CHAPTER 147 Inferno at Forester’s Pass

CHAPTER 147 Inferno at Forester’s Pass
Draven

I heeded Mama Agnes’ wish.

Not because I wanted to—but because ignoring her felt like tearing out the last piece of myself that still remembered what duty meant.

The drive back to Chippewa Falls from Minneapolis was long and bitter. After stepping off Tío’s private jet—me carrying a new identity—we hit the road, the miles stretching ahead like a slow, relentless countdown.

Tío rode shotgun, boots on the dashboard, cigar clenched between his teeth even though I’d told him not to light it. He didn’t listen. Smoke curled around his face, thick and acrid, and it made me gag.

We parked near the highway, the car hidden behind the trees, and walked the rest of the way. The air changed the moment my boots touched the forest floor—cooler, heavier, almost sacred. Late afternoon light filtered through the bare branches, casting everything in streaks of gold and gray.

“This place is a dump,” Tío muttered as we walked. “Smells like wet rot and bad memories.”

I didn’t answer.

“You know we’re not staying, right?” he pressed. “Soon as you do whatever it is you dragged me out here for, we’re gone.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying,” I said. My voice sounded hollow to my own ears. “I’m here to follow Agnes’ last wishes. That’s it.”

Tío snorted. “The dead always want too much.”

The cottage sat exactly where I remembered it—perched at the edge of the forest, half-swallowed by trees that leaned in like silent, judgmental witnesses. Abandoned. The paint curled and flaked like old skin, exposing weathered wood beneath. The porch sagged, timbers bowing under the weight of years of snow, wind, and rain. But the land… the land remembered me, remembered every step I had taken here, every memory carved into its soil.

Agnes rested beside her sister now, under a simple stone etched with her name. No titles. No pack markings. Just Agnes Schultz.

I knelt and placed the bouquet down—white roses I had picked up from a florist in Minneapolis. My hands lingered on the earth, feeling the dampness seep into my skin.

“I came,” I murmured. “Like you asked.”

For a brief second, I half-expected her to emerge from behind the trees, laughing, announcing she was alive as she had done back in LA.

But the forest remained silent.

Then I heard a twig snapped

I straightened, every nerve alight, instincts prickling like coals beneath my skin. From between the shadows of the trees, Ethan Caldwell stepped forward. Broader, older, the scar along his jaw still fresh—earned during the last Blood Moon. Scarred Beasts Pack. My old schoolmate, standing like a predator sizing me up.

“Well,” he said flatly, voice cutting through the heavy air. “Look who crawled back.”

Tío shifted behind me, a low growl rumbling from his chest. I lifted a hand. Not yet.

Ethan’s eyes flicked to the grave, then back to mine. “You’ve got nerve showing your face here.”

“I’m paying my respects,” I said, voice calm, but tight, like steel coiled under skin.

“You lost the right to respect when you turned Chippewa Falls into a slaughter. People in this town are still afraid to go out at night.”

The words punched through my chest, sharp as claws. “Evie betrayed me,” I snapped, voice low and dangerous. “After everything I did for her—college tuition, a job, helped her buy a home. She smiled to my face and stabbed me in the back.”

Ethan’s eyes hardened, pinning me. “You really want us to believe that?”

“I actually don’t care what you want to believe,” I said, calm, clipped. “That’s my story.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the wolf on him—anger, grief, disbelief. “I was there after,” he said, his voice taut. “I saw the bodies, Draven. Humans torn apart. Left scattered like refuse.”

“So?” I challenged, letting the words drip with venom.

“So Evie didn’t do that,” he shot back. “You did.”

“And so if I did?” I growled, letting the heat rise in my chest. “What is it to you? You’re nothing but a filthy Omega. Whatever happened, Evie was the cause. That’s the simple truth.”

“Sure. Justify the insanity in your head. You don’t get to hurt her,” Ethan said, teeth clenched, fury radiating off him. “Not now. Not ever. She’s pregnant.”

I rolled my eyes, a dry, bitter laugh escaping me.

“Don’t use that,” I said coldly. “Pregnant or not, she’s a threat.”

“A threat?” he spat. “No, she isn’t. As wolves, we protect the innocent. That’s the law—older than packs. Older than you.”

I laughed, sharp, dismissive, the sound cutting the tension like a blade. If I didn’t, something inside me would fracture. “You think I’d believe anything you say now?”

Ethan shook his head slowly. “You’re lost.”

I shifted, changing the subject before he could dig deeper. “How did you find Agnes?”

His jaw tightened, eyes hard as flint. “We didn’t find her alive. She was on the floor of the cottage. Silver dust in her throat.”

My hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening. “See?” I said, voice low, dangerous. “That wasn’t me. That was witchcraft. Maggie Howell.”

Ethan’s gaze lingered, searching for something I wasn’t ready to give. “Agnes always said witches were poison.”

“It was her wish to purge them,” I said quietly, letting the words hang in the cold air. “Tell me—Maggie Howell. Is she here?”

He shrugged, slow, wary. “Don’t know. But during patrol, I saw someone in red heading toward the forest near Forester’s Pass. Restricted land. Trees bend… weird out there.”

I nodded, absorbing the information like a knife sliding into place. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, bitterness edging every word.

“For answering.”

I turned away before he could say more.

Tío and I left the clearing, our footsteps crunching over dead leaves, brittle and dry underfoot. We didn’t head back toward the highway where the car waited, hidden in shadows. I veered east, deeper into the forest, where the trees grew closer and darker, their branches knitting overhead into a nearly solid canopy. The fading light bled thin through the gaps, and my chest tightened—not with fear, but recognition.

I remembered this place. The ravine. The last Blood Moon. The fall. Bone-deep pain, silver dust, fire.

The trees twisted, bending inward, forming a warped, cathedral-like dome. Shadows pressed against my lungs, heavy and suffocating.

Tío stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Feels wrong. Like the forest is watching us.”

“As it should,” I said, letting the words hang.

“What do you need from this place?” he asked cautiously.

I met his gaze, steady, unflinching. “I need it to burn.”

Dusk bled into the canopy like molten purple, shadows stretching into jagged, clawed shapes. I pulled the gasoline can from my backpack, the smell sharp and metallic, biting through the forest’s damp scent. The liquid hissed as I poured it along the twisted trunks and leaf-strewn floor, soaking into bark and soil alike.

Tío shifted uneasily behind me. “And then what?”

I struck the match.

The flame caught instantly, a tiny, bright tongue licking the soaked wood. For a heartbeat, the forest froze with me, and then it surged.

Fire roared upward, twisting through the trees, devouring branches, licking the leaves in golden fury. Sparks spiraled into the night, like a swarm of fireflies gone mad, drifting into darkness beyond the dome. Smoke coiled and churned, black and pungent, rolling through the warped trunks.

The air shimmered with heat, thick and pulsing, blurring vision in the orange glow. Shadows danced along the bent tree trunks, contorting into monstrous shapes—human, wolf, demon—impossible to separate. The smell was sharp, sweet, suffocating; I breathed it in deeply, tasting charred bark, damp earth, and gasoline on my tongue.

Tío stepped back, wide-eyed, chest heaving. “Moon Goddess… this is… insane.”

“It's needed,” I said, low and resonant. “If this place is special to the Red Witch… she’ll come.”

“Bruja roja?” Tío barked, voice tight. “Red for blood? Draven, my man… you’re going to get us killed.”

The fire roared louder, crackling and hissing like a beast with a heartbeat of its own. I could feel it in my bones—a resonance that thrummed through the earth beneath my feet. Every tree was a drum, every flame a note, the forest a symphony of destruction.

“No, Tío. When she surfaces, then we pounce,” I said, eyes locked on the blaze, pupils black against the inferno. “Let's go before anyone sees us."

He didn’t argue. He just nodded, the firelight painting his face in flickering shadows. Fear clung to him, tangible, and I could feel it mirrored in myself—not weakness, but the sharp, electric thrill of the hunt.

I felt everything—the heat, the smell, the roar of the flames, the pulse of life and death in the air.

Under the blood-dusk sky and the bending trees, I knew Mama Agnes was watching.

And I would not fail.