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“I will know no name until I am made whole.” He jerked away, an ugly grimace warping his features further. “And I tire of conversation.”
His mouth yawned wide and the night descended, straight into him. The twinkling in the sky dimmed, the shadows deepened, and he swelled before her eyes. Growing. So similar to those first stages of the rage change.
And so drastically different that it made her sick.
Similar to the moons, too, when you call their beaming down to you.
It…was. Which gave her an idea.
If this creature was all the things it claimed, then surely light would be its ruin. She’d never tried to control the raw, life-giving power of the moons, but it was all she had.
Before the beast finished whatever metamorphosis it was attempting, she grasped on to the searching threads and redirected a surge of moonlight in its direction.
The creature within Brand screamed, its energy shrinking, retreating.
Yes. Yes! Push!
Lunara shoved with everything she had, cool radiance engulfing Brand’s body as she tried to beat the creature down. Tried to give her mate a chance to regain control.
The give and take was staggering, its hunger and its revulsion echoing back in turns. One moment, she felt the sweet relief of the well spilling over. The next, she was more weakened than ever.
Illamiata vibrated, begging to be freed, but Lunara was loath to let go entirely. The last time she’d done so, she leveled an entire Dread Chasm. Brand didn’t stand a chance. Still, she loosened her hold of the magic flowing between them just a bit. Just to see what it would do.
White-hot energy forked like lightning across the field, the dazzle of it searing her own eyes. Another flare. More burning.
The beast diminished. Little by little, Brand’s face returned to normal, his skin its rightful olive tone. Claws and fangs retracted. Shadows evaporated.
Until all that was left was silence. One beat, two…
Brand stumbled and fell to his knees. A perfect, hazel stare met hers as he said, “I’m…so sorry,” and then toppled to the ground.
She misted just in time to soften his landing. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
It was impossible to tell what he just went through, the hard planes of his face softened in his unconsciousness, but her mind and heart were at odds. A single strand of fear wove its way into her as she stroked his hair, willing her power to search him.
That strand multiplied until it was a noose of terror, tightening, suffocating when she found it.
There, buried deep within his recesses, was the beast. Feeble, yes, but still fucking there.
If that hadn’t done it…
“Fuck.”
She didn’t know what would.
You will. You’ll figure it out. Remember the plan. For now, he’s fine. He’ll be fine.
Prismatic light glowed beneath her fingers, burrowing in to heal whatever physical damage had been done.
And all the while, Lunara wondered whether it would be this very power—a gift the Sisters themselves had bestowed—that would end up killing him.
They landed in Straelon, and beasts of a different sort descended.
Lunara couldn’t hear her own thoughts over the verbal assault, over the ache in her body, growls and curses and lectures layering together in a mind-numbing cacophony.
Fern was incensed, zipping to and fro between gasp-worthy insults. Magnus and Pet battled for dominance, apparently unable to decide whether Son or wolf should be at the forefront to berate her. Thad was no better. Hedda and Faldir took turns bellowing, finishing each other’s sentences, splitting her eardrums with the sheer volume of their rage. Not to mention the other Wolflord sentinels she essentially kidnapped, demanding answers and swearing the Chieftains would hear of this.
Only Lyriat was silent, a bloodied piece of parchment in hand as he stood upon the dais looking on, half the bloody Montrealm staring along with him.
