Chapter 16 Sixteen
Lilith
The valley blurred into silver and ash as we ran. Ryan’s hand locked around mine, dragging me through mud and river spray.
Behind us, thunder rolled—no storm this time, but the pounding of paws that shook the earth.
Travis’s howl sliced the dawn in half, raw and furious, echoing off the cliffs until even the stones seemed to tremble.
“Don’t look back,” Ryan warned.
I didn’t need to. The air itself burned with pursuit.
The river rose beside us, white foam flashing in the pale light. Its current had turned violent, as if it too sensed the chase.
Water sprayed our faces, cold and sharp, but Ryan never slowed.
The whisper inside me had become a chorus—dozens of voices threading through my pulse.
“Left,” I gasped. “There’s a hollow ahead.”
Ryan changed course without question.
The path curved beneath a fallen oak, its trunk split wide by lightning. We slipped under it just as something dark crashed through the space we’d occupied a breath before.
Splinters sprayed the air; bark exploded.
Travis.
A shadow larger than thought leapt over the riverbank—black fur streaked with gold, eyes burning like molten glass.
The wolf landed, claws gouging stone, and threw back its head in another howl.
The sound tore through my chest.
Ryan spun, knife flashing.
The silver blade caught the weak sunlight, a thin line of defiance against the creature that had once been his brother.
“Keep running!” he shouted.
We stumbled backward, watching them clash among the rocks—one man, one beast, mirror images of rage.
The whisper turned sharp, almost painful.
He cannot hold him. You must call the river.
The current answered before I could think. It surged over the banks, swirling around my feet.
The light beneath my skin brightened, veins silvering with motion.
I raised my hands—instinct, not will—and the river lifted with me.
Water arced high, catching the morning light in a thousand shards.
The wave crashed between them, separating man and beast.
Travis stumbled, shaking water from his coat, and snarled.
Ryan seized the moment, grabbing my arm.
“Now!” he barked.
We ran again, soaked and half-blind, the river roaring at our heels.
Behind us, the wolf’s fury shook the valley.
The forest shuddered. Ryan drew his second blade, stance tightening.
The blue light pulsed from the runes carved along the pillars.
It rippled outward like breath through stone.
The wolf froze mid-stride, hackles rising, uncertain.
Ryan groaned, half-kneeling.
“Lilith—don’t—”
“I’m not doing anything!”
The air told another story.
Every symbol blazed brighter, spinning threads of light between them until the entire shrine hummed.
My hands glowed again; silver streaked my vision.
Travis snarled, lowering himself to spring.
“Stay behind me,” Ryan hissed.
I stepped forward, drawn by something older than choice.
The ground vibrated underfoot, matching my pulse.
Travis leapt.
Instinct took me. I threw up both hands.
Light burst outward—not a beam but a wave, silent and blinding.
It struck him mid-air, suspended him like an insect in amber, then hurled him backward through the ring of pillars.
Stone shattered. Dust filled the clearing.
When the glare faded, Travis lay still at the far edge, half-human now, gasping, eyes wide with shock rather than pain.
The pillars smoked. The whisper went quiet.
Ryan stared at me as though seeing a stranger.
“You called the shrine,” he said softly. “It answered you.”
I swayed; the world tilted.
“Can you stand?”
I nodded, though my legs barely obeyed.
Behind him, Travis stirred, shifting fully into his human form.
He rose unsteadily, laughter raw in his throat.
“So it’s true,” he rasped. “She is the heart. And you—” he pointed at Ryan—“you’re the fool guarding the key to the end.”
Ryan tightened his grip on me.
“Stay down, Travis.”
But Travis only smiled through blood-stained teeth.
“You can’t hide her anymore. The shrine’s song carries far. The council will hear it before nightfall.”
The whisper in me trembled. They come.
We didn’t stop running until the song of the shrine faded behind us.
The slope gave way to broken ground where the first fingers of the mountain reached toward the sky.
Cold wind bit through my cloak, carrying the scent of rain and iron.
Ryan pulled me toward the far side of the clearing.
“What about him?”
“Leave him. The shrine already marked him.”
We climbed together, the path narrowing until the valley was only a grey haze far below.
By midday, clouds gathered over the peaks. Snow began to fall—soft at first, then heavier.
Ryan pulled his cloak tighter around us both as the wind turned fierce.
We waited until the snow eased, then continued upward.
The trail opened onto a narrow plateau.
From its edge we could see both the valley we’d fled and the dark expanse of forest beyond.
Between them, the river wound like a thread of glass.
Ryan stopped.
“We’ll rest here until nightfall. Then we move under cover of dark.”
I sank to the ground, too tired to argue.
The sky above had turned the color of bruised steel.
For a while we said nothing.
Then, somewhere below, a single howl rose—long, measured, and far too close.
Ryan stiffened.
“He’s tracking again.”
I followed his gaze.
Across the valley, on the opposite ridge, a lone figure stood against the fading light.
Even from this distance I knew him: black hair tangled by wind, eyes gleaming gold.
Travis—human now, not wolf—watching us.
He raised one hand, as if in salute.
The wind carried his words faintly up the slope.
“Run while you can. Night is shorter than you think.”
Ryan stepped in front of me, blocking my view.
The ridge was empty when I looked again.
The wind answered for me, carrying the echo of distant howls up through the mountains.
Ryan touched my shoulder.
“We keep moving after dark. No matter what you hear, don’t look back.”
I nodded, staring at the empty ridge.
The wind whispered one last time.
This is not the end, heart of dusk. This is the beginning of the hunt.