Page 95 of Unveiled

Adrian’s voice tightened. “It means the Council isn’t waiting for one doorway anymore.” His eyes lifted. “They’re making many.”

Connor swallowed as Moira whispered the truth aloud. “You refusing them came with a price, lad.”

Adrian nodded grimly. “And it’s only just begun.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Adrian

The people in the valley didn’t sleep after the rend. The air trembled with an invisible vibration. Heatherfell felt distressed—as if the battle had peeled something back, and the land itself, having listened, now could not forget what it’d heard. The wind carried a sound like distant chimes, and when stepped upon the grass hissed, whispering secrets.

Adrian felt all of it. And the mark felt it all the more.

His vision was blurry as he held on to Connor without shame, too exhausted to play at dignity. Every breath pulled splinters through his chest. Every heartbeat nudged the mark, which responded in restless coils under his skin.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was a presence brushing the back of Adrian’s thoughts. Fingertips through the mist, it was clear the Council wasn’t gone. It was merely watching.

“Adrian.” Connor’s voice cut through the haze.

Adrian blinked. They were standing in the castle’s great hall, firelight flickering on stone, clan members staring in anxious silence.

“You’re safe,” Connor murmured.

Adrian almost laughed. Safe? What a sweet lie.

The mark flared on a faint ripple, and the nearest candle guttered out. Several people gasped.

Adrian closed his eyes. “Not helping my reputation,” he whispered.

Connor’s arm tightened around him. “Ignore them.”

Adrian wished he could. He wished he could ignore the way fear thickened the air, how people pressed back instinctively as he passed, creating a corridor of empty air. He wished he could ignore the small child clutching her mother’s skirt, whispering, “Mama, he glows.”

He wanted to kneel, to reassure her, but didn’t dare. The mark pulsed again. This time, the walls trembled.

Connor felt it the moment Adrian faltered. An invisible tug. A current trying to pull Adrian away from him. He snarled before he could stop himself, his wolf surging so hard his teeth ached.

Adrian didn’t fight the grip, and Connor didn’t loosen it. Not when cold crawled up Adrian’s wrists, not when a line of light rippled along the corridor stones, and not when Moira whispered, “What have we brought home?”

Connor entered his bedroom, Adrian at his side. He waited until his bedroom door shut before letting Adrian lean heavily against the bedpost. The mark’s faint glow painted the room in pale blue.

“Connor,” Adrian said weakly, “I don’t think this room is as fortified as you think.”

“What are you feeling?” Connor asked, his voice low.

Adrian took a deep breath. “Everything.”

The word landed heavily.

Connor moved closer. “Are they speaking to you?”

“No. But.” Adrian paused, his brow furrowing. “There are echoes. Like ripples you only see after the stone sinks.”

Connor stiffened. “What kind of echoes?”

Adrian’s eyes looked haunted, and Connor had never seen him look so drained. “Yours.”

Connor felt like he’d been punched. “Mine?”