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The data drive sits in my jacket pocket, small and heavy as a grenade pin. There are thirteen founding families, representing the thirteen bloodlines the cult needs to complete their ritual. Somewhere on that drive lies the answer to why mine matters most.

8

DARIUS

Idrive a few hours out from the club to create even more distance as we go further into a forest. The Pinewood Rest Cabins and Motel sits tucked away in the dense Illinois woods, a cluster of weathered A-frames bracing against the storm clouds rolling in from the west. Steering into the gravel lot, I spot the strategic positioning—multiple escape routes and ownership records that trace back to my former pack's legitimate holdings.

"Charming. Another motel." Serenity mutters it like a prayer she's tired of repeating, eyeing the peeling paint and rust-stained siding. "At this rate, I should start a loyalty punch card. Ten supernatural safe houses and the eleventh is free."

"It's secure. That's what matters." I kill the engine as the first fat raindrops spatter against the windshield. "The owner's pack-adjacent. He won't ask questions or keep records that matter."

The motel clerk barely glances up from his magazine when we approach the desk. He is grizzled and weathered, bearing the distinctive scent markers of an old wolf who's seen too much to be surprised by anything. He slides a key across the counter without comment.

"Room twelve. Storm's supposed to hit hard. Might be stuck here a while."

The room itself manages to exceed my low expectations in the worst possible ways. It features a faded carpet and a heater that rattles like it's planning revenge against the electrical grid. But the wards built into the walls hum with solid craftsmanship, and the windows face away from any sniper positions.

"One bed," Serenity observes, her voice carefully neutral, yet neither of us moves to acknowledge what that means.

"I'll take the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're both adults." She drops her bag on the dresser. "Though I should warn you—the closer we get to a full moon, the more my magic tends to get... unpredictable."

I note the sharp trajectory of her bag, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Good thing I learned how to master my wolf a long time ago. Your magic can do whatever it wants—I don't lose control."

Thunder crashes overhead, and rain begins pelting the windows in earnest. I secure the locks and test the ward strength to avoid dwelling on how the storm has effectively trapped us in these cramped quarters together.

"Speaking of unpredictable," I say and gesture toward her hand, where I caught the faint shimmer of foreign magic during our escape. "We need to deal with that tracking spell before it leads them straight to us. Kellan supplied me with some specialized anti-magic flares he engineered himself, but they're a last resort."

Serenity's hand moves instinctively, her fingers curling inward. "I felt a touch right before the fighting broke out. Just a brief brush against my skin, but I wasn't sure⁠—"

"It was masked perfectly by the tension in the room. That’s some clever casting. Whoever they are, they used the countdown to the chaos to tag you while our attention was on the crowd."

She settles cross-legged on the threadbare carpet. The air pressure drops slightly as she murmurs an incantation, her hands etching intricate patterns through the air.

"There." She speaks, quietly satisfied, as ethereal threads manifest, trailing from her hand in fine, shimmering filaments that catch the light. "I can see the connection now."

he spell work starts smoothly—Serenity's magic flowing effortlessly and fluidly as she carefully unravels the tracking enchantment layer by layer. But then thunder crashes directly overhead, dropping the air density in the room. The approaching full moon's magnetism breaks over her in a violent wave that forces her to stumble.

Her carefully channeled magic fractures. A piercing hum vibrates directly into my teeth as the tracking threads detonate, splintering into pointed fragments that slice through the air. The motel room's wards scream in protest as raw energy pours off her in waves.

"Serenity!" I'm moving before conscious thought kicks in and cross the small area in two strides.

She's convulsing now, her back arched as power tears through her without direction or control. The cheap furniture starts warping, the wood grain twisting into unnatural spirals, while the mirror above the dresser develops spiderweb cracks.

I drop to my knees behind her, wrapping my arms around her chest to tug her back against me. The moment my skin touches hers, my protective instincts bound forward in pure recognition of something greater. These are ancient pack bonds designed to stabilize and protect.

"Easy." A low rumble starts at the base of my chest, the exact tone I use to calm a panicked pack member. "I've got you."

The wild magic continues to churn, but it now channels safely through me, sparing everything in its path. Serenity's rigid muscles gradually relax as my natural balancing ability siphons the excess energy away from her overwhelmed system.

"I can't—it won't stop—" She gasps out the broken fragments, fear bleeding through her usual bravado.

"It will. Just focus on my voice and breathe with me." I keep my arms locked around her, feeling her heart hammering against my forearm. "Listen to me, Serenity. You don't have to carry this alone."

She turns in my embrace and buries her face against my chest as exhaustion crashes over her. Her fingers curl into my shirt with desperate strength, clinging like I'm the only solid thing in her world.

Her magic recedes gradually, the oppressive chill in the air lifting as the warped furniture stops creaking and the supernatural tension bleeds from the room. Instead, Serenity burrows closer against my chest, seeking my warmth.