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title: "Chapter 18" wordCount: 2954

Chapter 18

The speaking wolf's mouth moves like a human's, lips forming words around teeth that should only know how to tear.

"Brother." The word grinds out again, stone on stone.

Matthias scrambles backward, still human, still naked from his shift. "I am not your brother. I am not—"

"You ran." The massive wolf takes a step forward. Its eyes are completely black, no white, no iris. Just darkness that seems to swallow light. "You left us. You left him."

Around us, the other black-eyed wolves circle. Five of them. Six. More pouring through the shattered windows of the Conclave building. Their movements are wrong—too fluid, too synchronized, like they're all controlled by the same mind.

I should run. Should shift and get the hell out of here because this isn't my fight, not my circus, and Matthias might not even be the wolf who killed my mother which means I just attacked Declan for nothing, violated Conclave law for nothing, and—

Declan.

The mate bond pulls tight in my chest, a fishing line hooked through my sternum. He's still upstairs. Still bleeding from where I tore into him.

Still protecting me even after I tried to kill him.

"Sloane." Matthias's voice cuts through my spiral. "You need to run. Now. These are not—they are not natural. They are—"

"Corrupted." The speaking wolf's head tilts, studying me with those void eyes. "Like you will be, little alpha. When we bring you to him. When he makes you better."

Yeah, no.

I shift. Let the wolf take over because she doesn't care about guilt or confusion or the fact that everything I thought I knew is falling apart. She only knows threat and pack and the male upstairs who smells like mine even though I don't want him to be.

The speaking wolf lunges.

I meet it mid-air, and the impact sends us both crashing into the marble floor hard enough to crack stone. Its jaws snap for my throat but I twist, rake claws down its side, and—

Nothing. No blood. No wound. Just black smoke that pours from the gashes and reforms instantly.

"You cannot kill what is already dead," it says, and slams me into a pillar.

Pain explodes through my ribs. The wolf in me yelps, wants to submit, but I force her down and lunge again because submission means death and I've died enough times already.

Matthias shifts. His wolf is smaller than the corrupted ones, gray and lean where they're massive and wrong. He goes for the speaking wolf's throat, gets a mouthful of shadow and smoke, and the thing just laughs—actually laughs—before throwing him across the room.

"Weak," it says. "Just like before. Just like when you begged us not to—"

Declan hits it from above.

He must have jumped from the second floor, must have shifted mid-fall because he lands on the speaking wolf's back in full alpha form, all black fur and fury, and his jaws close around its neck with enough force to decapitate a normal wolf.

The speaking wolf's head lolls to the side, hanging by threads of shadow.

Then it reaches back, grabs Declan by the scruff, and throws him into me.

We go down in a tangle of fur and limbs. His blood—still bleeding from where I attacked him—smears across my coat. The mate bond screams at me to protect him, to stand between him and the threat, and I hate it, hate that it still works after what I did, hate that some part of me wants to listen.

"Touching." The speaking wolf's head snaps back into place with a wet crack. "The alpha and his broken mate. He told us about you, little Sloane. Told us how you watched your pack die. How you hid while they screamed."

I freeze.

"How you did nothing while your mother begged for mercy."

The wolf in me howls. Not in challenge. In grief.

Declan shifts back to human, puts himself between me and the corrupted wolf even though he's bleeding, even though I'm the reason he's hurt. "That is not the whole truth," he says, and his voice is steady despite the blood running down his chest. "And you know it."

"Do I?" The speaking wolf circles us, and the others move with it, a synchronized dance of predators. "Or do you simply tell yourself pretty lies to make the bond bearable? She attacked you, Declan Thorne. Violated Conclave law. Tried to kill you. And yet you still protect her."

"Yes."

Just that. Just yes. No explanation, no justification. Like it's the simplest thing in the world.

Something in my chest cracks.

"Pathetic." The speaking wolf's attention shifts to Matthias, who's pulled himself up against the far wall. "And you. Running for three years. Hiding. Pretending you are not what he made you."

"I am not like you." Matthias's voice shakes. "I left. I chose—"

"You chose nothing. You are his, just as we are his. Just as she will be when we deliver her."

"Who?" I force the word out, half-growl, half-human. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

The speaking wolf's mouth stretches into something that might be a smile if smiles were made of nightmares. "The one who waits. The one who makes us whole. The one who will—"

Garrett Voss walks through the front door like he's entering a board meeting.

"Gentlemen," he says, and his voice is perfectly calm despite the chaos, the blood, the impossible wolves made of shadow and smoke. "And lady. I believe we need to have a conversation about property rights."

The corrupted wolves turn as one to face him.

He doesn't flinch. Just adjusts his cufflinks—actual cufflinks, because apparently the apocalypse isn't reason enough to dress casually—and smiles that corporate shark smile. "You are on Conclave territory. Uninvited. Attacking Conclave members. I am afraid I cannot allow that to continue."

"You cannot stop us," the speaking wolf says.

"Perhaps not." Garrett's smile widens. "But I can make it expensive. And I do so hate waste."

He raises one hand.

The air pressure changes. Drops so fast my ears pop. The corrupted wolves stumble, their synchronized movements suddenly jerky, uncoordinated.

"You see," Garrett continues, still in that pleasant boardroom voice, "I have been studying your kind for quite some time. Ever since the first reports of black-eyed wolves began surfacing three years ago. Fascinating creatures. Not quite alive, not quite dead. Bound to a master through blood magic so old it predates the Conclave itself."

The speaking wolf snarls. "You know nothing of—"

"I know that you require a tether. An anchor to this plane. And I know that your master—whoever he is—cannot maintain that tether if I disrupt the frequency." Garrett's hand clenches into a fist. "So here is my offer. Leave now, and I will allow you to retreat with your existence intact. Stay, and I will sever your connection and watch you dissolve into the nothing you truly are."

For a long moment, nobody moves.

Then the speaking wolf laughs, and the sound is wrong enough to make my teeth ache. "You think you have power here, Councilman? You think your parlor tricks frighten us?"

"No," Garrett says. "But I think your master values you enough not to waste you on a fight you cannot win. Not when there are easier ways to acquire what he wants."

His eyes flick to me.

Everything goes cold.

"You are offering a trade," the speaking wolf says slowly.

"I am offering a business arrangement. You want Sloane Carrigan. I want certain assurances regarding Conclave autonomy and territorial rights. I am certain we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement."

Declan moves before I can process what's happening, shifting mid-step, putting himself between me and Garrett with a snarl that makes the marble floor vibrate.

"Stand down, Declan," Garrett says, and there's steel under the pleasant tone now. "You are already in violation of Conclave law by harboring a criminal. Do not compound your errors."

"She is my mate."

"She is a murderer who attacked you without provocation. The law is clear."

"The law is also clear about selling pack members to hostile forces," Declan says, and even in wolf form his voice carries that formal, measured quality. "That would be treason, Garrett. Even you cannot survive that charge."

"Treason requires proof. And I see no witnesses here who would testify against me." Garrett's smile never wavers. "Only a broken alpha, a fugitive, and a criminal who has already demonstrated her instability."

Matthias pushes himself upright, still human, still bleeding from where the corrupted wolf threw him. "I will testify. I will tell the Conclave everything. About these creatures. About what they are. About—"

"About how you are one of them?" Garrett's eyebrows rise. "Yes, I thought you might be. The scar is new, but the taint is not. You were made by the same master, were you not? Which makes your testimony rather suspect."

"I am not—I left. I chose—"

"You chose to run. To hide. To pretend you are something you are not." Garrett's attention shifts back to the speaking wolf. "So. Do we have an arrangement?"

The speaking wolf's void eyes study me, and I can feel its gaze like ice water down my spine, like it's looking through me to something deeper, something I don't want it to see.

"No," it says finally. "We do not negotiate with those who do not understand what they offer. She is not yours to trade, Councilman. She is already his. Has been since the night her pack died. Since the moment she survived when she should have perished with the rest."

My heart stops.

"What?"

"Did you never wonder why you lived, little alpha? Why you alone were spared when every other member of your pack was slaughtered?" The speaking wolf takes a step closer, and Declan's growl deepens but it doesn't stop. "You were marked that night. Chosen. The wolf who killed your mother—the real wolf, not this innocent you tried to murder—he left you alive for a reason."

"You are lying."

"Am I? Then why can you not remember his face? Why does the memory slip away every time you try to hold it? Why do you dream of him every night and wake up with his scent in your lungs?"

I do dream of him. Every night. The wolf with the scarred muzzle, standing over my mother's body, and I can never quite see his face, never quite remember the details, and I always wake up gasping like I've been drowning.

"He put a piece of himself in you that night," the speaking wolf continues, and its voice is almost gentle now, almost kind. "A seed. Waiting to grow. Waiting for the right moment to bloom. And when it does, when you finally become what you were always meant to be, you will understand. You will thank him."

"No." The word comes out broken. "No, I am not—I will not—"

"You already are." The speaking wolf's head tilts. "Why do you think the mate bond feels wrong? Why do you think you attacked your alpha without reason? The seed is growing, little Sloane. Soon it will consume you. Soon you will be like us. Like him."

It gestures to Matthias.

"Like your brother."

The world tilts.

"What?"

But I know. Even before Matthias's face goes white, even before he starts shaking his head in denial, I know. The way he moves. The way he smells under the fear and blood. The way my wolf recognized him on some level I refused to acknowledge.

"No," Matthias whispers. "No, she is not—we are not—"

"Half-siblings," the speaking wolf says. "Same father. Different mothers. He made you both. Made you special. Made you his."

I shift back to human without meaning to, and the cold marble floor bites into my bare skin but I barely feel it because everything is spinning, everything is wrong, everything is—

"Sloane." Declan's voice, still in wolf form, still steady despite everything. "Breathe."

I cannot breathe. Cannot think. Cannot—

The speaking wolf lunges.

Not at me. At Matthias.

It moves faster than anything should move, crosses the distance in a heartbeat, and its jaws close around Matthias's throat before anyone can react.

"No!" I am moving before I decide to move, shifting mid-step, and I hit the speaking wolf hard enough to break bones but it does not let go, does not stop, just keeps tearing and tearing and—

Matthias's eyes meet mine.

"Run," he mouths, and then the speaking wolf rips his throat out.

Blood everywhere. Too much blood. Matthias collapses, human again, and the light in his eyes—my brother's eyes, oh god, my brother—starts to fade.

The speaking wolf drops him. Turns to me. Its muzzle is red with blood that looks black in the dim light.

"He was weak," it says. "But you will be strong. When you come to us. When you stop fighting what you are."

Declan hits it from the side, all fury and teeth, and this time when his jaws close around its neck something gives. The speaking wolf screams—actually screams—and black smoke pours from the wound, more and more, until the entire lobby is filled with it.

The other corrupted wolves howl in unison. The sound makes my bones vibrate, makes my teeth ache, makes something deep in my chest respond in a way that terrifies me.

"We will return," the speaking wolf says, even as its body starts to dissolve. "We will always return. You cannot run from what you are, Sloane Carrigan. You cannot hide from him. He is already inside you. Has been since the beginning."

Then it's gone. Just smoke and shadow and the lingering smell of rot.

The other corrupted wolves follow, dissolving one by one until only their howls remain, echoing through the shattered building.

Silence.

I shift back to human. Crawl to where Matthias lies in a spreading pool of blood. His chest still rises and falls, barely, and his eyes find mine.

"Not your fault," he whispers. "Never your fault. He made us. Made us wrong. But you can still—you can still choose—"

"Choose what?" My voice breaks. "Choose what?"

But he is already gone. Eyes open, staring at nothing, and the blood keeps spreading, keeps pooling, and I cannot look away because he is my brother, was my brother, and I did not even know, did not even get a chance to—

Hands on my shoulders. Declan, human again, pulling me back from the body. "Sloane. We need to move. Garrett will call the Conclave guard. We need to—"

"You knew." I turn to face him, and something in his expression confirms it before he can speak. "You knew about Matthias. About what he was."

"I suspected."

"You suspected I had a brother and you did not tell me?"

"I suspected Matthias was connected to the black-eyed wolves. I did not know about the familial connection until—"

"Until when?" I am on my feet now, and the wolf in me wants to attack again, wants to tear into him for keeping secrets, for lying, for— "Until when, Declan?"

He does not answer. Just looks at me with those too-calm eyes, and I can see the calculation behind them, the careful weighing of truth versus necessity.

"You are just like him," I say, and the words taste like poison. "Just like Garrett. Just like all of them. Using people. Manipulating. Keeping secrets because you think you know better, think you can control everything if you just—"

"I am trying to keep you alive."

"By lying to me? By hiding things that I deserve to know?"

"By making the choices you are too broken to make yourself."

The words hit like a physical blow.

For a moment I cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot do anything but stare at him while something in my chest shatters into pieces too small to ever put back together.

"Get out," I whisper.

"Sloane—"

"Get. Out."

He does not move. Just stands there, bleeding from the wounds I gave him, looking at me like I am something fragile that might break if he turns away.

The mate bond pulls tight. Screams at me to take it back, to apologize, to let him help because he is mine and I am his and we are supposed to be together.

I grab that bond with everything I have and I pull.

The pain is immediate. Excruciating. Like tearing out my own heart with my bare hands. Declan gasps, staggers, and his hand goes to his chest like he can feel it too, feel me trying to sever the connection that binds us.

"Do not," he says, and for the first time since I met him, his voice shakes. "Sloane, please, do not—"

I pull harder.

The bond stretches. Frays. Starts to tear.

And something else tears with it. Something deep inside me, something that feels like it has been sleeping, waiting, and now it wakes up and it is hungry and it is wrong and it—

The world goes black.

When I open my eyes, I am standing over Declan's body, and my hands are covered in blood, and I cannot remember how I got here, cannot remember what happened, cannot remember anything except the taste of copper on my tongue and the feeling of something inside me that smiles with teeth that are not mine.

Garrett's voice cuts through the darkness: "Well. That is unfortunate."

I look up.

He stands in the doorway, flanked by a dozen Conclave guards, and his expression is almost sympathetic as he says, "Sloane Carrigan, you are under arrest for the murder of Declan Thorne."