The Silver-Loaded Rifle

Chapter 4 Evidence in Blood

(Serena's POV)

Silver light burst from Maeve’s chest and bleached the color from the cabin. The guards stopped where they stood. The force pressed against my skin as the old magic broke free.

My fingers dug into the floorboard.

The great silver wolf came apart in the light.

Her fur receded in ripples. The long bones in her legs shifted and contracted with soft grinding sounds, and her paws opened into human hands.

The body I had hidden for a decade grew smaller with every pulse of light.

The glow faded, and the lantern again became the only light in the room.

The wolf was gone.

A frail old woman lay on the floorboards in a pool of blood. The wolf’s hide had become tattered rags around her thin body.

I knew the kind wrinkles at her eyes and the scar near her chin. Over her heart, the silver bullet had burned a black hole through the cloth.

It was Maeve. It was Killian's grandmother.

The guards’ hands fell from my arms. I shoved them away and got to my feet.

I looked at Killian.

He stared at the woman on the floor. The rifle slipped from his fingers and struck the boards.

Killian stumbled back. “What trick is this? Serena, what have you done?”

Before I could answer, the magic pulsed once more. Stone cracked behind the hearth. The hidden panel I had built years ago split open.

Leather covers struck the floor.

Dozens of leather-bound journals fell across the floor.

Some opened to daily records of herbs and blood offerings; others showed the brief hours when Maeve had been lucid. Every page carried my neat handwriting.

Ten years of blood offerings and treatments lay at Killian’s feet.

Killian stumbled forward and knelt. His hand shook as he picked up a journal.

*“Maeve was lucid for an hour today. She asked about Killian. My blood offering seems to be holding the curse at bay, but I grow weaker.”*

He dropped it and grabbed another.

*“She howled his name all night. The pain is getting worse. I fear I am not strong enough.”*

His gaze jumped from the page to Maeve’s face. He tried to turn another page, missed the corner, and tried again. Each breath caught in his throat.

Maeve’s torn collar had shifted.

A leather cord had slipped from beneath Maeve’s collar. A small object rested against her chest in the lantern light.

A small, crudely carved wolf’s tooth.

The one he had made for her on his seventh birthday. The one she swore she’d wear until her dying day.

And she had.

The first sound Killian made broke into a wail.

He fell beside her and shook so hard that his hands slipped in her blood. For a moment, he looked seven years old again.

I did not reach for him. The mate bond inside me had gone quiet.

Just as a guard started to move toward him, Maeve’s body twitched.

Her eyelids opened. The life left in her eyes was faint, but her gaze held steady.

She looked past her grandson.

Past me, too.

Maeve fixed her eyes on Lyla. The Omega backed toward the shadows.