Chapter 76 77
Gregor POV
Thank the gods — Marigold was safe.
And thank every reckless decision I’d ever made, because I’d been right. She found her.
The ancient Fae.
The keeper of this forest. The oldest of all. Her Highness — the one most thought was nothing but a bedtime myth whispered among hunters and scholars who liked to scare themselves with fairytales.
Few ever believed she existed, but I did. I’d read about her in crumbling records, in languages so old even the ink seemed to bleed away from memory.
For days I’d searched — following every half-scent, every carved sigil in the trees — since I began fleeing from the enemies that never stopped chasing: Black Fang, the cursed Queen’s hounds.
The forest itself had seemed to hide her from me, twisting paths, closing trails, erasing signs like it was protecting something sacred.
And yet… my gut had screamed Marigold will find her.
And she did.
Maybe the Fae had been waiting for her — a dark wolf born under the storm, carrying something ancient in her blood that none of us yet understood.
Now, sitting here in this dripping cave, with dawn creeping like smoke over the northern ravine, I could finally breathe. For the first time in weeks, the pounding in my chest wasn’t just survival. It was relief. Gratitude. Maybe even something worse — something that felt too close to love.
Marigold sat across from me near the fire, wringing water from her hair and muttering curses that sounded way too creative for this early in the morning.
“River shampoo,” she grumbled. “Nature’s betrayal in liquid form.”
Despite everything — the storm, the blood, the fact that we’d both nearly died twice last night — I almost laughed.
“Stop staring,” she said, eyes flicking up.
“I’m not,” I lied.
“You are,” she shot back. “Do I have a fish stuck in my hair or something?”
I leaned back on my elbows, pretending to inspect her. “Not a fish. A frog maybe.”
Her glare could’ve peeled bark off a tree. “Ha. Hilarious.”
The sarcasm was comforting — familiar, grounding. It reminded me we were still here. Alive. Bruised, yes, but together.
Her wolf shimmered faintly under her skin when the firelight touched her. I could feel it — that pulse of power that hadn’t been there before, stronger, brighter. Whatever the Fae had given her… it wasn’t just healing. It was awakening something old.
“You found her,” I said quietly.
Marigold glanced at me, then at the small figure of the Fae asleep deeper in the cave. “Barbie,” she said flatly. “Her Highness, the Shining Ancient of the Forest, thirteen-thousand-something years old — and somehow allergic to everything.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that escaped. “Barbie?”
“She didn’t give me a name, so I picked one,” she shrugged. “She glows. She nags. She’s basically a magical Barbie with wings.”
That earned a genuine laugh out of me — the first in days. “You know, in the old stories, she was called the Lightkeeper.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve renamed her. You’re welcome.”
The teasing faded slowly into quiet — the fire crackled, the mist outside thickened, and reality crept back in.
Her words hit harder than any wound I’d taken. Because I understood instantly — she was the dark warrior. We were the descendant, our dark warrior wolf.
But Marigold’s bloodline wasn’t ordinary. She was descended from the Nightborn — an ancient line of supernatural fighters wiped out in the Great Purge. Her existence itself was already a miracle.
Now, she wasn’t just a survivor. She was the key.
“Gregor,” she said softly, “if they find me, they’ll tear me apart. The Queen, her army, the ASA — they’ll all come for me.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’ll never let them reach you.”
Her jaw tensed. “You can’t protect me forever.”
“I don’t need forever. Just long enough for you to change this damn world.”
Silence.
Then — a faint laugh, small and shaky. “You really know how to give a pep talk, huh?”
I smiled. “Only to stubborn wolves.”
The firelight danced between us, soft gold against her damp skin, her hair curling wild around her face. She looked exhausted, fierce, alive — and my heart clenched so hard it almost hurt.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. The wind whistled through the ravine mouth, and in it, I swore I heard faint whispers — the echo of the curse itself, twisting through the mist. Words older than language, murmuring from somewhere unseen.
Marigold shivered slightly. I moved closer, offering my cloak. She didn’t argue for once. When she looked up, her eyes softened, storm-grey with something unguarded.
“You’re thinking again,” she said, voice low.
“So are you.”
She gave a faint smirk. “We’re a mess.”
“The kind I’d choose again,” I murmured.
Her hand brushed mine — tentative, then firm. My chest tightened. I hadn’t meant to touch her like that. Not here, not now. But the storm outside and the silence inside seemed to pull us together like gravity itself had opinions.
Her breath hitched. “Gregor…”
“I thought I lost you,” I said. “And I don’t think I could survive that again.”
Her lips parted — maybe for a retort, maybe for another joke — but I didn’t give her the chance.
I kissed her.
The world went silent.
It wasn’t a soft kiss — it was one born of fear, relief, and everything we hadn’t dared to say while running for our lives. Her hands fisted in my jacket; mine cupped her face, tracing every edge, every scar, every piece of her that I’d once thought I’d never see again.
The rain drummed outside, and the firelight flickered over us like the world itself wanted to remember this.
When we finally broke apart, she was smiling — tired, breathless, beautiful.
And that — that was enough.
We sat there for a while, her hand still in mine, as dawn bled silver across the cave mouth. Outside, the mist rolled through the ravine, carrying faint echoes of war and prophecy.
Soon, we’d face the Queen’s army. The ASA’s hunters.
But for now — just for this heartbeat — we were safe. Together.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed we might actually have a chance to win.