Chapter 64 Dark Magic
ARYA
We sparred for over an hour. Sage was brutal. She did not hold back just like she said, and I loved it. She pushed me harder than anyone except Luca, forcing me to tap into my power, to integrate Lean’s instincts with my human intelligence.
“Stop thinking!” she barked after I hesitated on a strike. “Your wolf knows what to do. Trust her!”
I let Lean rise closer to the surface. My movements became faster, more fluid. When I finally landed a solid hit that sent Sage stumbling back, she laughed.
“There it is! That’s the power everyone’s afraid of.” She wiped blood from her split lip. “Again. And this time, don’t pull your punches.”
By the end, we were both exhausted and laughing, covered in sweat and minor injuries.
“You’re good,” Sage panted, sprawled on the grass. “Raw, but good. A few more months of training and you’ll be terrifying.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. Trust me.” She sat up, wincing slightly. “I like you, Arya. I was worried I’d resent you, but I don’t. You’re too genuine to resent.”
“I like you too. Even though you scare me a little.”
“Good. I’d be disappointed if I didn’t.” She stood, offering me a hand up. “Can I give you some advice? Woman to woman?”
“Always.”
“Your mate is powerful. He is used to getting his way for eight centuries.” She looked at me seriously. “Men like that will cage you in gold if you let them. They think they’re protecting you, but really they’re protecting themselves from the fear of losing you. Keep your claws sharp. Don’t let him make you soft.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” She started walking toward the house. “Now let’s get cleaned up. I’m starving, and I hear the food here is amazing.”
As we walked, I reflected on how much my life had changed. A month ago, I had no real friends except Ryker and Mrs. Hargrove. Now I had allies, supporters, and maybe—just maybe—a genuine friendship forming with this fierce warrior woman who didn’t treat me like I was fragile.
The revolution was building. And I was becoming someone strong enough to lead it.
LUCA
I watched from my office window as Arya and Sage walked back from the training yard, laughing together despite their obvious exhaustion and injuries.
Arya had a bruise forming on her jaw. Her knuckles were scraped. She was limping slightly.
Every protective instinct I had screamed to go to her, heal her, wrap her in cotton and never let her train again.
I knew she would hate that so I forced myself to stay at the window.
“You’re learning,” Caspian observed from behind me.
“Learning what? To hate every second of watching her get hurt?”
“Learning to trust her. To respect her choices even when they make you insane.” He moved to stand beside me. “That’s growth, brother.”
“It’s torture.”
“Love usually is.” He pulled up a file on his tablet. “Speaking of torture, we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The magical kind.” He showed me images of symbols carved into stone. “Bardon’s been investigating the wards around the summit location. He found traces of dark magic. Old dark magic.”
My blood ran cold. “How old?”
“Centuries. Some were even before the Moonborne massacre.” Caspian’s expression was grim. “Someone’s been using that location for dark rituals. Blood magic. The kind that requires sacrifice.”
“Theron.”
“Maybe. Or his ancestors. Or someone else entirely.” He zoomed in on one particularly disturbing symbol. A spiral made of what looked like claw marks. “Bardon thinks the location itself might be cursed. Holding the summit there could be dangerous.”
“We can’t change locations now. The invitations are sent. The symbolism of the Moonborne heir returning to her ancestral lands is too important.”
“Then we need to cleanse it. Remove whatever dark magic is there before the summit.” Caspian met my eyes. “And that’s going to require Arya. Moonborne magic is the only thing powerful enough to counter this level of corruption.”
“Absolutely not. She’s not going near dark magic.”
“Luca—”
“No.” My voice was final. “I won’t risk her like that. We’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way. You know there isn’t.” Caspian’s tone was gentle but insistent. “She’s the Moonborne heir. This is literally what she was born to do. Cleansing corruption, restoring balance. It’s in her blood.”
“I don’t care. I won’t—” I stopped, recognizing the futility of my argument. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
I sank into my chair, running my hands through my hair. Eight hundred years of existence, and nothing had prepared me for this. For loving someone so much that the thought of them in danger was physically painful.
“When?” I asked finally, my voice rough.
“It has to be before the summit. Bardon suggests three days from now. Full moon. Maximum power to counter the darkness.”
“I’m going with her.”
“Of course you are. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.” Caspian set down his tablet. “And Luca? She’s stronger than you think. She can handle this.”
“I know she can. Doesn’t mean I won’t worry every second.” I looked at him. “Do you know what it’s like? Finding your mate after eight centuries of searching, only to discover she’s mortal? That even if we have two hundred years together, I’ll still have six hundred more after she’s gone?”
“No. I’ve never found my mate.” His expression was carefully neutral. “But I imagine it’s both a blessing and a curse.”
“It’s worth it. Every moment of fear, every second of worry—she’s worth it.” I stood, moving back to the window. Arya had disappeared inside, probably heading for a shower. “But sometimes I wish I’d never met her. Just so I wouldn’t know what I’ll eventually lose.”
“That’s the fear talking. You don’t mean that.”
“No. I don’t.” I sighed. “But the fear is real, Caspian. The fear of losing her, of watching her age while I stay the same, of eventually being alone again. It’s paralyzing sometimes.”
“Then use it. Channel it into protecting her, training her, making sure she lives every single one of those two hundred years.” He gripped my shoulder. “She needs you strong, not paralyzed by what-ifs.”
He was right. As always.
“When do we tell her?” I asked. “About the dark magic?”