The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
She lay on one of the middle cots, boots still on, hair wild around her face like a dark halo. Mud streaked her cheeks. Her clothes—plain wool tunic, worn leather trousers—were torn at the knees. Her hands were bloody in a way that suggested not all of it was hers.
Her eyes were open.
That was the part Lira didn’t like.
They stared at the ceiling, unblinking, irises a washed-out gray that didn’t belong to any wolf she’d met. They flicked to the side when Lira, Bram, and Mara approached, but the rest of her body didn’t move.
Idris hovered at the foot of the bed, looking harried. “Patrol brought her in ten minutes ago,” he said. “Found her just inside the north border, near the old watch tree. No pack scent. No rogue. Nothing.”
“Nothing is something,” Mara muttered. She ran a hand over the girl’s arm, feeling for heat. “Fever.”
“Her magic?” Lira asked.
“Muted,” Idris said. “Like it’s… under a blanket.”
Lira stepped closer. Bram hung back a pace, his wolf at a low, wary alert inside him.
“Name?” Lira asked.
“Didn’t say,” Idris said. “Just… stared.”
“Girl,” Mara snapped. “What’s your name?”
The girl’s lips parted. Her voice came out rough, like it hadn’t been used in days. “Tansy,” she whispered.
“Pack?” Mara pressed.
“No pack,” the girl said. “Not anymore.”
Lira’s stomach twisted. Loners were rare, especially so young. Packs clung to their own, even when they broke. If this girl had truly been cast out or had fled…
“Who did you run from?” Bram asked, stepping closer despite his earlier reluctance.
Tansy’s gaze flicked to him. Recognition sparked, faint. “You,” she breathed. “You’re… the one with teeth.”
Bram blinked. “Accurate?”
Mara snorted.
Lira’s fingers tingled. The hair on her arms rose.
The air around the girl felt… wrong.
Not like the surge-knot in Bram. Not exactly. That had been a focused snake of wild magic. This was… thinner. Like mist. A fine dusting of something off that settled on the skin.
“Do you… feel it?” she murmured to Bram.
He inhaled. His wolf pressed his senses outward.
“Like… cobwebs,” he said. “On my teeth.”
Charming.
Lira reached out, but didn’t touch yet. “Tansy,” she said gently. “Where were you before the ridge?”
The girl’s gaze slid away, unfocused. “Trees,” she whispered. “Rocks. A river. They… stopped talking.”
“Who?” Lira asked.
“The trees,” Tansy said. “The rocks. The… hum. It… went quiet.” Her lips trembled. “I ran. But the quiet followed.”
Lira’s heart pounded. “You’re… shifter?” she asked. “Wolf?”
“Yes,” Tansy said dully. “Was. Maybe.”
“When did you last… shift?” Bram asked.
Tansy’s fingers twitched. “Full moon,” she said. “Before the red. Before the… crack.”
Lira’s vision blurred for a second. “Where,” she asked. “Where were you when it… cracked?”
Tansy’s eyes rolled, whites showing. Her hands clawed at the blanket. “Stone,” she whispered. “Big. Old. We… danced. Howled. Blood on the rock.” Her voice dropped. “He… said it would make us stronger. Closer to the old ways. He lied.”
“Who?” Bram’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.
“Our alpha,” Tansy said. “Rill. He… found the stone in the ravine. Said the hum was… power. We… cut our palms. Bled on it. Shifted. It…” Her throat worked. “It… drank.”
Lira’s stomach turned. “Rogue pack,” she murmured.
Mara’s jaw clenched. “Fools,” she said. “Playing at rituals they don’t understand.”
Tansy’s eyes snapped back to Lira. “You know,” she said. “You feel it.” Her nostrils flared. “You smell like… burned.”
Lira couldn’t deny it. Her emptiness hummed, prickling like a healing wound near a fire.
“I’ve… been near it,” Lira said. “Too near.”
Tansy’s breath hitched. “Did it… take your wolf?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Lira said.
Relief flickered in Tansy’s gaze. “Not just me,” she said.
“No,” Lira said. “Not just you.”
The girl sagged back, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. Tears tracked down into her hairline. “Good,” she breathed. “I didn’t want to be… the only one.”
Lira’s throat tightened. “You’re not,” she said. “You’re… early. But not… alone.”
“His eyes…” Tansy murmured, gaze drifting to Bram again. “Your beta. They… saw me. On the ridge. Before I was… me.”
Bram frowned. “I’ve never—”
“Dreamed,” Lira cut in softly.
He blinked. “You think—”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But… the surge… *links.* Stones. Wolves. Sites. If her alpha played with one…”
“It might have touched the same web that hit us,” Mara finished grimly.
Tansy’s fingers convulsed. “It… *followed* the cuts,” she whispered. “Into our blood. Into our wolves. Some… howled. Some… laughed. Some…” Her voice broke. “Their skin… didn’t fit.”
Lira’s hands shook. Images flashed—wolves half-shifted, eyes rolled back, jaws stretched too wide. The smell of burned fur.
“Breathe,” Bram murmured.
She realized he’d moved close enough that his shoulder almost brushed hers. The heat of him grounded her.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Liar,” Mara muttered. “Focus, both of you. Girl’s not going to wait while you wallow.”
Lira scrubbed a hand over her face. “Right.” She took a breath. “Tansy. When you ran… did *it* follow? Or did the… quiet… stay at the stone?”
“It… rides,” Tansy said, eyes darting. “On scars. On… regrets.” Her gaze latched onto Bram’s scar with unnerving intensity. “On… *that.*”
Bram stilled. His wolf snarled, low.
“Easy,” Lira murmured, more to him than the girl.
Tansy flinched. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Didn’t mean to… bite.”
“You didn’t,” Bram said roughly. “We did that ourselves.”
Lira reached out slowly, giving Tansy plenty of time to see the movement. “I’m going to… touch your arm,” she said. “Feel… what’s riding you. All right?”
Tansy’s lips pressed together. She hesitated. Then nodded once, sharp.
Lira’s fingers closed gently around the girl’s wrist.
Cold.
Not physical. The skin was warm, fevered. But under that—something thin and sharp, like a blade of ice pressed against sinew.
It slid against her emptiness, testing. Curious.
Not as strong as the knot in Bram. Not as… purposeful. This was a residue. A smear from the same hand that had drawn their lines.
She could follow it. If she let herself.
She breathed carefully. “It’s… in her,” she murmured. “But not… deep. Yet. More… dust than stone.”
“Can you… clear it?” Mara asked.
“Maybe,” Lira said. “But if I do… it’ll know.” Her grip tightened. “It’ll know I’m here.”
“It already does,” Bram said quietly. “It’s met you. Twice.”
“Three times,” she corrected. “Ridge. Bram. Tansy. It’s… weaving.”
“Then we pull its threads,” Mara said. “Before it knots.”
Lira swallowed. The thought of letting more of that wild magic scrape against her emptiness made her stomach roll. But Tansy’s eyes… those washed-out irises… they’d haunt her if she did nothing.
“Idris,” she said. “Sedative. Light. I don’t want her thrashing if this… hurts.”
Idris leapt to obey, hands moving with practiced speed. He drew a small dose of tincture and slipped it under Tansy’s tongue. The girl swallowed reflexively, grimacing at the taste.
“This will make you… floaty,” Lira said. “You might… dream. Listen… if you can. I’ll… try to keep the nightmares away.”
Tansy’s gaze sharpened, just for a heartbeat. “You… sound like my ma,” she said. “Before she… stopped singing.”
“Hold onto that,” Lira said. “Her voice. Not mine.”
“Okay,” Tansy whispered. Her lashes fluttered. Her muscles loosened.
Lira let the sedative take hold, watching the line of the girl’s jaw, the rise and fall of her chest.
Then she closed her eyes.
The emptiness inside her stirred.
She’d never gone looking for the surge. It had always found *her.* This time, she reached—carefully. Gently. Tracing the thin sheen of wrongness that coated Tansy’s magic.
It clung like dew. Beads along a spiderweb.
At each contact point—old scar, recent cut, the place where bone met bone—there was a tiny, sharp sting. Like getting pricked with a hundred needles.
She gritted her teeth.
“Lira.” Bram’s voice was close. Grounding. “Breathe.”
She did. In. Out. Slow. She followed the strands.
They led outward. Not just into Tansy. Into the world.
Into the north.
She saw it—not with eyes. With… sense. A web of thin, shimmering lines, crisscrossing the land. Anchored at old stones, battlefields, sacred groves. Thornfell. Ashridge. The ravine Tansy had mentioned.
The knot she’d pulled from Bram had been one of the nodes. A clot in the web. Tansy’s residue was… overspray.
Careful, she thought. Careful.
She plucked.
Gently. The way you might tease a thorn from flesh without tearing the skin.
The surge-residue quivered. Clung. Then… slid.
Into her.
It stung. Less than Bram’s knot. More than a simple cut. Her emptiness hissed.
She imagined cupping it in both hands.
Not letting it run. Not letting it surge.
Just… holding.
The web vibrated.
Something… *noticed.*
“Lira,” Mara’s voice said. Sharper. Closer. “Enough.”
She let go.
The thread snapped.
The residue she’d taken flared—bright, hot, brief. Then… guttered.
Gone.
She opened her eyes on a gasp.
Her knees ached. She realized she’d sunk to the floor at some point, still gripping Tansy’s wrist.
Bram knelt beside her, one hand hovering near her shoulder. Not touching. Waiting.
Mara loomed over them, eyes sharp. “Well?” she demanded.
“It’s… out,” Lira croaked. “For now. What’s left is… her. Fever. Fear. No… surge.”
Tansy’s breathing had evened. Her face, still pale, had lost some of the strained tightness. Her eyes were closed, lashes resting against her cheek.
“She’ll sleep,” Lira said. “Maybe dream. But it’ll be… hers. Not… *its.*”
Idris let out a breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You did it,” he breathed.
“For now,” she said again. “The web is still… there. I tugged a thread. It… twanged.”
“Did it… lead anywhere?” Bram asked, voice low.
“Yes,” she said. “North. To the ravine. And further. The same… flavor… touched Thornfell’s stones. And yours.”
Mara’s mouth thinned. “We’ll have to go,” she said. “Not yet,” she added quickly when Bram opened his mouth. “You’re not fit to chase shadows. But soon.”
He scowled. Didn’t argue. Progress.
Lira’s emptiness roiled, fatigued. Drained. Her hands shook.
Bram’s hand finally settled on her shoulder.
Heat. Pressure. A steady presence pressed against the hollow.
His wolf reached—just enough to brace.
She shuddered.
“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re doing that thing again. Leaving.”
“I’m not—” she began.
“You are,” he insisted. “Your eyes go… wrong. Like you’re not… here. Stay. With me.”
The words snagged.
With me.
Her vision refocused. On his face. Too close. On his eyes. Too intense.
On the stubborn curve of his mouth.
She swallowed. “I’m here,” she said.
“Good,” he said quietly. “I like you… here.”
Her cheeks burned.
Mara cleared her throat. “If you two are done making puppy eyes over near-death experiences,” she said, “we have a girl to monitor and a pack to inform that the north ridge is off-limits.”
Bram pulled his hand back. Lira’s skin felt cold in its absence.
“Right,” he muttered.
Lira forced her legs under her. They held. Barely.
“We should check the old watch tree,” she said. “Where they found her. See if there’s… residue. Or if the web is… thicker there.”
Bram nodded. “When Corin lets us,” he said. “And Mara stops glaring.”
Mara glared harder. “When Lira’s slept,” she snapped. “You drain yourself to bone and then go wandering around nodes of wild magic, I *will* bash your heads together.”
“Understood,” Lira said quickly.
Bram pressed his lips together to hide a smile. “Yes, Mara.”
“Good pups,” Mara said. “Idris, sit with Tansy. If she twitches in a way you don’t like, shout. Garron!” she bellowed toward the door.
He appeared, slightly out of breath. “You rang?”
“Tell Corin we have a stray from a rogue ritual pack dripping magic on our doorstep,” she said. “And that if he sends any pups to the north ridge ‘just to see,’ I’ll remove his favorite limb.”
Garron blinked. “Which…?”
“His tongue,” she said. “Obviously.”
He grinned. “On it.” He spared Lira a quick nod. “You good?”
“No,” she said. “But I will be.”
He studied her a moment longer, then went.
As the curtain fell behind him, Lira exhaled slowly.
Her hands still trembled.
“Sit,” Bram said.
“You’re not my alpha,” she said, reflexive.
“No,” he said. “I’m the idiot who almost tore his wolf in half. I know what you look like before *that* happens. Sit.”
She sat.
Mara’s lips curved. “Progress,” she muttered.
***
Night came again, heavy and thick. The air in the infirmary hummed, restless.
Tansy slept, breathing shallow but steady. The fever held. It would break. Or it wouldn’t. Lira could nudge. She couldn’t force.
She checked the girl every hour.
Between, she walked the line between the beds, fingers brushing linens, shoulders, occasionally bare skin, always searching for that telltale scrape of wrong magic.
She found none.
Her emptiness, though, ached.
“I told you,” Mara said, catching her eye on the third pass. “Rest.”
“If I rest, I’ll dream,” Lira said. “Of stones. And teeth. And red moons.”
“Better than waking up to them,” Mara said. “Trust an old woman. Sleep when you can. You don’t know when the next quiet comes.”
Lira wanted to argue. Her legs, however, decided for her, buckling slightly.
Bram’s hand at her elbow steadied her.
She hadn’t heard him come up behind her.
“You’re stalking,” she said.
“I’m… walking,” he said. “With intent.”
“With a limp,” she said.
“Details,” he said.
She smiled despite herself.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll watch Tansy. Idris can poke me if anything… hums.”
“You’ll push yourself,” she said. “You’re as bad as I am.”
“Probably worse,” he admitted. “But I’m… less… empty. I can take a watch.”
She studied his face. The tightness around his eyes. The way his jaw worked when he shifted his weight.
He was right. He was less emptied. For now.
“All right,” she said, surprising herself. “Wake me if… anything.”
“Everything is ‘anything’ these days,” he said. “You’ll never sleep if we do that.”
“Hum,” she said. “Wake me if anything… *hums.*”
“Yes, healer,” he said.
The title, from his mouth, felt… different. Not mocking. Not dismissive. Almost… reverent.
She fled before she could read too much into it.
The small cot in the corner had become hers by default. She lay down fully clothed, pulling the thin blanket over her shoulders. The murmur of the infirmary—soft voices, crackling fire, an occasional moan—lulled her.
Exhaustion outweighed fear.
Sleep came, dragging her under.
***
She didn’t dream of blood moons.
She dreamed of water.
She stood in a wide, clear river, stones under her bare feet slick with moss. The current tugged at her calves, cool and insistent. Trees arched overhead, their leaves more vibrant than any she’d seen in years—deep green, shot through with veins of silver. The air smelled… clean.
Her wolf stood on the bank.
Smaller than Bram’s. Brown. White chest patch. Eyes bright.
She watched Lira with her head cocked.
“You’re late,” the wolf said. Not with words. With… feeling.
“I got lost,” Lira said.
The wolf snorted. *You always do.*
“Can you… come in?” Lira asked, reaching a hand toward her.
The wolf eyed the water. *Cold,* she said. *Fast.*
“Yes,” Lira said. “But… clean.”
The wolf stepped back. *Not ready,* she said. *Still… burned.*
Pain lanced through Lira. “Will you ever be?” she whispered.
Silence.
Then, from the trees, another presence.
Heavy. Dark. Familiar.
Bram’s wolf stepped into the clearing. He moved to the water’s edge, paws sinking into damp earth. His eyes met Lira’s. Then shifted to her wolf.
He huffed.
*Coward,* he told the brown wolf.
She bristled. *You let teeth mark your face,* she shot back. *You have no room to talk.*
He bared his throat, just a little. The jagged line of his scar gleamed. *Still here,* he said. *Still run. Come.*
He stepped into the river.
Water surged around his legs, dark fur rippling. He moved steadily, muscles bunching, current pulling but not knocking him down.
Lira’s wolf watched, ears pricked.
*See?* he rumbled. *Cold. Fast. Not teeth.*
She looked at Lira.
Lira’s heart hammered. “Please,” she whispered. “Just… one paw.”
The wolf edged forward.
One paw dipped into the water.
She yelped, hopping back, shaking it theatrically. *Cold!* she cried.
Bram’s wolf huffed. Laughed.
Lira laughed too, tears on her cheeks.
It was ridiculous. It was nothing. It was everything.
Her wolf eyed the water again.
Slowly.
Gingerly.
She stepped in.
One step. Two. Three.
The current wrapped around her legs. Her fur darkened. She squealed—then barked, surprised. Paddled. Hopped. Splashed.
Bram’s wolf grinned, teeth white.
Lira waded in, breath catching at the shock.
The cold bit. The stones under her feet were slippery.
Bram’s wolf brushed against her, steadying. Warm despite the water.
Her wolf darted between them, splashing, shaking, biting at spray.
The river hummed.
Not wrong. Not screaming. Just… alive.
Lira tipped her head back. For a heartbeat, she felt—
Whole.
Wolves at her sides. Magic in the world. Not tearing. Not burning.
Just… there.
Then the water turned red.
It happened between one breath and the next. Clear current to crimson flood. The hum warped into a roar. The stones underfoot crumbled.
Her wolf yelped. Bram’s wolf snarled.
The surge rose.
She woke choking.
Her mouth was full of copper. Her hands were clenched in the blanket so hard her nails had broken skin. Her chest heaved.
The infirmary rushed back. Firelight. Herb-scent. The soft sound of Idris snoring. Tansy’s restless sigh.
And Bram.
He sat on the stool beside her cot, elbow on his knee, chin in his hand. His eyes snapped to her as she jerked upright.
“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Easy.”
She gasped, wiping at her mouth. Her fingers came away smeared with blood. Fuck.
“You bit your tongue,” he said, reaching for a cloth.
“Dream,” she croaked.
“I figured,” he said. “You were… talking.”
She flushed. “What… did I say?”
He hesitated. “River,” he said. “Cold. Teeth. Coward.” His mouth quirked. “You called your wolf a coward.”
She groaned, covering her face. “Of course I did.”
“And you laughed,” he said softly. “In the middle of it. Sounded… good. On you.”
Her breath hitched. “It didn’t… end well,” she said.
“None of ours do,” he said. “But you… got there. To a… better part. That’s something.”
She dropped her hands. “Did you… dream it too?” she asked.
He frowned. “No,” he said. “I dreamed… stone. Again. Cracks. But… quieter.” He tilted his head. “You smell like river, though.”
She snorted. “I haven’t touched water in hours,” she said.
“Not *that* water,” he said. “The… hum. Clean. For a bit.”
Her emptiness still buzzed faintly. The echo of the river lingered.
“Maybe we… shared a piece,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said.
Silence settled. Heavy. Not uncomfortable.
His gaze flicked to the blood drying at the corner of her mouth. “You… hurt yourself,” he said. “Dreaming.”
“Better than hurting someone else,” she said.
“Is it?” he asked. “You say that like hurting yourself is… fine.”
“It’s… familiar,” she said.
He scowled. “I don’t like it,” he said.
“Noted,” she said.
“Do you… ever do something *you* want?” he asked abruptly. “Not because you’re needed. Or useful. Or ‘familiar.’ Just… because.”
The question stopped her cold.
“I…” She searched her memories. “Read,” she said weakly. “Old healer letters. Stories.”
“For *you,*” he pressed. “Not for ‘learning.’ For… joy.”
“Reading is joy,” she protested.
He huffed. “Nerd.”
“You don’t even know what that means,” she said.
“I can tell it’s an insult,” he said. “So I accept it.” He leaned back a little. “When this is… less on fire,” he said, gesturing vaguely around them, “I’m going to drag you to the high ridge at dawn. Just to watch the sun hit the mountains.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because it’s… beautiful,” he said. “And you deserve something beautiful that isn’t… laced with trauma.”
Her throat tightened. “You assume I’ll still be here,” she said.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She looked away. “Thornfell expects me back,” she said.
“Does *Lira* expect to go back?” he asked.
She stared at the wall. At the faint cracks in the plaster. “I… don’t know,” she whispered.
“That’s an answer,” he said.
“Clear as mud,” she said.
“Mud washes off,” he said. “Scars don’t.”
She looked at his face. At the crooked line that had become part of him.
“Sometimes they… make things… stronger,” she said.
“Sometimes,” he agreed.
He stood, stretching carefully. His ribs protested with a sharp flare of pain. He swallowed it.
“You should try sleeping again,” he said. “Without biting yourself this time.”
“I don’t… know if I can,” she admitted.
He hesitated. Then, slowly, he reached for the blanket edge.
“Move,” he said.
She stiffened. “What?”
“I’m sitting,” he said. “Here.” He pulled the stool closer, then, with care, sat on the edge of her cot, boots planted on the floor. He leaned back against the wall, shoulder just touching the thin mattress. “You sleep. I’ll… be here.”
Her pulse thudded. “That’s… not… necessary,” she stammered.
“Probably not,” he said. “But it might… help.”
She searched his face. He was tired. Pain etched lines around his mouth. His eyes, though, were steady.
“Are you… offering to be my… guard dog?” she asked, trying for levity.
“Guard wolf,” he corrected. “Higher maintenance. Better teeth.”
She snorted. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I am,” he said.
She hesitated. Then eased back down, turning to face the wall. His thigh pressed lightly against her hip through the blanket. Warm. Solid.
His scent—woodsmoke, pine, something uniquely him—wrapped around her.
Her emptiness hummed. Not with surge. With… presence.
“Sleep,” he said softly.
She did.
This time, the river stayed clear.
---