Chapter 246
Every head turns. Hendrix lifts his gaze to her; tears blur the edges of his vision, yet a fragile spark of hope flickers somewhere beneath the despair.
She steps closer. “I have a relic. It can temporarily erase the memories of everyone inside the pack and out. Whatever happened here, whatever’s been said since—it can be wiped for a limited period.”
Jericho narrows his eyes. “Where the hell did you get a relic like that?”
“I can’t tell you.” Her tone stays level, almost apologetic. “All I’ll say is that I’ll need Niall’s help to activate it. He’s the only one who can. But there’s a drawback.”
Of course there is. Nothing this powerful comes without cost. Hendrix feels a jagged laugh building in his chest, the kind that might crack ribs if he lets it out.
Kira catches the tremor in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl into fists on his thighs. She speaks quickly, before the last shred of composure break. “I found out what the relic could do five years ago. The person who gave it to me made me swear to use it only when the need was necessary. I never pressed her for details then. Now I’m wondering whether I should have.”
Kira lowers her voice, the words coming out measured. “Activating the relic demands a substantial sacrifice of power. Someone has to give up their energy so Niall can channel it through the artefact.”
“Use mine,” Hendrix says without a second’s pause. His tone leaves no room for debate.
Kira meets his eyes and shakes her head once. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take yours. For one thing, it’s far too hazardous to attempt siphoning power from you under any circumstances. You must remember—I’ve tried it myself, and so did every other magic user who lived in this pack before your father was even born. The records are unambiguous: the abilities granted to the Ajax bloodline belong to that line alone. Anyone foolish enough to try converting them invites the moon goddess’s fury.”
She raises her left hand, tugs the sleeve down to her elbow, and passes her right palm—already shimmering with faint golden light—over the bare skin of her forearm. The air around her wrist grows warm, carrying a faint smell like scorched herbs. Dark lettering surfaces beneath the surface, etched in sharp Greek script, the skin immediately surrounding the words reddened and blistered as though branded by an invisible iron. The message requires no translation for those who know the language.
“Do not tamper with my chosen. Be warned.”
Kira lets the sleeve fall back into place. “I never explained to anyone why I abandoned my attempts to probe the full extent of your abilities. This is the reason. I very nearly lost the arm. According to the accounts left by others who pushed further, they lost a great deal more. I was fortunate—or perhaps the goddess recognised that my curiosity wasn’t malicious, only curious. Your power resists manipulation by any means we possess, and even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t risk it now. The memory wipe will only last for a short while. When the spell breaks, Sapphire will face the same threats again, and without your strength this pack collapses. No one will protect her then.”
Hendrix feels the truth of it settle like lead in his gut. The notion that the moon goddess herself has placed a barrier around his abilities registers as distant astonishment—he would have marvelled at it under calmer circumstances. Right now it simply adds another layer to the exhaustion pressing against his temples.
“Use mine then,” Scarlette offers, voice flat and matter-of-fact. She adjusts her hold on Sapphire, drawing the unconscious woman’s limp form a fraction closer to her chest. “I exist for her anyway.” A small shrug lifts one shoulder.
“No,” Kira cuts in sharply. “Hendrix isn’t the only one with significant power here. We need to preserve as many strong individuals as we can for whatever comes next.”
“What about me?” The question comes from the girl standing near the wall. Her hair is an unnatural Baker-Miller pink under the ward’s fluorescent lights; her eyes shimmer with the same vivid, sparkling rose. Tear tracks have left her cheeks and the bridge of her nose blotchy and flushed. Her small mouth sets in a stubborn line.
Kira studies her for a long moment. She never had the chance for a proper conversation with the girl before she left the pack alongside her brother, yet one glance is enough to sense the depth beneath the delicate appearance. Power radiates from her in gentle waves—light, almost soothing rather than oppressive. Kira cannot quite place what she is, but the devotion is unmistakable; like Scarlette, this girl’s loyalty centres entirely on Sapphire.
Something instinctive warns against it. Those powers feel volatile, unpredictable in ways that could backfire catastrophically. Kira shakes her head in quiet refusal.
“But why not?” the girl presses. “I want to help. I know my energy would be enough.”
“Apple,” Niall says, his tone even and gentle, “do you really believe your queen would thank you for trading away your power on her behalf? She would be devastated to learn anyone had given up so much for her sake. If the sacrifice must happen—and it appears it must—then let it come from someone whose absence she won’t immediately feel.”
“This is terrifying,” Khloe whispers. She remains pressed against Niall’s side, fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt, knuckles pale from the grip.
Grandma Fiona has stayed silent until now, watching everything unfold from her place near the foot of the bed. Her gaze rests on the young woman cradled in Scarlette’s arms—the child of the man she once loved and betrayed.
A month before her arrival, Fiona learned of the illness eating away at her body. Then she met the Sapphire, and something warm and bright had kindled inside her again: gratitude, pride, the quiet fulfilment of seeing a piece of Evander live on. Now that fragile happiness hangs by a thread, threatened from every direction.
She knows exactly what will happen if she offers herself—protests will erupt, arguments will flare—but she has already accepted the consequences. There is nothing left for her to lose.
“Use mine.”