Chapter Eight

Hollow Rock Town Library . Even the sign was impressive.

Stacia had chosen a sexy mad scientist costume, complete with a white sequined lab coat, pocket protectors, a pencil behind her ear, and she'd even worn a pair of oversized glasses that didn't have any prescription in the lenses.

She was ready to uncover town mysteries. And really, ever since Wendell had talked about the town curse and the Ashbrock story, she'd been desperate to get her grubby little fingers on some old historic literature.

She loved this stuff. Gah, she felt like Harriet the Spy as she marched up the steps and into the front door. She'd even brought a notebook and two colors of pens, purple and pink, because prepared spies packed extra office supplies. She gave a private snort to herself. That rhymed.

Time.

Crime.

Sixty-nine.

Poontang and limes—oof! She ran smack dab into the barrel chest of a giant man.

"I'm so sorry," she blurted out.

He put his finger to his lips and shushed her. "Oh my God, are you the librarian here?" She grabbed his huge arm and squeezed it. "You're a giant."

"Madam, unhand me," the man whispered, then yanked his tree trunk limb out of her grasp. His nametag read Burt .

"Burt?" Squirt. Butthurt. Stop it, brain! "Um, could you point me in the direction of the old historical documents about the beginnings of this town?"

His heavyset dark eyebrows drew down to rest directly over his glasses. "Why do you want to see those?"

"Personal reasons," she said nonchalantly. Oh hang it, this was too exciting to not spill the beans. "I'm doing research because it's always been my dream to come to this town and Halloween is my favorite and do you want to do a mystery adventure with me?"

"No." The man pointed up the stairs. "Up there. Follow the signs."

"Oh. Okay, thank you for your help, Mr. Burt."

"It's just Burt," he said in an annoyed tone as he walked away. Gads, that man was quiet when he walked. She probably shouldn't have worn white glittery high heels.

Clack. Clack clack. Clack clack clack clack.

"Shhhhhh!" Burt said from behind her.

"Well, this is your fault for allowing them to put tile in a library instead of carpet!" Clack, clack, clack, clickety clack clack …she reached the stairs and huffed a sigh in relief. She turned to smile triumphantly at Burt, but realized her purple pen had fallen from her notebook and sat in the middle of the floor in a sea of tile.

"Absolutely not," Burt said from behind his desk.

Geez, he was really grumpy. "I wasn't going to," she whisper-screamed, but it was a bold-faced lie. She was totally thinking of clickety clacking back to save her second favorite pen. Hopefully it would still be there when she got back, or Burt owed her a pen.

At least the stairs and the second floor had carpet. Stacia straightened up her bedazzled lab coat and made sure both teets were still enclosed in her revealing corset. Nerds were sexy. Shoving her glasses more securely up her nose, she made her way up the stairwell, and only rolled her ankle twice. At the top of the stairs, there was a directory with a list of genres and arrows pointing this way and that. There were rows and rows of books on either side of the hallway, but the section she needed was the one at the very bottom of the list.

Historical Documents, Room 210.

Bingo bango, who wants to tango?

She jogged awkwardly to the correct door and opened it to a dark room. The light switch was right beside the door, and she narrowed her eyes once she flipped it, hoping to adjust to the dim lighting. Maybe they had only the single lightbulb in this room to protect the old texts?

She made her way to a computer monitor and read the directions on how to log in. It was one of those old-school numbers that took fourteen years to scroll through each page, so she gave up quickly and explored the room.

Along the back wall were rows of newspapers, each page flattened between plastic sheets and hung on tracks. There were thousands of them in order by date.

She went straight to the oldest first. She flipped through a few more. Nothing interesting. Horses for sale. Someone shot someone in a duel, blah blah, aha! She stopped on one because a name in the title had jumped out at her. Ashbrock .

She lifted the paper from the rack and took it to a sprawling table right under the single lightbulb, and then she scoured it. "Cal and Alexia Ashbrock broke ground on the town's second building, a general store, on October 30, 1722. Whoa. Today was October 30. Cool. Callum and Alex must've been named for their ancestors.

She read the entire article, but when she flipped to the next page of it, the rest of it had been cut out neatly and completely removed. What the heck? She flipped through every page of the newspaper, but the missing piece was nowhere to be found.

Okaaaay. Stacia replaced that one on the tracks and found one a couple papers down.

Another article had been removed. It was the lower half of the engagements and marriage announcement section.

She spent the next three hours scouring newspapers, but only found the name Ashbrock mentioned three more times, and only in meaningless articles.

Huh.

It seemed like someone wanted the Ashbrock mystery to remain just that.

But she hadn't gotten a B plus in her library science class for nothing, and she was hopped up on this morning's coffee and the three bite-sized candy bars she'd found in the bottom of her purse. She was ready for the next hurdle.

There was something in this room that would point her in the right direction, she just knew it.

Another hour and a half later, and she knew for certain there was literally nothing in this room that pointed her in the right direction.

Feeling defeated and bedraggled, she did her walk of shame out of the Room of Dead Ends and marched clumsily down the stairs. By the time she got to the bottom stair, Burt was already glaring at her.

The purple pen was still sitting in the middle of the tiles, halfway from here to the door. Double defeated, she sat on the bottom stair and pulled her shoes off, then padded silently across the floor, stooped to pick up the pen, and turned to wave to Burt.

He set a huge book on top of his counter and placed his hand on it, then patted it twice, his eyebrows arched up.

What was he doing? She made her way to him and looked at the title of the text. The cover was dusty, so she had to wipe it with the sleeve of her lab coat to read the gold filigree writing.

Tales and Potions from the Other Side

By Matilda Altendark

She moved to open the book, but Burt looked around quick and put his hand on the cover to stop her. He shook his head and lifted his finger to his lips, then twitched his head toward a private room.

Okay, that was some rocket-science sign language. "What?"

Burt whispered, "Take the damn book in the private room and bring it back when you're done. And don't tell anyone I gave it to you."

"Ooooh, okay. Thanks Burt-Burt."

"It's just Burt. Lady," he whispered, stopping her from lugging the book away. "Page 152. You look like her."

Okaaay, page 152, probably a pin-up picture of a hottie with a body.

"Close the blinds in there," he whispered after her.

Duh. She'd already been planning to do that. She was a super-spy, after all.

Stacia set her sequined spy shoes on the floor inside, closed all the blinds like Burt-Burt had asked, and then sat down for a little light mystery solving. Except when she opened the book to the first page, she realized it wasn't light at all. It was a hand-drawn picture of a skinned animal. With a gasp, she stood and took a couple steps back from the table. A queasiness took her stomach, and she had to wait a few seconds for it to settle before she read the words. Or tried to. They weren't in English.

She flipped to the next page, and it detailed ingredients and had little hand-drawn pictures of raven skulls.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she murmured to herself in horror.

The next few pages seemed to be detailing the parts of a dead, and sometimes living, animal and its potency for some kind of power. Those pages were in broken English.

She flipped faster, aiming for page 152. When she stopped on it, she couldn't believe what she saw.

It was her.

Right?

It was a professionally sketched picture of her in a dress that looked eerily like the Marie Antoinette costume with the full skirts.

The drawing had the same eyebrow shape, same cheekbones, same curl to her hair, same long neck. Her eyes stared vacantly, like the woman was dead. She reached out to touch the drawing and a shock of electricity travelled through her fingertip, up her arm.

Pain seared through her head and visions flashed across her mind, one by one, almost too fast for her to comprehend. Callum, with long hair. Laughing. His face melted away until only his skull remained, and then he morphed into something terrifying. She gasped and opened her eyes just before she could tell what he was, but the imprint of those ice blue eyes stayed burned into her mind, fading slowly.

This book was bad.

It was bad mojo, bad deeds, it held instructions to evil things.

That picture was of her. This book was very old but that was her. Vacant eyes, looking right at her.

Help him. A whisper echoed through the room.

No, no, no. She backed up and tripped over the chair, nearly toppled over before she righted herself. Stacia rushed from the room. She left her shoes and pens and notebook behind and left that damn book on the table.

"I can't," she said breathlessly to Burt as she went flying past him for the exit.

She couldn't draw a full breath into her burning lungs.

Help him? That was some motherfuckin' ghost shit in there, and she was out. No, no, hell nope. Help him who? Long-haired melty-faced Callum?

She didn't remember how she got back to her hotel room. She didn't remember walking there, or crossing streets. Had she walked in front of moving traffic? Heck if she knew! All she could think about were those vacant eyes. Something bad had happened. Something bad was happening. Right?

She was at the library, and then the cold metal of her room door handle was in her grasp, just like that. She tried it, but the door was locked, of course. She always locked it.

Fumbling, she found her keys in the bottom of her purse. Her hands shook badly as she tried and failed and tried again to unlock it.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked from the mouth of the hallway. She was wearing a French maid's outfit today. Concern welled in her bright green eyes.

"I'm. I'm, I'm I'm f-fi-fi-fi, I have to go."

She pushed open the door and closed it behind her, rested her back against the door for two breaths before she turned on the light.

There was a teal velvet box sitting directly in the center of the bed.

Was it a gift from Callum? No one was supposed to come into her room. She scanned the room quickly, then moved to the bed and opened the lid of the box.

Inside were neatly stacked and perfectly cut newspaper clippings.

She fingered past the first one and saw the engagements section that had been missing from the library newspapers. There was a handwritten note in beneath it.

Were you looking for these?

She flipped it over, but there was no signature on the front or back to tell her who had set these in here.

The bed squeaked as she sank down onto it. The engagement announcement was that of Cal Ashbrock and Iris Wulfebound. Iris. Liam had said that name. Said she didn't look like her, but Liam was wrong. There was an old black and white photo of a man and a woman—Callum and Stacia, but she knew better now.

That was Cal and Iris, centuries ago.

The tear fell before she even registered that she was crying.

The next picture was of the groundbreaking ceremony. A scuffed old sepia picture of Cal and Alexia Ashbrock, as well as their cousin Liam and a dozen others, drew another tear.

"Alex?" she murmured, knowing the woman would hear her.

"Yes?" Alex asked from the other side of the door.

Stacia sniffed, and looked up as she opened the door. She held up the picture. "Is this you?"

Alex stood there, looking shocked, hovering in the open doorway.

"Where did you get those?" she whispered.

"Is. It. You?"

Alex swallowed hard and remained hovering in the doorway. She looked down the hallway, then back to Stacia. She wasn't coming inside the room, and Stacia knew what that meant from her extensive scary movie collection.

"Are you a vampire?" Stacia asked. Because apparently vampires could be freaking real.

Alex rolled her eyes and stepped in the room.

"Fair enough, but maybe you've already been invited into this room since you work here. You should know my diet is very heavy in garlic."

"I'm not a vampire," Alex assured her. Liar, Liar, vampire pants on fire.

"What are you then?" Stacia asked primly.

"I think we should talk to my brother."

"Your brother the vampire? The power of Christ compels you."

Alex scrunched up her face and sat on the bed next to her. "That's for exorcisms. I swear we aren't freaking vampires."

"Mmm. Just immortal? Because this looks like you. And this looks like the guy who finger-banged me in the dressing room of Wendell's."

"Ew."

"And this," Stacia said, jamming her finger at Iris Wulfebound, "Sure as snow-cones looks like me." And then it hit her. "Oh my God. Am I a vampire, too?"

"I can smell the Snickers bars on you right now, Stacia. Pretty sure you would've figured out if you are a vampire."

"I can't die."

"Oh God." Alex reached out and dragged the edge of the frail newspaper clipping against Stacia's arm.

"Ow!" she muttered as a small, thin crimson line welled up.

"You aren't immortal."

"Well, what about you!" she yelled as she tried to paper-cut her back. Nothing happened. She sawed until the paper started falling apart. "What about now!" she said, trying again. Frustrated, she said, "Well, I think paper-cutting is a really lame talent, Alexia ."

Alex yanked the fragile thing from her hand and slid it over the top of her arm. Still, nothing happened. "You could stab me and I wouldn't bleed. You aren't immortal. I am."

Stacia crossed her two index fingers in front of Alex's face like a cross, which her ex-friend swatted away. "Stop it. I'm still not a vampire." She pulled her phone up to her ear. "Hey, Callum, we have a problem."

"A big one," Stacia popped off.

"Someone dumped the newspaper articles on your girlfriend's bed."

There was a beat of silence, and then, " The newspaper articles?"

"Yep, and I don't know why. All I know is it wasn't me. Why would I do that? I told you I was fine with you handling this on your own."

"Handling what?" Stacia demanded. "I'll have you know, I'm an extremely independent woman. I don't get handled! Give me the phone."

"Stop it," Alex muttered, swatting her hands away again.

"Alex! If ever you were my pretend best friend, give me the dang phone!"

Alex froze for a three-count, and then handed her the phone.

"Alex is about to drink my blood, she looks hungry—"

"Oh my God," Callum murmured. "Are you okay? Did you see anyone go into your room?"

"No. I was at the library trying to figure out why there's pictures of me in some enchanted ho's book!"

"You saw Matilda's book?"

"Page 152, Callum! Apparently, I'm Iris! And your sister gave me a paper-cut and it really hurts."

"Okay, calm down—"

"Yeah, because you should always tell a woman to calm down when she's freaking out," Stacia enlightened him.

She was pretty sure Alex mouthed, boys are idiots , but she couldn't be sure. Alex stood and drifted into the bathroom.

"Look," Callum said softly, "I don't know what's happening yet, but the newspaper articles were locked in a vault in my house. I'm in my closet looking at it right now, and my vault is busted wide open. The only thing that seems to be missing is that box."

"The box of secrets."

"Yes."

"Who has access to your home?"

Silence stretched for a few breaths and then, "My people. Are you still in your room? I'm going to come get you."

"Don't bother," Alex said, like she could hear the phone conversation from the bathroom. "I'm going to bring her to you. Just sit tight. I'm packing her things right now."

"Wait, what?" Stacia asked, bolting for the bathroom. Sure enough, Alex had her toiletries bag and was tossing in her face washes. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes you are," Alex murmured.

"Stacia," Callum rumbled. "Nothing is going to happen to you, but I feel better having you close. Someone is trying to expose something that is against our laws to talk about, and I don't know why yet. I swear I'll keep you safe."

"I…" She swallowed hard. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"You don't trust me."

"I think you've not been truthful. Even if it's against your laws, or it's something you can't tell someone right away, a lie is a lie. And…well, I hope you know I'm not really her." There it was—the part that was hurting the most. The part that dug through the weight of this new information and was just staring at her, waiting for the ache to grow. "Did you love her? Iris?"

"Yes," he murmured, no hesitation.

Stacia made her way to a chair near a small desk in the corner and sank down into it. "I'm just me, Callum."

"I would never ask you to be anything else." The honesty in his voice tugged at the raw edges of her heart. "Come here and I'll explain everything. I promise."

"Okay." She hung up the phone, utterly confused about how to feel right now. "Hey Alex?"

"Yeah?" she asked, as she appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. Stacia forced a smile. "Don't forget to take the little complementary bottles of shampoo."

Alex had looked worried, and distracted, but a smile ghosted her lips now. "Already packed."

"Were you just pretending to be nice to me?"

"No." Alex lifted her chin higher into the air. "Iris was my best friend. She was supposed to be my sister. When I saw you…" Alex chewed on the side of her lip. "You look like her, but on the inside, you are very different. When I looked deeper, you're easy to tell apart. Now you don't feel like Iris at all. You're Stacia."

Okay. Okay. It was enough. Had to be for now.

Stacia stood and began packing her things into her suitcase, and ten minutes later, she was following Alex out of the hotel.

"Don't you have to work?" she asked as Alex shoved her bag into the back of Stacia's car.

Alex scanned the street. "I've already texted someone to come take my shift. Get in." The sense of urgency in Alex's voice wasn't lost on Stacia, and chills rippled up her arms.

Behind the wheel, Stacia waited for Alex to be buckled, and then pulled out of her parking spot on the street.

Stacia pulled through a light, and a man dragged her attention from the road. He was tall and had dark dreads cascading down his shoulders, and gold eyes that seemed to glow in the shadows of the brick building he leaned against. His eyes tracked the progress of the car.

Alex had seen him too. "Don't worry, he's one of ours." She chewed on her nail and looked out the front window with a frown pulling down her dark eyebrows. "Go straight down this road, and turn in at the pumpkin patch. Callum lives at the back of the property." Alex chewed her nail for a few more loaded seconds and then connected a call to Callum and put him on speaker phone.

"Are you almost here?" he answered. The deep worry in his timbre dredged up butterflies in Stacia's stomach.

"Random question," Alex said. "Did you send Daniel to watch over Stacia?"

"No. You're the only one I've sent to watch over her. Daniel is supposed to be headed here with the rest of the pack. I called a meeting. I'm just waiting on a few more to show up."

"Who is missing?" Alex asked, sitting up straighter as she watched something outside the window. They were outside of town now, surrounded by woods on either side. "Callum! Who?"

Callum's snarl ripped through the phone, and his breathing was faster as he said, "Liam, Daniel, Tobias, Reether, Striker and Kristoff. Where are you?"

"Weatherby Woods. Five minutes out."

Something ran across the road up ahead, and Stacia gripped the steering wheel tighter in terror. "Callum?" She hadn't meant for her voice to come out sounding so scared, but she couldn't help it. That was a…that was a…

When she looked into the woods, there was a gray wolf running fast enough through the trees to keep pace with her car. She was going fifty miles an hour.

"There are wolves in the woods," Stacia whispered.

"I know," Callum rumbled. "Alex, don't let them get to her. I'm coming."

The line clicked dead and Alex was ripping her costume bodice off. "Just drive as fast as you can. Don't stop."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do what Callum told me to." She kicked out of her shoes and rolled the window down. "Don't miss the turn. Don't stop until you reach the house at the back. Okay?"

"Alex, I don't understand what's—Aaaaah!" she screamed as a black-furred wolf with gold eyes sprinted from the shadows of the woods, aiming right for the car.

Everything happened so fast. Alex shoved out of the seat and launched herself out of the open window, and in mid-air, she turned into…into…

There are wolves in the woods.

The gray Alex wolf flipped in the air and latched onto the scruff of the dark wolf's neck and threw him. They both hit the ground, and then Stacia couldn't see them anymore. The road was too dark.

They weren't vampires at all. Not even close. These were werewolves, and they were coming after her and Alex. Why? What did they want?

A howl pierced the night air, and up ahead, in the arc of her headlights, a white wolf bolted from the woods.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered in horror. She couldn't outrun it! She was going to hit it!

She slammed her foot onto the brakes and held onto her steering wheel for dear life, and then flinched when something slammed into the side of her car and blasted her into a spin across the road. She screamed as she spun over and over. Something massive hit the back of her car and slammed her to a rocking stop.

The windows were broken. The headlights were flickering. Her knuckles were bleeding and the sound of her ragged breathing was deafening. Another howl pierced the night air, and this one was close. Too close.

Panicking, she unbuckled her seatbelt and shoved the door open, then fell out of the car. She didn't feel anything. There was no pain, only panic. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she couldn't feel the cuts from the glass.

Another howl sounded from farther away. Callum?

Move.

Stacia pushed herself upward and bolted for the road. One glance back, and she could see the back end of her car wrapped around a tree. Eyes glowed in the dark. There was a snarling fight somewhere close.

"Alex?" she called. She didn't recognize her voice. It was deeper. Huskier.

She didn't feel like herself.

Her knuckles were bleeding.

A flash of memory consumed her, and she pitched forward on her hands and knees on the asphalt as she saw a world that didn't exist anymore.

The vision was shaky. Sepia toned. It blurred in and out of focus like an old movie. She was standing at an altar, smiling up at Callum. He was dressed in an old-timey suit, and she was dressed in a frilly cream dress that was fitted on the top and full at the skirts. No, that wasn't her.

The woman laughed at something Callum said and ducked her gaze to the side, and Stacia could see it. She had soft brown eyes.

A wolf howl sounded again. "Alex," she pleaded as she looked to the woman in the light blue skirts standing next to Iris, holding a bouquet of white roses. Her maid of honor? Alex couldn't hear her. The vision blurred out of focus and went completely dark, and then flashes of something horrible overtook her. Stacia…Iris…Stacia…Iris…she pitched forward and slammed onto the asphalt, dragging in shallow breaths to lungs that were frozen in her chest. Iris was in a dark room. Herbs were hung on the ceiling rafters, and she was wearing the wedding dress, only it was old, dirty, tattered, ripped to shreds at the skirts. Her shins were scratched and bleeding, and Iris was tied to a wall. Her head hung limply. A shadow moved in front of her, blocking Stacia's view. A woman in a hooded cloak was chanting something in a language she didn't understand.

A wolf howled outside, and the woman in the cloak looked at the door. Her eyes were glowing like the embers of a fire. Iris lifted her head weakly and glared at the creature. "He's going to kill you."

The woman laughed a nails-on-chalkboard sound and knelt in front of Iris. She licked a stream of blood off of Iris's wrist. "I already have what I want."

"What do you want?" Iris whispered.

"The power that comes from a love bond, and the power that comes from a pack bond. I've used it to create a curse, so you see, so long as the curse lasts, I'll never really die."

Iris huffed a weak breath and her eyes rolled back and forth as she struggled to focus on the woman…the witch…

"You see, Iris…Cal was never yours. He was always mine."

Iris's body went limp, and a keening sound shattered her ears. Stacia clapped her hands over her ears to save them, but she wasn't in the cabin anymore. She was on the road, tears burning her cheeks like snaking dynamite fuses, fingers stretching toward the painted white line. The siren busting her eardrums was her own screaming.

Around her was chaos. Wolves were latched onto each other, snarling, scratching, blurring in a violence she'd never witnessed before. Her car had caught on fire and was illuminating the battle, flames flickering a gold hue onto everything.

There was a wolf on the edge of the fight, watching her. Its fur was black and the eyes glowed like embers. Its face flashed from wolf, to woman, to wolf, to woman, and she knew those eyes.

Those eyes belonged on the face of evil.

She was here. Matilda . The name whispered from inside of her in that husky voice of the woman who looked like her. The woman who had died for love to feed evil.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

A massive black wolf slammed another into the trees and stood in front of Stacia protectively. His coat shone like dark silk in the glow of the firelight.

The flames flickered shadows across the massive bodies of the wolves. The one protecting her glanced back, and she recognized him. Those bright blue eyes. Callum. Her Callum. He didn't belong to Matilda. Never had.

Rage simmered through her at what she'd seen. At what she now knew. At what she'd seen of Iris's last moments. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

Gritting her teeth, Stacia stood. Her blood painted the pavement, but she still didn't feel a thing.

You have to burn her. Protect him, and burn her.

Something was wrong with her arm. It was gashed open and streams of red fell from her fingertips, but something was humming through her with such power, she felt bloated with it. Iris?

I'm here.

A snarl rippled through her throat, and she should've been scared. She wasn't the only one in this body anymore. She should've been scared, but she only felt rage.

Callum had been stolen from. Iris had been stolen from. Alex had lost her friend and had to watch her brother suffer without the one he loved…

The black wolf beside her was tall enough that the tips of his ears were as high as her jawline. She rested her hands on his back. "Stay," she rumbled.

The wolf peeled his lips back from long, sharp teeth.

Anger was the only thing that was left of Stacia, and it was all Matilda's fault .

The evil wolf lunged at her and Stacia disappeared. The girl she used to be wasn't here anymore. Now she fought. She ducked out of the way and threw her arms beside her, caught the wolf by the fur and twisted hard, then threw it with all her strength at the car. When the creature landed short of the car, she could see it—the flash of fear in the glowing orange eyes. The face morphed from the wolf, to the witch, to the wolf, to the witch…

"Stop!" Someone screamed behind her. Alex? "It's Liam!"

Didn't they see? Couldn't they see the evil in the wolf's eyes? It stank of bitterness. Of death. Stacia bolted to the wolf, buried her hands in its fur and ignored the desperate scrabbling legs as she slammed the creature backward into the flames.

Her skin was on fire, blistering, burning instantly, but she couldn't stop. The wolf's howls of pain turned to a screech, and the fur disappeared in her hands. It gave way to skin—gray and pallid. Cold, dead skin of a monster that should've died long ago.

"Oh my God," Callum said from behind her, but she wasn't done. And if she saw his face right now, she would falter in her work.

The struggle was great. The witch didn't want to die. She was stronger than she should've been, but so was Stacia.

Burn her.

She held her in the flames, even as her arms blistered. Those eyes. The eyes of Matilda. She could see Iris dying and the memory kept her from feeling the pain.

She leaned in as the witch weakened in her struggle. And just before the glow faded from her ugly eyes, Stacia whispered, "No, bitch. He was always mine."

The keening wail that lifted up into the sky was the soundtrack to what happened next. She was ripped backward by strong hands and cradled against a strong chest, but she didn't stop watching the witch burn until her ashes floated up into the air like snow.

There were people around her, talking…what were they saying?

She looked up into Callum's eyes. He didn't have clothes on. Strong man, covered in scars, but no blood. Immortal werewolf, rocking her like a baby…like she was fragile, but she wasn't fragile. She was Stacia, reincarnation of Iris, of the Wulfebound bloodline. She knew exactly why this town had been calling her to it all this time. This was her place, these were her woods, and this was her mate. Even if this moment right here was all she got, it had all been worth it.

"It's going to be okay now," she whispered.