Chapter 142: Behind Sengal's Door

Maverick

The closer we got to the back halls of Bwasho Monastery, the quieter everything became.

Not the good kind of quiet either. Not the meditative hush the monks cultivated with incense and chanting and centuries of discipline. This was a hollowing silence, like something essential had been pulled out of the stone itself.

I felt it in my chest first.

The steady, peaceful hum I’d always associated with Bwasho—everything folded neatly into prayer, discipline braided with restraint—faded with every step we took. The air grew thin. Wrong. Like the monastery was holding its breath.

Bear noticed too. His shoulders stiffened. Leon’s hand drifted instinctively toward the strap of his pack.

Agatha walked ahead of us, her spine straight despite her weakened body, her presence still sharp enough to cut. She didn’t comment on the shift, but the tightness around her mouth told me she felt it just as clearly.

“This way,” she said.

We passed through the final corridor of carved stone and prayer sigils, and then the world opened.

The back wall of the monastery gave way to a mountain cave, wide and ancient, its ceiling glittering faintly with frost and mineral veins. Wind rushed through the passage, cold and sharp, carrying the scent of snow and pine. We stepped through into something that didn’t belong.

The cave spilled out into a garden suspended between mountains.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. This hadn’t been here before. When I’d last stood in this place, there had only been the monastery and the cave—stone, shadow, and silence. Now, the mountain itself had been broken open, reshaped by patient hands and relentless will. The monk wolves had carved farther into the rock, expanding the stone-walled monastery beyond its original bones, forcing beauty out of stone where none had existed.

Sunlight poured in from above, filtered through jagged peaks dusted in frost. The cold bit at my skin, but the ground beneath our boots was alive with green. Grass thick and soft. Fruit trees heavy with color circled the clearing, their branches bending under the weight of ripeness that shouldn’t have existed at this altitude.

Off to the side lay a vegetable garden that felt almost reverent in its care. Neat rows stretched across the earth, each plant tended with precision. Tomatoes hung heavy on their vines, skins taut and sun-warmed, bursting red against deep green leaves. Lush greens unfurled in layered abundance. The soil itself looked loved—dark, rich, turned by patient hands—evidence that someone had poured time, discipline, and quiet devotion into coaxing life from the mountain’s cold bones.

Miniature waterfalls spilled down the mountain face, feeding into a lake of crystal-blue water so clear I could see schools of fish flashing beneath the surface—gold, red, silver, colors too vivid to be real.

An Eden carved into stone and ice. Beautiful.

Impossible, yes, but undeniably impressive.

We crossed the garden in silence. No one spoke. Even Smith, who usually cracked jokes when things got tense, kept his mouth shut.

At the far edge stood a stone bridge.

It arched out over nothing.

No ground beneath it. No safety net. Just open air and a sheer drop into cloud and shadow below. The bridge connected the mountain we stood on to another peak across the gap, its far end disappearing into mist.

And at its entrance stood a monk. I recognized him instantly.

Master Lupo.

He was old—older than most living wolves I knew. His long silver hair flowed freely down his back, caught in the wind like threads of moonlight. His posture was relaxed, but the power beneath it was unmistakable. Three monks flanked him, each holding a spear etched with runes meant for killing things like me.

I lifted a hand, signaling the others to stop.

“Bear. Leon. With me,” I said quietly. “Everyone else stays put. I’ll handle this.”

Bear didn’t argue. He shrugged out of his backpack and dropped it to the grass, rolling his shoulders as he took position at my left. Leon mirrored him on my right. Both were coiled tight, ready to shift at the first wrong breath.

Agatha stepped forward.

“I’m coming,” she said flatly. “I’m a master.”

I glanced at her. Really looked at her. Pale. Exhausted. A streak of white in her fiery red hair. Furious in that calm, lethal way that meant someone was about to regret existing.

I nodded. “Alright. Zuri, Aurora, Smith, take care of Evie. If anyone tries anything, kill them."

I led the way onto the bridge.

The wind hit hard the moment my boots touched stone, whipping my hair across my face, tugging at my coat. The view was… unreal. A full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees of open sky, mountain peaks slicing through clouds, sunlight breaking against ice and stone.

Any other day, I might’ve appreciated it. Today, all I could think about was how exposed we were.

Master Lupo inclined his head as we approached. His gaze slid past me and settled on Agatha.

“It’s good to see you’re finally lucid,” he said calmly.

Agatha scoffed. “Lucid?” Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “I was in a mental prison.”

Lupo’s expression barely shifted. “Sengal said you were hopeless.”

Her eyes flashed. “Now he is.”

I stopped a few feet from him and bowed, the old gesture automatic. “Master Lupo.”

He returned the gesture, just slightly. “Alpha Lord Maverick Blake.” His eyes flicked to Bear and Leon. “ We have rules. Those who aren’t masters are not allowed past the bridge.”

I straightened. “Master Sengal broke my rules.”

That got his attention.

“He came into my territory to take his son out from my custody,” I continued evenly. “He used my Luna to spy on dark witches. He lied to me.” I took a step closer, letting my voice harden. “I need access to his chambers, Master Lupo. Grant me this one time and I will make sure my donations to this monastery continue.”

The wind howled between us.

“And if not?” Lupo asked mildly.

“Then I’ll cut all funding,” I said. “And convince other packs to do the same. And you know me.” I met his gaze without flinching. “I don’t make empty threats.”

Silence stretched.

Lupo studied me for a long moment, weighing centuries of tradition against the reality standing in front of him. Finally, he nodded once.

“I will allow you entry this one time,” he said. “If you need a companion, you may bring Master Agatha.”

I turned back to Bear and Leon. “Wait with the others. And keep an eye out for anything."

Bear grinned faintly. “Try not to fall off the mountain, Alpha.”

“No promises,” I muttered.

I motioned for Agatha to follow me, and Lupo turned, leading us off the bridge and into the mountain beyond.

The masters’ living quarters were carved directly into the stone—arched hallways lit by soft, ambient torches, doors seamlessly embedded into rock. It felt surreal.

As we walked, I glanced at Lupo. “Did you always know Sengal was Adam Blackthorn?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

That stopped me short.

He continued walking. “Adam and Agatha came here together. She was still a budding witch then. I was still a young wolf. Despite my appearance, Sengal was much older than me."

I frowned. Agatha was as old as my parents would’ve been, had they lived. I’d never known much about her youth.

“Agatha left,” Lupo said. “To fulfill the duties of a Blake Witch. Sengal stayed. Penance, he called it. For Arnold.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched.

“He could never forgive himself for losing his son,” Lupo added quietly.

We stopped in front of a massive black metal door.

“Sengal was very private,” Lupo said. “He didn’t allow anyone into his quarters.”

Agatha snorted. “That’s because my father was paranoid. Step back.”

She raised her hands, hovering them inches from the door. Magic stirred—sharp, reactive.

The door ignited.

Fire burst outward in a violent rush, forcing us all to jump back as heat scorched the air. The flames vanished as quickly as they appeared, leaving the metal unmarked but humming.

Lupo shook his head as he pulled a heavy key from his robes. “Sengal has been keeping secrets.”

The lock turned. The door creaked open.

Inside wasn’t just a bedroom.

It was also a conjuring chamber.

Shelves lined the walls, packed with books, herbs, potions, elixirs, draughts. Symbols etched into the stone glowed faintly beneath layers of use. This wasn’t a monk’s cell. This was a war room.

Agatha didn’t waste a second. She crossed the room and yanked open a large trunk positioned against the wall.

“Everything’s coming with me,” she said, already sweeping bottles and scrolls inside. “We’ll sort it later.”

I moved to the nightstand beside the bed and opened a drawer.

A salt shaker.

I frowned, poured a pinch into my palm. Pain suddenly exploded across my skin.

I hissed as the salt burned, silver biting deep. I shook my hand, heart pounding.

“Has anyone gotten sick lately, Master Lupo?” I asked tightly.

He nodded. “Many of us. Bad batch of stew, a few weeks ago.” He stepped closer, staring at my blistering hand. “There’s silver in the salt?”

“Yes,” I said grimly. “The witches are planning to use it to kill wolves. No one will notice until it’s too late.”

I tore through Sengal’s cabinet next. Robes—but also suits. Shoes. Modern. He’d been coming and going.

Then I found them. A smartphone and a laptop.

Electronics were forbidden in Bwasho.

“Seems Sengal was busy,” I murmured as I powered on the phone.

The screen lit up. And my breath caught in my throat.

The lock screen photo stared back at me.

Sengal and Evie's mother, Maggie Howell, big smiles on their faces...

Standing together in front of Blood Moon Spirits Headquarters.