyes.

  “Her name is Sigrid,” Ithan said, throat tightening painfully. “She … she’s the daughter of Sabine’s late brother. And she—”

  “That is enough,” Amelie spat, shoving forward at last. “This insane rambling stops now.”

  Ithan growled, low and deep, and even Amelie halted, one foot on the step.

  He held her gaze, let her see everything in it.

  “Why is this traitor still alive?” Sabine’s voice slithered over the courtyard.

  Ithan pivoted, carefully keeping Amelie in his sights as he surveyed the approaching Prime Apparent.

  A step behind her, emerging from the shadows, strode Sigrid and the Astronomer.

  73

  “Reaper,” Perry breathed, falling back. Not to run, but to protect a young wolf a few steps behind her, who shook in pure terror at the acid-green eyes of the Reaper in their midst.

  Judging by Sigrid’s fairly normal gait, she was still in the middle of her transition. But there was an oddness to her movements already. The beginnings of that unnaturally smooth glide that only Reapers could effect.

  And she’d left on her wrecked, bloodied clothes. As proof, he realized—because his blood was also on them. And the wolves would know that with one sniff.

  Struggling for the right words as he pointed at Sigrid, Ithan said, “It’s—she’s no threat to you all.”

  “That is a Reaper!” someone shouted at him from the back.

  The Astronomer was grinning at Ithan. How had the old bastard managed to get her away from the Under-King? He’d somehow orchestrated this, right down to bringing his former mystic to Sabine. All for vengeance on Ithan.

  “Whatever story Holstrom is spinning for you,” Sabine said loudly, “don’t listen to a word of it.” The crowd was recoiling, desperate to get away from the Reaper at Sabine’s side. “Ithan Holstrom is a liar,” Sabine declared, “and a traitor to all we stand for.”

  “That’s not true,” Ithan growled.

  “Isn’t it?” Sabine pointed to where Sigrid stood beside her, gazing out at the crowd with an impassive face. “Look at what you did to my dear niece.”

  The word hit the crowd like a rogue wave. He practically felt them piecing it together—that the Reaper before them was the same Fendyr heir he’d been telling them about moments ago.

  Niece, people whispered. Is it possible that—

  The Astronomer folded his withered hands before him, the portrait of serene old age. “It is true,” he announced. “Twenty years ago, Lars Fendyr sought me out and sold his eldest pup into my service.” He motioned to Sigrid. “She was my faithful companion, as dear to me as my own daughter.” His dark eyes slid to Ithan, sharp with hate. “Until that boy kidnapped her and turned her into that.”

  The crowd shifted away, all their focus now on Ithan, their eyes distrusting, damning—

  “My brother’s daughter,” Sabine said, raising her voice to be heard over the murmuring, shifting crowd. “Killed in cold blood by that male.” She pointed to Ithan. “Just as he and his Fae friends tried to kill me.”

  “That’s—” Ithan started, noting how pale Perry had become.

  “It’s the truth,” Sabine sneered. “I have the video footage of it, courtesy of the Viper Queen. I’d be happy to show everyone how brutally you executed a defenseless young wolf.”

  Horror stole any words from Ithan’s throat.

  It had always been a long game for the Viper Queen. Not only to amuse herself, but to use the knowledge of what he’d done to her advantage. Her relationship with Sabine was strained—so why not sweeten it with a little peace offering?

  Marc had even told Ithan that the Viper Queen dealt not in money, but in favors and intel. He’d walked right into that trap.

  “He then tried to have a necromancer raise her from the dead,” Sabine went on, gesturing to the Reaper. “So she might be his puppet for usurping me.”

  “That is not—”

  The Astronomer added, “And when I heard what had befallen her …” The Astronomer gave Sigrid a pitying look. “I petitioned the Under-King for her release so that I could immediately bring her to the Den, to you good people.”

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Sabine grinned. It sure as fuck was happening. “This morning, Sigrid informed me that when she was faced with this unspeakable enslavement,” Sabine said, “she wanted to protect her people, so she chose the existence of a Reaper instead. And she has made her way here at last, to be my heir.”

  There was a shocked silence.

  He’d been a stupid fucking fool to think that Sigrid would be like Danika, that she might have chosen to be a Reaper and still want joy and peace and what was best for the wolves—instead of the pure hate that now gleamed in her eyes as she glowered at Ithan.

  But Amelie was blinking at Sabine. She was Sabine’s heir. To name another, and a Reaper, at that …

  Perry glanced between her sister and Sabine, then at the Reaper. “Why don’t you let your new heir speak for herself, Sabine?”

  Sabine snarled at Perry, and Perry backed away a step.

  Ithan’s hackles rose at the fear, the submission.

  “Everyone knows the Holstroms have long desired to replace the Fendyrs,” Sabine went on.

  “Bullshit,” Ithan spat.

  “Our traditions continue because they are strong,” Sabine said to the crowd. The Astronomer stepped closer to Sigrid’s side, eyeing the wolves. “To listen to this boy spew the propaganda of a renegade witch—”

  “Go to the Bone Quarter,” Ithan cut in. “Plead with the Under-King to grant you an audience with my brother. Connor will tell you—”

  “Only the scum of the House of Flame and Shadow can do such things,” Sabine sneered.

  “Your heir,” Perry said with quiet authority, “is in that House, Sabine.”

  Sabine gave Perry a simpering smile that made Ithan see red. “Sigrid has defected to Earth and Blood.” The crowd murmured again. “And,” Sabine continued, “she will dwell here from now on. As your future Prime Apparent.”

  The Astronomer nodded, his long beard grazing the belt around his draped robes. “After convincing the Under-King to release her into my care, it pains me to again part with my daughter-of-the-heart, but for your benefit, I shall. Sigrid is henceforth a part of your Den—a true wolf.”

  “I don’t recall approving the request,” said an old, withered voice. The crowd hushed as the Prime hobbled through the doors. Even the Astronomer lowered his head in deference.

  Sabine must have coached Sigrid, because the wolf dropped to her knees before the Prime and bowed her head. “Grandfather,” she rasped.

  People gasped at the sound of her voice. The hoarse whisper of a Reaper.

  The Prime peered down at Sigrid’s sallow face. Her acid-green eyes. The wounds on her throat, her neck.

  He said nothing as his milky eyes slid to Ithan. Sorrow and pain filled them.

  Ithan swallowed hard, but held his ground. “I’m sorry. I … I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.” The attention of the crowd pushed on his skin like a weight. “I was trying to make things right.”