CHAPTER 138 A Monk's Secrets

CHAPTER 138 A Monk's Secrets
Maverick

I came back to consciousness the way you surface from deep water—too fast, lungs burning, heart hammering like I’d been running for my life.

My hand shot out.

“Evie—”

I was already half upright, vision blurred, senses flaring. The room snapped into sharp relief in pieces: stone walls, pale morning light, the faint smell of incense and old books. My pulse thundered in my ears, wolf pacing under my skin.

Something was wrong.

Something had to be wrong.

Then a warm hand closed around my wrist.

“Maverick,” Evie said softly. “Hey. I’m here.”

I blinked. Hard.

She was sitting beside the bed, fully dressed, hair pulled back, eyes tired but steady. No blood. No restraints. No panic clawing at her scent.

Not in danger.

The adrenaline didn’t get the memo. My chest still felt tight. “I thought—” I dragged in a breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. “I thought something happened to you.”

Her expression softened in that way that always made my chest ache. “Something did happen. Just… not to me. Not physically.”

I pushed myself upright, the blanket pooling around my waist. “Talk to me.”

She hesitated, like she was choosing which truth would hurt the least. Then she met my eyes. “We need to go back to Wyoming.”

That snapped me fully awake.

I sat up straighter. “Why?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifted closer, knees brushing mine. “I had visions. Not like before.”

My jaw tightened. “Define ‘not like before.’”

“I wasn’t just watching,” she said quietly. “I slipped into someone’s mind.”

Cold spread through my gut. “Whose?”

“A witch,” she said. “Her name is Belladonna.”

The name didn’t ring a bell, but the way Evie said it—careful, weighted—told me it should have.

“Who the hell is Belladonna?” I asked.

“She’s the leader,” Evie said. “Of the three witches who attacked us in Wyoming.”

Every muscle in my body locked.

“The Covenant,” I said flatly.

She nodded. “They’re alive. Hiding in Scotland. In a castle.”

I frowned. “Castle?”

“To humans, it looks like ruins,” she explained. “Cracked stone. Abandoned. But it’s warded. To them, it’s a sanctuary.”

I scrubbed a hand down my face, trying to organize the flood of information. “And you saw this… how?”

“I don’t know how it started,” she admitted. “I fell asleep. But I didn’t dream. I walked. I crossed something Master Sengal calls the Veiled Roads.”

That phrase sent a ripple of unease through me. I’d heard Sengal mention them in passing—half warning, half legend.

“And you ended up in her mind,” I said.

“Yes.” Evie’s fingers curled into the fabric of her robe. “Belladonna didn’t fully see me, but she almost did. And Agatha—Maverick, Agatha is trapped.”

My heart stuttered. “Trapped how?”

“In her own mind,” Evie said. “Arnold built a maze inside her. A mental construct. She can’t find her way out.”

Arnold Blackthorn.

The name tasted like dirt.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, letting my weight pull me into action. “Sengal knows?”

“Yes. I went to him before waking you. He’s ordered us to search Agatha’s cabin. Everything. Especially the orb.”

The orb.

A sharp spike of frustration hit me square in the chest.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Evie glanced at me. “You forgot about it, didn’t you? I did."

I stood and reached for my jeans, movements clipped. “With everything going on—repairs, patrols, Draven, keeping the pack steady—I let it slip.”

The orb wasn’t just some trinket. It was Agatha’s most prized possession. An heirloom from her mother. Ancient. Powerful. The kind of object witches killed for.

And I’d left it sitting in her cabin or god knows where.

“I should’ve secured it the moment we got Arnold in chains,” I said, anger turning inward. “That’s on me.”

Evie touched my arm. “Maverick—”

“I know,” I cut in, softer. “We’ll fix it.” I pulled on my shirt and boots, then looked at her. “Are the others awake?”

She nodded. “Master Sengal is handling that.”

As if summoned by his name, the air in the room shifted.

“Maverick,” Sengal’s voice said calmly.

I turned—and froze.

Master Sengal stood in the doorway, and for half a second my brain refused to process what I was seeing.

No robes. No prayer beads.

He was wearing dark pants, a neatly buttoned polo shirt, polished leather shoes, and a wool felt hat angled slightly forward. He looked… modern. Like he’d stepped out of a different life entirely.

He glanced down at himself, then back at me. “Is this acceptable?”

I stared. “You look… good. For a monk.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “It has been decades since I left the monastery.”

“You’ll fit in,” I said honestly. “No one’s going to question you.”

“Good,” he replied. “We have no time for explanations.”

I hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at me. “Evie—are you strong enough to open a portal so soon?”

Before she could answer, Sengal raised a hand.

“She will conserve her strength,” he said. “I will be doing the magic today.”

I blinked. “You?”

“Yes.”

Something in his tone made it clear this wasn’t up for debate.

We joined the others in the massive lobby—Bear, Leon, Zuri, Aurora, and Smith—all bleary-eyed but alert.

"Last one down is a rotten egg," Smith sighed as he adjusted his backpack.

Everyone groaned and started toward the stairs instinctively.

Sengal smiled and held up his hand to stop us.

“We don’t need the stairs.”

He clapped his hands.

The sound cracked through the space like thunder. The air behind him tore open, folding inward on itself, light bending and collapsing until a portal shimmered into existence.

My breath left me in a rush. My wolf snarled, claws pricking my palms, tail bristling, every instinct screaming. I forced control, but the tension was electric.

I glanced at him, confused. I never knew him to be a strong mage.

Leon stepped forward first, giving us a thumbs-up. “All clear!”

One by one, we followed. My stomach twisted as the world bent and stretched around us, vertigo washing over my senses. Sounds warped, smells shifted, light fractured into shards of color. My wolf surged, teeth grinding, trying to tear its way out. I clenched my fists, heart hammering, forcing each step forward.

Evie’s hand found mine, firm, holding me in place. Her calm steadied me more than I wanted to admit. Even through the chaos of the portal, I could feel her will radiating, quiet and iron-strong.

Then the world snapped.

We stood in the main hall of Blood Moon Manor. It was already night.

The scent hit me immediately: wood, dust, fresh paint, and the faint metallic tang of magic. The pack was already hard at work, repairing what the witches had destroyed in the dining area.

When the Omegas saw us materialize out of thin air, tools clattered to the floor.

“Witches?! Again?!” someone shouted in fright.

“No,” I said quickly. “We’re back.” They all heaved a sigh of relief.

Sengal stepped forward, palms pressing briefly to the walls. I felt it—wards blooming outward, sinking into the house and the land beyond it.

“New protections,” he said. “They will alert us to any breach.”

Relief loosened something in my chest, but my wolf still stirred, restless, claws itching. I swallowed it down, forcing control.

"Aurora and Smith, you guys handle dinner with the Omegas. The rest, come with me," I said.

I led the way across the territory toward Agatha’s cabin at the far edge. The nearer the wolves walked toward it, the more twitchy they became. Witches did that to us—set our instincts on edge.

Agatha had always lived apart because of it. Not because she was unkind—but because she understood what her presence did to us.

Sengal stepped inside the cabin and went still.

He closed his eyes and hummed.

The sound was low, resonant. The walls shuddered. The cabin shifted—wood groaning, seams realigning.

Then a door appeared where there had never been one.

Evie’s mouth fell open. “I need to learn how to do that.”

Sengal murmured something under his breath and opened the door.

Bear groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The passage led straight into Arnold’s manor in the Redwoods.

We stepped through into chaos.

Wolves everywhere. Working. Bending metal into rings.

Collars gleamed around their necks. My wolf growled low, teeth itching, body bristling. I had to take a deep, shuddering breath to keep control.

Sengal motioned sharply. “Bear. Retrieve one.”

Bear didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the nearest wolf and dragged him forward.

Sengal turned to me. “Where is Arnold?” he demanded.

"In the dungeons," I replied. "We needed a place to hold him."

"Lead the way."

We moved fast. Out the door, to the pack house, straight for the dungeons.

Arnold lay chained, unconscious. Sengal knelt beside him, pulled a small vial from his pocket, and let a single drop fall onto Arnold’s skin.

Light flared.

Somewhere behind us, metal clattered. The collar on the wolf shattered and fell away.

I stared. “How is that possible?” I asked. “How do you have something tied to Arnold?”

Sengal straightened slowly.

“In my past life,” he said, voice heavy, “I was Adam Blackthorn.”

Silence slammed into the room.

“Agatha and Arnold are my children,” he continued. “I was born part wolf, with no wolf. Descendants of the dark witch of Adolpha. Arnold's birth mother is Morgana. The High Witch of the Covenant."

My chest tightened. My wolf growled low, echoing the sudden upheaval in my mind. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath every truth I thought I knew.

Everything—everything—just changed.