Chapter 74 Unleashed

Chapter 74 Unleashed

The night broke open with a scream of thunder. Lorraine bolted upright, heart pounding, the windows of the room rattling in their frames. For a breathless moment she thought it was only another storm—the kind New Orleans knew too well—but then the air shifted.

It wasn’t natural.

Lightning carved through the clouds, not white but a sickly violet, jagged lines branching like claws. The rain fell sideways, driving against the estate with such force it sounded like gravel striking the glass. But the worst part wasn’t the sound, or even the sight—it was the whispers carried on the wind.

Her name. Over and over.

“Lorraine…”

She scrambled from bed, tugging her shawl tight, and ran into the hallway. Already Roman’s coven was awake, their voices echoing, their hands lighting candles and tracing symbols on the air. Shanta and Despoina moved quickly toward the main hall, gathering supplies.

Then Roman rolled over, his hair damp from the humidity, his eyes burning.

“It’s him,” he said simply.

Lorraine nodded, throat dry. “Dwade.”

By dawn, news had already reached them—men sprinting through the rain to bring word.

Roman’s warehouses had gone up in flames. All of them.

Felix scryed a vision in a bowl of water, showing Lorraine what words alone couldn’t capture. She saw roofs caving in, walls collapsing, goods reduced to ash. She saw every truck parked in his lots peeled open as if by claws, their insides gutted and useless.

But it wasn’t just Roman’s empire that bled. Civilians screamed in the background of the vision, their homes ripped open by wind that moved like a living thing. Floods surged through the Quarter, swallowing storefronts whole. And above it all, Dwade’s storm hung like a crown, endless and merciless.

Lorraine gripped the table so hard her knuckles whitened. “He doesn’t even care who he hurts.”

“No,” Roman said grimly, watching the vision dissipate. His jaw clenched, his voice low. “He never did.”

Roman’s coven gathered in the grand hall. Chalk circles laced the floor, candles ringed the walls, and herbs burned in the hearth though the fire struggled against the damp air. Lorraine stood among them, shoulders tense, but this time she wasn’t just an observer.

“He’s targeting everything,” Trevor growled, his scarred hands clenched. “If we don’t stop him, he’ll tear the whole city down around us.”

“He wants you broken,” Shanta said, looking to Roman. “Not just your empire—your faith, your people.”

“And he wants Lorraine,” Despoina added, her eyes sharp on her. “The storm calls for her.”

All eyes turned. Lorraine’s heart lurched, but she lifted her chin.

“Then let him call,” she said. Her voice shook, but she pushed through it. “We’re not going to cower. We defend what’s ours. We defend the Quarter, and we defend each other.”

The room went silent.

Roman’s eyes softened on her. Then he nodded. “She’s right. No more waiting. Tonight, we fight the storm.”

Hours blurred together as the coven prepared. Salt lines were poured across thresholds. Wards were carved into wood and stone. Light spells were set to flare when shadows pressed too close.

But it was Lorraine who began coordinating, her voice steady despite the quake in her hands.

“Felix, you take the roof. Keep the light strong. Colette, stay by the windows and be ready with your wards. Trevor, guard the gates. Rhyan, with me—we’ll weave the moon’s bond as a shield.”

Roman’s gaze tracked her the whole time, silent but approving. He didn’t need to correct her. She was right, and they all knew it.

When fear threatened to choke her, Lorraine thought of Mara. She thought of the families in the Quarter, the people whose shops had been drowned in rain that wasn’t theirs to bear. She thought of Roman, shoulders bent beneath the weight of too many lives.

And she knew—if she could carry even a sliver of that weight, she would.

By nightfall, the sky had gone black. The air pressed heavy, thick with static.

Then the first wave struck.

Lightning slammed into the estate’s outer wall, shaking the stone. The wards flared, holding, but shadows seeped through the cracks in the light. They weren’t just tricks of the eye anymore—they were shapes. Twisted things with teeth of smoke and eyes like burning coals.

“Shields!” Lorraine shouted. Her voice cracked, but power surged with it. She and Rhyan lifted their hands, the silver glow of their bond weaving across the courtyard like a dome.

The shadows slammed into it, snarling, their forms dissolving only to reform again.

Roman stood just behind her, his power flooding into the circle. His coven chanted in unison, their voices rising against the howling wind.

The storm answered with laughter. Dwade’s laughter.

Even as they fought at the estate, word spread of more destruction. A second warehouse gone. A bridge collapsed. Fires breaking out where no lightning had struck.

Lorraine felt each blow like it landed inside her chest. The Quarter was bleeding. The people she had come here to write about, to learn from, were suffering because of Dwade’s hunger.

She wanted to collapse, to scream—but instead she straightened her spine. “Keep going,” she told Rhyan, though her arms trembled. “We can’t let him win.”

Rhyan’s hand squeezed hers. “Together, moon sister.”

The shield blazed brighter.

Amid the chaos, a whisper slithered through Lorraine’s mind, separate from the storm’s roar.

Little mouse… still fighting? Do you think Roman can save you? Do you think you can save anyone?

Dwade’s voice. Not from outside, but inside her head.

Lorraine’s knees buckled. Roman caught her before she fell, his hands hot around her arms.

“What is it?” he demanded.

She shook her head, forcing the whisper away. “He’s in my head. But he’s not going to stay there.”

She dragged herself upright, glaring into the storm. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The storm cracked with thunder, louder than before.

Hours bled away. The wards strained. The shield flickered. But they held.

Every time a shadow broke through, Dray’s fire burned it back. Every time someone faltered, Neve’s healing hands steadied them. Every time the shield wavered, Lorraine and Rhyan leaned into each other, silver light surging back to life.

Roman moved through it all like a storm of his own, his power a constant surge at their backs. But Lorraine saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. He couldn’t hold them all together forever.

So she stepped forward, pouring herself into the shield, calling on whatever strength Jadis had left in her blood.

For a moment, the storm itself recoiled.

When dawn finally broke, the estate still stood. Burned in places, battered, scarred—but standing. The shadows dissolved into mist, retreating with the first light of morning.

But the Quarter beyond their walls was broken.

Word came quickly: more homes destroyed, more families displaced. Roman’s warehouses were gone. His trucks were nothing but twisted metal.

And Dwade was still out there, laughing, waiting.

Lorraine stood in the courtyard, her body aching, her throat raw. Around her, the coven patched wounds and swept away ash.

Roman came to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. His voice was low, meant only for her.

“You kept them alive,” he said. “You kept us alive.”

Lorraine closed her eyes, exhaustion breaking through her chest. But beneath it, there was pride too.

She had stepped into her role. And Dwade knew it now.