Page 88 of Full Moon
Chapter 39
Diaval
Something isn't right.
I feel a nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach, a whisper from my dragon that we're missing something crucial—something that could get us all killed if we don't figure it out soon.
"Do you see them yet?" I ask Easton, my voice tinged with unease as I turn over the thoughts that have me pacing the balcony like a caged beast.
"The wolves just left with the horses and sleds," Easton replies, his gaze fixed on the distant tree line where the snow-covered peaks rise against the pale morning sky. "By the sound of Feray's howl, they did well—five kills, if I counted right." He turns slowly to look at me, his golden eyes searching my face with the perception of someone who has known me for centuries. "I know that look. What's your dragon telling you?"
I shift my weight to lean against the wooden rail, my eyes sweeping over the vast expanse of the pack lands as I try to articulate the dread coiling in my chest. The rising sun castslong shadows across the landscape, painting the rolling hills in deceptive hues of amber and gold—beautiful, but hiding who knows what beneath that pristine white surface.
"We're missing something important," I say finally, watching my breath mist in the cold air. "We never found the beast that killed Feray's parents. Their bodies were torn apart by something massive, something with claws and teeth that shouldn't exist. And that something is still out there." I tilt my head, catching Easton's grim nod from the corner of my eye.
"Plus, if she's being magically tracked—if whoever poisoned her as a child knows she's still alive and exactly where she is..." I let the sentence trail off, unwilling to speak the possibility into existence. Some superstitions persist even after nine hundred years.
"I understand that," Easton murmurs, his voice taking on a wistful quality as he stares toward the horizon where our mate is returning victorious from her first hunt. "It's nice seeing her so happy and free for once. Things she thought were odd quirks—the way the cold never bothered her, the way she could hear things no one else could—they're perfectly normal here. She finally sees that she was never broken." His words carry the weight of someone who has watched her struggle, who has felt her pain through the bond and been helpless to ease it.
"As much as it isn't ideal for the three of us up here," he continues, "her happiness makes it worth it." A small smile crosses his face before he turns back to the horizon. "I'd freeze for a thousand years if it meant she could smile like she did this morning."
"We can travel back and forth like she suggested," I offer, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over me like a familiar cloak."As much as it's uncomfortable to carry everyone, I will make that sacrifice as needed." My dragon protests in my mind, a low growl of discontent at the thought of allowing anyone other than our mate to ride on his back.They are not prey,I remind him.They are pack.He grumbles but subsides.
The howls erupt without warning.
They slice through the peaceful morning air like blades, carrying the sharp edge of terror that makes my blood run cold. The wolves' voices rise in a frantic cacophony—not the triumphant song of hunters returning with their kills, but desperate warnings to the rest of the pack.
Run. Hide. Death is coming.
We watch in horror as the villagers scramble into their houses, their instincts driving them to shelter with a speed born of ancient fear. Mothers snatch children from the streets. Elders move faster than their bodies should allow. Doors slam. Shutters close. Within seconds, the thriving village has become a ghost town. My heart races, adrenaline flooding my system as I dig deep within myself, reaching out through the bond to find Feray.
She's there—alive, whole—but what I feel from her makes my scales itch beneath my skin. There's a cool, deadly calm about her that cuts through the chaos like ice through flesh. Not fear. Not panic. Something far more dangerous. She hasn't howled yet. I'd recognize the unique timbre of her wolf's voice anywhere—that haunting sound that echoes off mountains and triggers avalanches with its power. She's waiting. Watching. Calculating.
"What's happening?" Easton's voice cracks, thick with fear, as he watches the locals sprinting for cover like rabbits fleeing a hawk's shadow.
One of the aides bursts onto the balcony, breathless and wide-eyed, her face pale as the snow below. "They're under attack," she gasps, gripping the doorframe to keep from collapsing. "An undead polar bear—a wendigo—and yeti. Six of them at least, running with the creature like a hunting pack." My eyes snap from the aide to Easton, our gazes locking in a silent agreement that needs no words after centuries of fighting side by side.
Then I launch myself over the railing. The ground rushes up to meet me as I shift mid-fall, my dragon exploding from my human form in a cascade of black scales and spreading wings. I can't afford to take any chances—not when it comes to Feray. Not when whatever killed her parents might finally be showing its face.
As I catch the wind beneath my wings and climb into the sky, I catch sight of horse-drawn sleds racing away from the hunt site, the whites of the horses' eyes stark with terror against their dark faces. They've abandoned the moose carcasses, abandoned everything, fleeing from something that frightens them more than any predator they've ever known.
I let out a roar that reverberates off the mountains like thunder, triggering several small avalanches in its wake. Let whatever's hunting my mate hear that sound and know that death is coming for it too. Through the bond, Feray remains calm but simmering with cold fury—and I take comfort in that. Anger is good. Anger means she's thinking. Anger means she's fighting. Anger is better than dead.
As we crest the horizon, I see what has driven the wolves into hiding, and my dragon's rage burns white-hot in my chest.
Six yeti lumber across the snow, their massive white forms almost invisible against the frozen landscape until they move. Each one stands nearly twelve feet tall, with arms like tree trunks and claws that could disembowel a bear with a single swipe. Their mouths hang open, revealing yellow teeth as long as my human hand, and their eyes—their eyes are wrong. Glazed. Empty. The eyes of puppets whose strings are being pulled by someone far away.
But it's the creature leading them that freezes the fire in my veins. A polar bear wendigo. I've seen wendigos before—twisted mockeries of what they once were, humans and shifters corrupted by dark magic and desperate hunger until nothing remains but an endless appetite for flesh. But this... this is something else entirely.
The creature stands fifteen feet at the shoulder, its once-white fur matted with old blood and newer gore. Patches of rotting flesh show through where the fur has fallen away, revealing muscle and bone that should have crumbled to dust centuries ago. Its eyes burn with a sickly green light, and around its neck?—
Metal collars with glowing stones encircle all their necks, pulsing with magic I can feel even from this height. Control collars. Someone isn't just sending monsters after Feray. Someone iscommandingthem.
Remove the collars,I shout through the bond to Easton and Feray, my urgency sharp and desperate.That's how they're being controlled. Destroy the collars and they might?—
We have bigger problems.Feray's mental voice cuts through mine, cool and composed despite the horror she's facing.Khal's stone gaze has no effect on them. They're already dead—there's nothing left to petrify.
My blood runs cold at her words.
