Alaric

CHAPTER THREE

Chapter three

Celeste Danver

My unease guides us through the forest toward the pack house. The path winds beneath the moonlight, each step heavy with dread. Hopefully, we won’t have to go beyond the clearing. This wouldn’t be the first time my instincts have led to a dead end, and I would hate to interrupt their festivities over another false alarm.

For months now, I’ve been plagued with bouts of dizziness and nausea—always leading to nowhere. Then, a few days later, another body turns up.

The victims are always the same—grey skin stretched over hollowed bone, completely drained of blood. Nearly desiccated and covered in bite marks. At first, we chalked it up to vampires; the lack of blood made sense. But the dry, stringy texture of their flesh—it didn’t fit.

Mother disagreed from the start. Even without proof, she insisted it was the work of a witch. Someone, she said, is storing up power. For what purpose, she couldn’t tell. I think she already knows but would rather keep it to herself. And Ava? She might—but like Mother, her lips remain sealed.

It doesn’t matter if they tell me. What matters is stopping whoever’s behind this.

We move through thick undergrowth and towering evergreens. At the edge of the treeline, a gravel-coated driveway glimmers faintly under the lanterns strung in the distance. Ava glances my way, waiting for direction. I motion for her to cross.

She whispers a cloaking spell. The air ripples around us, cool and charged. Halfway across, a fresh wave of nausea hits me. I double over, bile surging up—it burns the back of my throat. The rancid taste lingers as Ava herds me off the road, just in time to avoid an oncoming vehicle.

A few feet past the treeline, Ava stiffens.

“Do you feel that?” she whispers.

I straighten slowly, my body protesting every movement. Pushing past the sickness, I feel it too—stronger than before. A chill runs down my spine. The air grows heavy, almost sticky. A vile sort of cold, like leeches pulling on my magic—completely devoid of warmth.

“It’s black magic,” Ava mutters, crouching low. “Strong—and very old. They’re close. But why tonight?”

Her eyes narrow, a thousand possible scenarios racing through her mind.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply. “We need to find out what they’re doing. They could hurt someone—especially with this many wolves in the vicinity.”

“That’s enough, sister,” Ava cuts in sharply.

I fall silent, watching her. Power stirs in the air as she calls on her magic. A translucent light swirls along her skin, weaving into delicate patterns that glow faintly against the darkness. The forest stirs, trees hum, leaves sway back and forth. Then—just as suddenly—it fades.

“Mother is on her way with help,” Ava says, her voice steady. “Hopefully, they’ll catch up soon. Let’s keep moving.”

We keep walking, careful not to disturb the greenery or leave traces of our presence. Alarming the enemy will do us no good. The dark energy leads us to a small clearing enclosed by overhanging trees. At one end sits an enormous boulder, covered in moss and slick with dew. It blends in with the tree-covered hills around it.

A few wolves must have passed through the area. Evident in the many paw prints that mark the muddy earth. Werewolves lack our kindred pull to the black arts — and trust me, that's a blessing. They'd walk right through, blissfully unaware of the evil that lies therein.

“You know what to look for?” Ava asks, crouching low.

I nod and get to work. I feel the trees the way she feels the earth—searching for traces of magic. Magic, like most forces, leaves traces—a residue of energy depending on the strength of the spell. Powerful or recurring spells can linger for months, even years. With black magic, sometimes it's permanent.

“Celeste.” Ava’s voice trembles slightly, barely above a whisper.

I turn—and freeze. Sorrow fills my chest, squeezing tight. In her hand lies a crystal heart, muddy and grimy, its glow has faded.

“An abduction?” I ask softly, moving closer.

“Most likely.” She rises, turning the gem over in her palm. “No witch would leave this behind willingly. Not even a feral vessel.”

“They’re powerless against their captors. Maybe even dead,” I finish quietly, my chest tightening.

Without our crystal hearts, we become weak. Too long without them, and our magic fades—slowly, painfully, until there's nothing left.

Ava doesn’t respond. She turns away, her face hidden, shoulders slumped. She’s shaken. Hurt. These are the people she’ll someday call her subjects—monsters.

A faint rustle of leaves cuts through the silence. The sound comes from the darker end of the forest. I summon a light sphere, stepping closer, peering into the shadows. Another rustle. Then—a snap.

I conjure a ball of flame in my other palm. Ava steps up beside me, twin orbs burning in her hands. She looks lethal. Dread pools in my chest, and for one terrified heartbeat, I pray this is another dead end.

“Show yourself!” Her voice cuts through the silence—fierce, commanding. The air thickens, heavy with anticipation.

My heart stutters. Panic surges—raw, electric.

A split second later, there's a blinding flash—then pain, searing hot, floods every nerve. My breath catches. The world blurs as spots dance across my vision.

The last thing I see is Ava’s body crumpled next to mine—still and silent—before the darkness swallows me whole.