Chapter 78 79
Gregor POV
By the time the sun burned through the last of the storm, the forest had gone too quiet.
No birds. No frogs. Not even the soft hum of fae light that usually drifted above the wildflowers. Just wind, sliding through the ravine like a blade.
Marigold walked beside me, her hair still damp, jacket patched and muddy, the Fae — or, as she insisted, “Barbie the Glorious Sparkle Pest” — fluttering in lazy circles above her head. The Fae grumbled the entire time.
“I told you,” Barbie said, dusting her shimmering wings. “Rivers. Never again. My wings smell like dead fish.”
Marigold muttered, “You’re lucky I didn’t drown trying to save your shiny butt.”
“My regal shiny butt,” Barbie corrected with a glare. “And for the record, wolves don’t float gracefully either.”
I exhaled, trying not to laugh — and failing. Even after everything, even in the shadow of what was coming, they could still bicker like siblings in a sandbox.
But underneath the sarcasm, I felt it — the shift in the air. The pulse beneath the soil. Something foul had seeped into the forest overnight.
The curse wasn’t just in the Queen’s bloodline anymore. It was spreading, warping the land itself. I could smell it — iron, ash, and something rotten.
And worse — I could hear it.
Whispers.
At first faint, like wind through hollow bones. Then clearer. Words I didn’t want to understand.
“…blood of the wolf… blood of the fae… awaken the dark…”
I froze mid-step.
Marigold noticed instantly. “What is it?”
“Shh,” I hissed. “Listen.”
She tilted her head. For a moment, the mist hung still — then she frowned. “Okay. Either I’m hearing voices or the forest’s trying to gossip.”
Barbie darted between us, wings glowing faintly. “It’s not gossip. It’s memory. The curse has memory now.”
My stomach dropped. “It shouldn’t.”
“No,” Barbie said grimly, “it shouldn’t. But it means the Queen’s reaching farther. Her blood magic’s loose — she’s pushing through the link between the cursed and the land. The longer she feeds, the more this place bends to her will.”
Marigold’s jaw tightened. “So we’re walking through her living nightmare. Cool. Love that for us.”
“Stay close,” I warned. “Something’s wrong. The mist—”
That’s when I smelled it.
Oil. Gunmetal. Wet fur.
Renegade wolves. Wolfgang’s men.
They were close.
Too close.
“Gregor,” Marigold murmured, already catching the scent. Her hand drifted toward the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Tell me that’s your cologne.”
I shook my head slowly. “No. That’s them.”
Barbie blinked. “Them who?”
“The ones who were supposed to be on our side,” I growled.
The first shadow broke through the fog — massive, hulking, half-shifted. Then another. Then five more. Their eyes glowed pale amber, their armor black with Queen’s markings — the crest of Wolfgang’s traitor pack.
My pulse roared.
“Ambush?” Marigold asked.
“Almost certainly.”
“Cool. I was getting bored anyway.”
And then everything happened at once.
The first wolf lunged from the mist — claws extended, eyes feral — and I met him mid-air, teeth bared, slamming him into a tree so hard bark exploded. Another came for Marigold; she ducked, kicked his knee sideways, and drove her dagger straight through his throat with a snarl that sent shivers down even my spine.
Barbie, meanwhile, hovered overhead, shrieking, “Ugh! You blood-soaked brutes! Do you know how hard it is to get wolf guts off glitter?!”
“Barbie,” Marigold shouted between blows, “zap someone useful!”
“I am zapping!” the fae screeched — and promptly fired a bolt of blue light at a charging renegade, sending him flying into the river with a splash that smelled like ozone and burnt fur. “See? Fabulous and deadly!”
I barely had time to laugh before another wolf came at me, heavier, faster. His eyes weren’t just amber — they were streaked with black veins.
Cursed.
He growled something guttural — a language not of wolves, but of the Queen’s blood magic.
The same whispers I’d heard in the mist.
Marigold caught the same sound and grimaced. “Okay, nope, that’s creepy.”
I dodged his swing, slammed him against a boulder, and roared, “She’s infecting them now. The curse— it’s rewriting them.”
Marigold’s wolf surfaced under her skin, power crackling like lightning. “Then we burn them out.”
Her words weren’t a metaphor.
The moment she moved, her wolf’s aura ignited — not fire, not quite light, but something ancient, swirling like black flame and silver frost. She tore through the next two renegades like paper, her strikes clean, lethal, divine.
Even Barbie paused mid-flight. “Okay, holy glowing goddess moment—”
“Later!” Marigold barked, spinning and slicing through another cursed wolf. “You can praise me when I’m not trying to stay alive!”
Within minutes, the mist thinned, leaving only blood, broken armor, and silence behind.
I stood, panting, my claws dripping red. Marigold’s chest heaved beside me, her hair wild, eyes blazing.
“Is it just me,” she said, wiping her blade, “or did they get uglier?”
I gave her a faint smile. “They’re evolving.”
“Cool,” she said dryly. “Can they evolve into staying dead?”
Barbie flitted down, landing on Marigold’s shoulder with a huff. “Next time, warn me before you go all glowing murder wolf. I almost had a heart palpitation.”
“You don’t have a heart,” Marigold shot back.
“It’s a metaphor, rude mammal.”
I barely heard them. My attention was fixed on something one of the bodies was holding — a fragment of black metal, jagged and humming faintly. The emblem etched into it made my stomach drop.
The Queen’s sigil — surrounded by the mark of ASA.
“Yes,” I said grimly. “It’s already happening. The humans want power. The Queen wants dominance. Together, they’ll destroy everything between.”
Marigold cursed softly, eyes narrowing. “Then we don’t stop running.”
“No,” I said. “We start hunting.”
Marigold POV
I don’t know how many hours of walking later — or limping, to be exact — after the forest fight we finally stumbled upon what looked like the afterlife’s version of a junkyard gym: an abandoned ASA outpost.
And by “outpost,” I mean a depressing bunker with half its roof caved in, wires hanging like cursed Christmas lights, and the kind of smell that screamed rat buffet.
“Home sweet hell,” I muttered, brushing off a spider web from my arm. “Ten stars on supernatural Airbnb.”
Barbie groaned behind me, flapping her wings weakly. “I swear, if one more mosquito bites my left wing, I’m filing an official complaint to nature.”
Gregor smirked — smirked — even with blood drying on his cheek. “You’re lucky you have wings. We walked through half the cursed north. My legs are about to file for divorce.”
I snorted. “Yeah? Well, my butt’s been divorced since the ravine fall, so congrats — we’re both single.”
Barbie gagged. “Ew. Please don’t flirt while I’m still traumatized. I saw a head explode earlier.”
I glared at her. “You made that head explode.”
“Yes, and I regret nothing,” she said proudly. “But I still need therapy.”
The door to the outpost creaked open as Gregor shoved it with his shoulder. The sound echoed through the ruin like a scream. Dust rained down. Inside was… well, a disaster.
Broken monitors, shattered desks, rusted metal cabinets, and half-burned maps of the supernatural zones. ASA logos still plastered the walls, faded but unmistakable.
And right in the center of the room — a control console.
I squinted. “You think this still works?”
Gregor’s jaw tightened. “Let’s find out.”
He crouched by the console, brushing away the grime. The power light blinked — faint, red, then green. The machine groaned to life like it hadn’t been touched since the Stone Age.
Barbie hovered near a busted ceiling vent, muttering something about “dust allergies.”
While Gregor typed, I wandered. The walls were lined with photos — grainy images of wolves, vampires, fae, witches — catalogued, tagged, labeled. Like trophies.
ASA had been hunting us all along.
A chill crept up my spine. “These bastards treated us like lab rats.”
Gregor didn’t answer. He was too focused, eyes sharp, muscles tense. His fingers flew over the keys until the monitor flickered — static, then a series of camera feeds.
“Oh,” Barbie said softly, her glow dimming. “Oh gods.”
The screens showed cells.
Cold. Metal. Blood-stained.
And in one of them — Sugar.
Her wild curls were matted, her clothes torn, but she was alive, pacing like a caged lioness, eyes full of fire even behind bruises. I covered my mouth, feeling the rush of relief and rage all at once.
The next feed showed Prince Leon — chained, wrists raw, his royal jacket gone, shirt shredded. His golden eyes flickered as he tried to break the restraints.
Gregor swore under his breath. “Black Fang has them.”
Barbie fluttered closer. “Wait, what’s that symbol on the wall?”
We leaned in.
There — burned into the stone behind Leon — was the Queen’s sigil, merged with the ASA insignia.
Gregor muttered, voice low and deadly. “She’s feeding them. Trading her soldiers for their tech.”
I felt sick. “They’re making weapons out of us.”