Elowen POV
The SUVS slowed to a crawl as we pulled around a bend, and then…“Holy shit,” Rylen muttered from the backseat.
The forest parted like it had been sliced open by a dream. Towering pines bowed at the edges of the dirt road, and dead ahead stood a wrought–iron gate that looked like it belonged in a gothic fever dream. Ancient, rusted black with veins of silver etched through it, twisting into runes that shimmered faintly under the dappled light.
“It’s giving cursed fairy tale,” Taya said, her eyes wide. “Where’s the talking mirror?”
“If it offers you an apple, don’t eat it,” Daxon grunted.
Ashrian leaned forward, studying the runes. “That’s no ordinary enchantment. This gate is older than any magic I’ve seen in centuries. It’s… aware.”
Before I could ask what the fuck that meant, the SUVs hissed to a stop. We climbed out, boots crunching on gravel, the air thick with magic and mist. Every hair on my body stood on end as I approached the gate. Then, from nowhere, a voice. Disembodied. Female. Smooth as velvet and ancient as dust.
“Elowen Skye Thorne may enter. Alone.”
The forest went silent. I blinked. “What now?”
“Like hell,” Daxón growled, stepping in front of me.
“No chance,” Rylen snapped. “She’s not going anywhere without us.”
“Over my dead fucking body,” Jace added, cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect.
Ash’s voice was calm, but lethal. “You will have to kill me first.”
Even the stoic strike team bristled. One of them muttered, “Protocol breach. Solo entry denied.”
I closed my eyes, counted to three… then lost it.
“Enough!” I shouted. “Everybody, shut the fuck up.”
Silence.
I took a breath and turned, hands on my hips. “I’m going. That’s the end of this fucking conversation. We knew this might happen. I’m the one cursed. I’m the one she asked for. You wanna fight the witch and her creepy ass magical forest over it? Be my guest, but I’m not dragging anyone else into this.”
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8:
Sep
93
Chapter 49
Ashrian stepped forward and gently touched my forehead. “Then let’s make sure you’re ready.”
His magic was like chilled wine and firelight as it poured through me, anchoring to my own. Together, we wove a shield of moonlight around my thoughts and lined it with a shell of blood magic so thick it thrummed in my chest
like a war drum.
“Nothing gets in,” he said. “Not even fear.”
The strike team, clearly unhappy, stepped up and handed me a tiny earbud. “Codeword is nachos,” the leader said, completely deadpan. “You say it, we’re in. No hesitation.”
“Nachos,” I repeated, smirking. “Got it.”
Daxon grumbled something about bullshit magical rules, and Rylen looked like he wanted to punch a tree, but I didn’t give them time to argue. I squared my shoulders, gave my mates a firm nod, and turned toward the gate.
“You ready for this, Lyssira?”
“Ready to burn down the forest if that bitch tries anything,” she growled. “Let’s show her who we are.”
The gate creaked opened slowly, revealing a path through the forest dappled in silver mist and mossy roots. Flowers I didn’t recognize bloomed in glowing purples and blue hued gold, and the breeze smelled like secrets and old
stories.
I walked. Every step buzzed with energy, the kind that made your soul itch. I could feel the forest watching me. Not threatening, just… waiting.
The cottage came into view minutes later. Wyrd Hollow was carved from white stone and blackened wood, vines clinging to the roof like they’d always belonged. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. The windows flickered with
candlelight.
I stepped up to the crooked wooden door and knocked three times, my heart jack hammering. The door creaked open before my knuckles hit the wood again.
“Elowen Skye Thorne,” a melodic voice sang out from somewhere inside, soft and strange. “Come in, child. The tea is steeping. I’ve been expecting you.”
Well. Shit. I stepped inside.The door shut behind me with a whisper of wind that sounded too much like a sigh. Not creepy at all. The air inside was… heavy. Not suffocating, more like it had depth. Like every particle had soaked in centuries of magic and mystery and gossip and was now vibrating quietly with secrets.
The entryway was narrow, cluttered with books stacked like towers of Jenga and dried herbs hanging in bundles from the rafters. Candles floated above my head, their flames flickering without smoke, their wax dripping upward into nothing.
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8:57 Thu, Sep 25
