Chapter 94
Skylar’s lungs burned as she sprinted through the dense underbrush, the darkness of the forest closing in like a trap. Each step was an echo of desperation, her boots pounding against damp earth slick from the earlier rain. Behind her, the faint crunch of footsteps—pursuing, relentless—grew louder, more confident.
She didn’t dare look back.
Branches lashed against her arms, scraping skin, snagging her jacket, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when her instincts screamed that something monstrous was on her heels. Not when the children were still out there—somewhere.
She stumbled into a clearing, the moonlight cutting through like a spotlight. Her breath hitched.
Damon was there.
Blood-soaked. Bare-chested. Crouched over something she couldn’t quite see.
“Damon!” she called out, but her voice cracked halfway through. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Skylar took cautious steps forward, heart pounding as if trying to escape her chest. “Damon, what are you doing?”
He slowly turned to her, his face a twisted mask of pain and fury. His eyes—those familiar stormy gray eyes—had darkened into an unnatural black.
Her stomach dropped.
“Skylar…” he rasped, voice rough and unfamiliar. “You need to leave. Now.”
She saw it then. The body at his feet.
Her knees buckled.
It was Wyatt.
Unconscious—or worse—his throat torn and bleeding, his chest rising and falling in shallow, broken breaths.
Skylar took a trembling step back. “What happened?”
Damon’s hands were shaking, claws retracting, blood dripping from his fingertips. “I didn’t… I wasn’t myself. They’re manipulating us, Skylar. Something… something’s wrong.”
Before she could respond, a howl pierced the air behind her—long, guttural, and impossibly close. Damon’s head snapped up.
“They followed you,” he growled.
Suddenly, three figures emerged from the treeline—werewolves, taller and more feral than any Skylar had seen before. Not Pack. Not even rogue.
These things were something else.
Corrupted.
The one in front had patchy fur matted with blood and eyes glowing red. Its snarl revealed teeth too long, too jagged.
“Run,” Damon said, already shifting.
Skylar didn’t move. “Not without you.”
A roar split the air as Damon lunged at the lead wolf. The two collided with a thundering crack, claws tearing through flesh. The other two charged toward Skylar.
She turned and ran.
But this time, she wasn’t alone.
A flash of white fur barreled past her—a wolf she didn’t recognize—slamming into one of the corrupted attackers. The newcomer fought with lethal precision, moving like a ghost through the moonlight.
Skylar ducked behind a tree and watched the battle unfold.
Damon fought with a ferocity she had never seen before. His form was larger, stronger, but he was losing ground. The corrupted wolf was relentless, its movements fueled by something unnatural.
The newcomer darted between the other two, keeping them at bay, but barely. One misstep, and Skylar knew it would all be over.
Then, a voice—clear, commanding—rang out through the forest.
“Enough!”
The fighting stopped.
From the shadows stepped a figure in a long black coat, tall and composed, with an air of authority that made the wolves freeze. His presence was suffocating, dark energy radiating from him like heat.
The corrupted wolves backed away, snarling but obedient.
Damon, panting and bleeding, growled low in his throat. “Who the hell are you?”
The man smiled. “Just a messenger. But the time has come, Alpha Thorn. Your bloodline has been chosen.”
Skylar felt a chill grip her spine. “Chosen for what?”
He looked at her, his eyes cold and calculating. “For sacrifice.”
Before anyone could react, he raised a hand—and a shockwave of dark energy blasted outward. Trees bent, and the ground cracked. Skylar was thrown backward, crashing into a fallen log. Stars danced in her vision as pain radiated through her back.
Damon roared and charged, but the man vanished in a blink—gone as quickly as he’d come.
The corrupted wolves retreated, melting into the forest like ghosts.
Silence.
Skylar groaned, pushing herself upright. Damon rushed to her side, his wolf form shifting back into human, trembling with the effort.
“Skylar, are you okay?” he asked, gripping her arms.
She nodded, barely. “What the hell was that?”
Damon didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the place the man had stood.
“That wasn’t a rogue. That was something worse,” he whispered.
The newcomer wolf approached, now shifted into a tall, lean woman with silver eyes and hair braided down her back.
“You’re right,” she said. “That was a Shadowborne.”
Skylar blinked. “A what?”
“An ancient faction. Banished centuries ago. They feed on chaos. And they’re back.”
Damon stood, shielding Skylar. “And who are you?”
The woman met his gaze. “My name is Elara. I was sent to protect the heir.”
Skylar’s heart dropped. “Heir? What heir?”
Elara looked between them. “Yours.”
The world tilted. Skylar felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“The triplets,” Elara said. “They carry more than blood. They carry power. Untamed. Unbound. The Shadowborne will come for them. All of them. Unless we stop it.”
Damon’s face hardened. “Over my dead body.”
Elara gave a grim smile. “That’s exactly what they’re counting on.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Skylar’s thoughts spun—Luna Daisy’s death, the corrupted wolves, the man in the shadows. It all felt connected. Planned.
Damon turned to her, eyes stormy. “We need to get the kids. Now.”
Skylar nodded, dread pooling in her stomach.
But as they turned to leave the clearing, a whisper on the wind froze them in place.
“Too late…”