Tiernan

Tiernan

I weave through the dimly lit streets of the shifter section, Feray at my side. Her presence is a reassuring weight in this labyrinth of scents and shadows. We navigate alleys and back ways, our senses on high alert. The second quadrant is quieter tonight, or maybe it’s just that we’re so tuned into each other and our task that the usual nightlife fades into the background.

It feels like it should be busier, but maybe a lot of our shifter brethren are all napping before the festivities?

“Your wolf, she’s stronger,” I say without looking at her, focusing on the myriad of smells that mix in the air—food, trash, and something... else. My voice carries pride intentionally. Since we parted ways, Feray has grown, changed; it’s impossible not to notice. It makes me happy for my friend, especially because she’s my mate’s sister.

A smile touches her lips, genuine glee lighting up her eyes. “You noticed,” she says happily, the night breeze playing with strands of her hair as we walk through the streets.

“Hard to miss,” I respond with a grin. My gaze catches hers for a moment, and I add, “Your sister’s been getting stronger, too.”

The memory of our night with the Prince, the snake, and my mate entwined with the vampire flashes across my mind. The heat comes unbidden to my cheeks, betraying thoughts that have no place in this moment. Together, the five of us are hot as hell and it’s hard to push it from my mind now that it’s there.

Feray’s laughter rings out, clear and unabashed. She gives me that wicked grin of hers, one that promises mischief and secrets. “Is that a blush, Tiernan? I didn’t take you for the shy type, so what naughty things are running through your head right now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep moving,” I mumble, trying to refocus on the task at hand. We continue our search, noses to the wind, ears pricked for the unusual. My time in Faerie taught me to be wary, to recognize the tang of magic amidst the ordinary. It’s different here, diluted, but still potent enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.

Suddenly, there it is—a scent that stops me dead in my tracks.

I can’t place it, but every instinct screams that it’s wrong, dangerous. It’s a whisper of Faerie, a hint of the dark underbelly I thought I’d left behind. The smell definitely reminds me of the party where we saw the monster and I’m not sure if it was before or after the creepy ass thing showed up.

“Tiernan?” Feray’s voice is low, cautious. She sees the change in me, the tension that tightens my frame. A soft growl echoes from her, and I know her wolf is paying attention.

“Something’s not right,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. My leopard isn’t happy, either. “We need to be careful.”

Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath, trying to catch what I’ve already latched onto. She trusts me, though, trusts my instincts—even when I can’t explain them.

“Lead the way,” she says, and there’s steel in her voice, a readiness for whatever we might face.

We inch forward, the night air thick with the promise of hidden dangers. I’m fighting to keep my inner leopard in check, but the scent—it’s a siren call, pulling at the beast in my blood. The familiar stench of Faerie nightmares tugs at my memory, a reminder of horrors faced and barely escaped. Feray watches me, her gaze sharp, reading the tension in my stance.

“Shift,” I murmur, voice tight with urgency. “It’s safer.”

She doesn’t hesitate; her form shimmering as she embraces her wolf. Meanwhile, I reach out with my mind, a silent call in our mating bond. I flood my bond mate’s consciousness with a warning: the echo of Faerie’s darkness is here, in Briarvale. I tell them to prepare, to alert their partners without revealing too much.

They need to know—something wicked this way comes and we need them here to witness it.

With the mental link severed, I give into the call of my nature. My body contorts, bones and sinew reshaping until I tower as a snow leopard, fur bristling with the intensity of the moment. Feray, now in her lupine form, keeps pace beside me, our predatory grace silent as shadows in the moonlight.

The smell surges stronger as we approach the clearing—a cocktail of magic and malice that makes my animal instincts scream. We hunker down behind a copse, eyes fixed on the spectacle ahead.

A circle of hooded figures, firelight flickering across their concealed faces, chants rise and fall like the tide. An altar stands in their midst, adorned with oddities that dance in the glow—herbs, candles, symbols that no doubt spell trouble.

What the fuck is going on and who the hell are these assholes?

Feray’s ears twitch; she can pick up fragments of the Latin incantations, I bet. Some phrases seem to evade her understanding, and I watch her features as she struggles.

I lean in, using my Alpha ability to speak while shifted, “Ancient spells... they’re obscured by words and sounds to those not versed in true magic. Revelin told me about it once.”

She jerks her head, telling me she understands. As the chanting continues, my anxiety increases while we wait for our families to arrive.

“If you can’t discern the words, listen to the tone.” I pause, letting the ominous cadence wash over us. “This is bad, Fer. Really bad.”

Her growl vibrates low in her throat, an agreement as we settle in to watch. Crouched within the underbrush, we observe as figures cloaked in shadow converge around what seems to be an altar we can’t see from here. The ritual before us crescendos; flames lick the sky, and a miasma of decay and pungent botanicals hangs heavy in the air. My leopard’s senses reel from the onslaught, but we stay hidden, statuesque.

It takes a bit, but the rest of our families show up in their pairs, all silently taking in the scene. Once we’re all assembled, Feray and I shift back to humanoid and Revelin sighs as he makes clothes appear on us.

“You shifters and this ridiculous clothes loss,” he says as his eyes twinkle. “Super comfy when we’re alone, weird when it’s a group project.”

Fiadh snorts in agreement. “Thanks, sparkly pants. It was going to get awkward in a few, I’m sure.”

The vampire and the dragon look at one another, sharing a grumpy old dude expression before they face us again. Dezi clears his throat, then says, “The magical people need to discuss this situation with those of us who may have seen some of these spells before. Shifters, please keep your eyes on the group in case they notice our presence.”

Fiadh, Rev, and Easton join the Prince and the vampire with confused expressions, then I feel the ‘pop’ of his sound bubble going up. I wait to see if our mate bond will transcend it, curious if we’re all tapped into his magic that deeply. Then he speaks and I grin to myself.

Score.

“Something big is unfolding,” Fiadh’s voice murmurs in their clandestine conference. Her words are for Rev, Dezi, Diaval, and Easton, but they reach me all the same. She’d tell Khol and I later, of course, but this is much easier than having to wait.

“I can’t quite piece it together,” Rev’s tone is laced with frustration, “but I believe this is entwined with your lineage... and what happened to your parents.”

I feel Feray’s tension beside me. Her body coiled tightly as she keeps watch on the magical dickheads. The twins, barely distinguishable silhouettes against the dark, are vigilant, their gazes locked on the cultists for any hint we’ve been spotted. Khol, like me, knows the stakes—time has contorted, twisted by spells beyond comprehension, bringing us here to this nexus of fate. Yet, keeping the secret weighs heavily upon us both—we don’t enjoy having to hide things from our brothers and friends.

“Careful, Prince,” Dezi warns in a hushed tone, just loud enough to carry through our bond. “Meddling in time’s tapestry has led to wars among humans. We can’t afford such ripples extending beyond our world.”

“Consequences are always heaviest for those who forget history,” Diaval responds, a low growl of agreement rumbling in his chest.

Easton shifts uneasily. “We stand on a precipice,” he mutters, and though I cannot see his face, I imagine the furrow of his brow as he’s faced with an unsolvable puzzle.

The ritual seems to hit its zenith, the very air vibrating with the power of the beckoned dark. Flames leap higher, searing the night with their infernal dance as the hooded figures’ voices crescendo into a symphony of eerie chants. The scent of dark herbs intensifies, wrapping around us like a shroud.

Easton’s voice, laced with centuries of wisdom, reaches me through the bond with Revelin. “Interfering with such forces has always paved the road to ruin,” he says solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying the weight of lived eternity.

The ancient dragon nods gravely as the shadows play over his features. “Indeed. We tread on dangerous grounds if this magic mirrors those we’ve seen wreak havoc before.”

Ever the embodiment of calm in chaos, the vampire merely inclines his head, acknowledging the shared history. “We’ll need to commit every detail to memory,” he asserts, his eyes never straying from the spectacle before us. “The details of this moment will be our only lead when the time comes to unravel its purpose.”

In a swift motion, Revelin extends his arm and the sound barrier pops like a soap bubble meeting a blade of grass. He reaches into his pocket with practiced ease and produces a sleek smartphone. With a few deft swipes, he records, capturing the dark intonations for later scrutiny. “Never underestimate the cooperation between silicon and spell craft,” Revelin says with a smug upturn to his lips as though he’s just played a winning card in a high-stakes game.

Dezi’s response is a roll of his eyes, his disdain for modern contraptions almost palpable in the crisp air. “Witchery was fine before it needed batteries,” he mutters under his breath, though a begrudging respect lingers at the corners of his mouth.

The dragon’s chuckle is a low rumble, resonating with the ancient power that courses through him. “Perhaps, but we adapt or we perish,” he chides gently, though his gaze remains locked on the ritual, as if he’s trying to decipher an ancient text through a fogged lens.

As the furor of the ritual continues to escalate, they join us near the treeline. Feray and the twins are crouched low, their bodies tense and alert. Every muscle is coiled tight, prepared to spring into action should our presence be detected. I don’t know what we’ll have to fight because of the hoods, but I’m ready to make sure the people we care about stay safe.

The sky seems to darken further, as if even the stars dare not witness what is unfolding. The chanting reaches a fever pitch, and the very earth beneath our paws vibrates with the surge of power that emanates from the circle.

This is the moment of truth—we can feel it.

The pinnacle of the ritual is upon us, a climax that promises to either unveil secrets or unleash nightmares. A foul stench wafts through the breeze as one of the hooded guys comes from another direction carrying some big, ornate box that makes the others cheer in anticipation. Whatever the dude has, it must be important. I sneak a glance at the basilisk, then the vampire, wondering if we should launch an attack now and stop this insanity. Dezi shakes his head, his jaw tight as he makes a call we may well regret later on.

Being stuck in a time loop is bullshit and we’re all going to pay for inaction—something I do not look forward to.