HER FIERY LOVE

​A Debt in Dark Magic

I slipped into my bedroom, quietly closing the heavy wooden door behind me and leaning my forehead against the cool frame. The hallway outside was silent, but my mind was a chaotic storm. Blaze’s warning, the image of those lifeless, milky-eyed rogues, and the forbidden ledger entry all raced through my head.

​Property of the House of Rosalind.

​The room was bathed in the pale, silvery glow of the full moon streaming through the tall arched window. I took a deep, steadying breath, reaching for the lamp on my nightstand to finally turn on the light.

​Sorano, wait, Ember warned suddenly, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp growl deep in my chest. The air. Smell the air.

​I froze, my hand hovering an inch from the lamp switch.

​Beneath the familiar scents of polished oak, my lavender linen spray, and the faint trace of pine from my boots, there was a new, sickening stench lingering in the dark.

​Burnt copper and ash.

​Adrenaline spiked, turning my blood to ice. My body dropped instinctively into a low combat stance as I scanned the shadows of my private quarters. The door had been locked. The pack house perimeter was guarded by two dozen elite enforcers, and yet, someone—or something—had been inside my room while I was down in the archives.

​"Ember, stay sharp," I whispered, barely letting the sound leave my throat.

​The room was empty, but as my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I noticed something resting on the center of my neatly made bed.

​Slowly, carefully, I approached the bed. Laying on the dark quilt was a single, pristine white rose.

​Except it wasn't whole. The petals were stained at the edges with a thick, midnight-black residue that oozed like liquid shadow, dissolving the velvet leaves into wisps of faint, dark smoke. Piercing straight through the heart of the flower, pinning it to my blanket, was a miniature double-headed silver dagger.

​The exact blade from my mother’s crest.

​Tucked beneath the hilt was a small, heavy piece of parchment.

​My hands trembled slightly as I reached down, avoiding the black magic residue on the petals, and drew the dagger free. The silver felt unnaturally ice-cold against my skin. I unfolded the note.

​Written in the same elegant, razor-thin script was a simple, chilling message:

​A daughter pays the debts her mother incurred.

Three nights, Sorano. Bring what was stolen to the weeping willow at Silver Run, or I will burn this pack to ground starting with your silver-haired guard dog.

Do not keep me waiting.

​My breath hitched in my throat. Blaze. He knew about Blaze. He had been watching us at the perimeter. He knew the promise, the connection, the vulnerability.

​He bypassed the pack wards, Ember snarled, her mental claws shredding through my subconscious in a fit of rage. He walked into our sanctuary! We tear him apart! We hunt him down now!

​We can't, I thought back, staring at the black-stained rose as it slowly dissolved into nothingness on my bedspread. If I tell William, he'll lock me in the compound and send warriors to their deaths against dark magic they don't understand. If I tell Blaze, he'll go to Silver Run tonight and get himself killed.

​I gripped the cold silver dagger tight in my palm, feeling its weight.

​My mother had kept secrets from the pack, from my father, and from me. But whatever she stole, whatever dark vow she broke decades ago, it was no longer just a ghost from the past.

​It was coming for everyone I loved, and I had three days to figure out what Rosalind took before the dark caster claimed my pack in blood.

Dawn broke over the mountains in shades of bruised purple and pale gold, but I hadn't slept a wink. The miniature silver dagger was tucked securely inside the inner pocket of my leather tactical vest, its cold edge pressing against my ribs like a constant, heavy reminder. Three days. I had less than seventy-two hours to find what my mother had stolen.

​My first stop had to be my childhood home—a small, secluded cabin on the southern edge of the pack lands where my parents had raised me before my mother died when I was barely a child, followed a year later by my father, Richard, falling in action as Beta. If Rosalind had kept a secret, it was buried there.

​To get there without raising alarms, I needed to clear the morning's mandatory training session at the warrior grounds first.

​The outdoor arena was already buzzing with activity when I arrived. Steel clashed against steel, and heavy thuds echoed across the dirt as enforcers sparred. Blaze was near the center ring, shirtless and drenched in sweat, executing a seamless shoulder-throw on a junior warrior.

​I kept my head down, heading straight for the weapons rack to grab a pair of sparring batons, but a heavy hand on my shoulder made me tense up.

​"You're late, Beta," Trax said, leaning against the wooden frame with a towel draped over his neck. His sharp grey eyes locked onto mine, narrowing instantly. "And you look like you just went twelve rounds with a nightmare."

​"Rough night," I said, dodging his gaze as I selected my batons. "Just couldn't turn my head off after the border sweep."

​Trax didn't buy it. He stepped into my path, lowering his voice so the nearby guards wouldn't hear. "Lily said she felt a surge of dark energy spike near the western ward lines around three this morning. And now you're standing here twitching every time a breeze hits you. What's going on, Sorano?"

​Careful, Ember warned, pacing in my chest. Trax is a tracker. He senses the shift in your scent.

​"Nothing is going on, Trax," I insisted, forcing my Beta posture straight, pulling authority into my voice. "I'm heading out to do a solo perimeter check on the old southern logging roads after spar. Alpha William wants the abandoned sectors verified."

​Before Trax could press further, Blaze jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm. His warm bronze eyes swept over me, immediately picking up on the tension between Trax and me.

​"Everything good here?" Blaze asked, his eyes lingering on my face. Then, his gaze dropped to the slight bulge beneath the left side of my tactical vest—where the silver dagger rested. His brow furrowed. "What's that under your vest? That's not pack-issue gear."

​My heart did a violent thud against my ribs.

​"It's just an extra blade," I lied quickly, shifting my arm to cover the outline. "A backup for the southern sweep."

​Blaze reached out, his fingers catching my wrist with a firm, warm grip. "Sorano, you're hiding something. You've been acting strangely since we brought down those puppet rogues."

​"I am fine," I snapped, pulling my wrist free, though the rejection stung both of us through the air. "I'm the Beta, Blaze. I have a sweep to run. Trax, take the morning sparring drills for me."

​Without waiting for either of them to answer, I turned on my heel and walked out of the training arena. I could feel Blaze’s heavy, protective stare burning into my back the entire way to the tree line.

​It took twenty minutes at a full sprint to reach the old cabin. The wooden structure was weathered and overgrown with ivy, looking completely abandoned since my father's passing.

​I pushed through the squeaking front door, stepping into the dusty, sunlit living room. The air tasted stale, smelling of dry wood, old paper, and a faint, lingering trace of dried lavender—my mother’s signature scent, preserved in the floorboards long after she was gone.

​"Alright, Mom," I whispered, walking into the small bedroom in the back. "Where did you hide it?"

​I spent the next half hour pulling apart the room: checking beneath the floorboards, behind the framed pressed flowers, and under the heavy oak wardrobe. Nothing.

​Frustration mounted until Ember suddenly lifted her head inside my mind. Under the hearth. The stones are uneven.

​I rushed back to the living room, kneeling before the old stone fireplace. Sure enough, one of the flat hearth stones was slightly raised. I pulled the silver dagger from my vest, using its thin blade to pry the heavy stone up.

​Beneath it lay a small, velvet-wrapped wooden box sealed with a faded red wax stamp—the same Pierced Moon crest from the archives.

​My breath hitched. I broke the wax seal and opened the lid.

​Inside rested an old, leather-bound journal and a strange, glowing obsidian amulet suspended on a delicate silver chain. The moment my fingers brushed the cold obsidian, a sharp shock of dark magic zapped up my arm, and a woman's soft, panicked voice echoed inside my head—a memory trapped within the stone:

​"If you are reading this, Sorano... I am so sorry. I couldn't destroy the Shadow Core, so I stole it. But the Coven will never stop hunting our bloodline to get it back..."

​Before I could process the voice, a floorboard creaked sharply on the cabin porch outside.

​"I knew you were lying to me," a deep, familiar voice called out softly from the doorway.

​I spun around, slamming the box shut as Blaze stepped into the cabin, his bronze eyes wide with a mix of hurt, suspicion, and shock as he looked at the glowing amulet in my hands.