Chapter 121 Brains, Biceps, and a Book on Dark Magic

Chapter 121 Brains, Biceps, and a Book on Dark Magic
Brooks' POV

Brooks leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Nyx as she pored over yet another ancient tome. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows over her sharp features, making her look almost otherworldly—untouchable.
But he knew better.
Nyx wasn't just beautiful. She was brilliant, unyielding, and more determined than any wolf he'd ever met.
And right now?
She was desperate.
She had spent hours in this room, flipping through pages, scanning symbols most wolves would never dare look at, diving into the deepest, darkest corners of magic for a way to save Opal.
His chest tightened.
She was doing this for them.
For Opal.
For his family.
For him.
Brooks exhaled, stepping deeper into the room. "You've been at this for hours."
Nyx didn't look up. "Because we don't have time to waste."
His jaw tightened. He hated this.
Hated seeing her exhausted, her amber eyes shadowed with strain.
Hated feeling useless while she carried the weight of knowledge no one else could touch.
"You need a break." He moved behind her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. "Or at least food. Maybe even—"
"I don't need food, Brooks."
Finally, she lifted her gaze.
Amber eyes met his, and damn if the fire there didn't burn him alive.
"I need answers."
Brooks let out a slow breath. "Then tell me what you've found."
Nyx hesitated, then softened just slightly, reaching for his hand. "Sit with me."
Brooks lowered himself into the chair beside her, keeping his grip firm around hers.
"Alright. Tell me what we're dealing with."
Nyx flipped open a brittle, yellowed page and tapped a line of text.
"Azeala—Elena, whatever name she's using—isn't just a dark witch. She's a practitioner of soul-binding magic."
Brooks frowned. "That sounds bad."
Nyx snorted. "That's because it is."
She ran her fingers over the faded ink, her voice dropping into something grim, final.
"Dark witches don't just use magic. They consume it. They take power from the world around them—blood, pain, fear. But the strongest of them?" She swallowed, her fingers curling against the parchment.
"They take souls."
Brooks' stomach dropped.
"She's not just tormenting Opal," Nyx continued, voice tight. "She's claiming her. Piece by piece."
His grip on her hand tightened. "How do we stop it?"
Nyx sighed, rubbing her temples. "The problem is, dark magic is unpredictable. Most recorded history on witches like Azeala is…" She exhaled sharply. "Unreliable. Some say they can be killed like anyone else. Others say you have to sever their source of power first. And some say—"
She hesitated.
Brooks' eyes darkened. "Say what, Nyx?"
She met his gaze, something heavy settling in her expression.
"Some say they can't be killed at all."
Silence.
Brooks clenched his jaw. "That's not an option."
Nyx nodded. "I know."
"So what do we do?"
She turned another page, scanning the text until she stilled.
Her voice dropped, quiet but firm. "There are only two ways to break a soul-binding curse on a werewolf."
Brooks leaned in. "Tell me."
Nyx swallowed. "The first way?" She hesitated. "Kill the witch."
Brooks exhaled sharply. "Good. We'll do that."
But Nyx didn't move on.
She was still holding something back.
His patience snapped. "Nyx."
She closed the book, pressing her fingers against the cover like she needed a moment to process it herself.
"The second way."
Brooks' pulse spiked. "Spit it out."
Nyx lifted her gaze, amber eyes heavy with something that looked too much like grief.
"If Opal finds her mate before the full moon, the bond could override the curse."
The words hit Brooks like a punch to the gut.
He sat back, running a shaking hand down his face. "So that's why the witch is pushing this timeline. If Opal finds her mate, she loses."
Nyx nodded. "Yes."
Brooks' heart pounded.
Then—"And if Opal doesn't?"
Nyx's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
"The witch takes her."
The words slammed into him.
His hands curled into fists. He had never felt so damn powerless.
Three weeks.
That's all they had.
Three weeks to find Opal's mate. Or they kill the witch.
Brooks exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm.
But inside?
Inside, he was screaming.
Because without Opal, they wouldn't survive.
She wasn't just his sister. She was the glue that held them together. Ash, Ridge, Forrest—all of them would break.
Their pack would shatter.
He couldn't let that happen.
He wouldn't.
"And if we can't find her mate?"
Nyx hesitated. Then—softly—
"Then we better hope Kael is strong enough to pull her back."
Brooks' blood boiled.
Because that?
That wasn't a plan.
That was a gamble.
Nyx pressed her lips together before adding, "And even that isn't guaranteed."
Brooks narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Nyx looked down at the text, her fingers ghosting over the page.
"We've never tested this before. Most wolves wait for their fated mate—we don't know if a chosen bond can withstand something this strong. If Kael and Opal aren't fully bonded—if their connection isn't absolute—"
Brooks swallowed hard. "The witch could take him too."
Nyx nodded, her face drawn tight. "Yes."
Brooks pushed a hand through his hair, letting out a slow, controlled breath.
"So our best shot is to kill her before that happens."
Nyx's voice was steady, but there was a sliver of doubt in her eyes. "If we can."
Brooks hated how uncertain she sounded.
Hated that this was their reality.
But more than anything—
He hated that Opal didn't even know how close she was to losing herself.
Nyx reached for his hand again, her touch steadying him. "We'll figure this out, Brooks."
He looked at her—really looked at her.
For a woman raised by witches, Nyx had chosen her side.
She had chosen him.
Brooks turned her hand over in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
"You know I love you, right?" His voice was low, gravelly, raw with something deeper than words.
Nyx's lips parted slightly, her breath hitching.
Then—softly, certainly—
"I love you too."
Brooks lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against her skin.
"Then we're going to win." His voice was steel, a vow that ran deeper than any curse.
Nyx exhaled, her fingers threading through his.
"Yeah," she whispered. "We are."

Forrest's POV

Forrest woke up to the sound of distant yelling and the unmistakable tension of an entire pack preparing for war.
Again.
Someone somewhere was probably training. Someone else was probably arguing about mating bonds. And Ash? Ash was likely barking orders at a wall and brooding about loyalty while doing push-ups shirtless like the noble, angry statue he was.
Forrest sat up in bed and blinked at the ceiling.
"Nope," he said out loud to no one in particular. "Not today."
Today, the pack needed joy.
They needed laughter.
They needed… him.

Forrest flung off his blanket and stood like a man possessed by divine mischief. "It is time," he declared dramatically, "for a morale improvement initiative."
He was going to cheer everyone up.
Whether they liked it or not.

Phase One: Frogageddon

By 8:00 a.m., Forrest stood outside the pack house with a large bucket. In it? Frogs.
A lot
of frogs.
He'd been out since dawn catching the slimy little guys down by the creek. He counted a hundred. Or maybe ninety-eight. One jumped out of the bucket, and he just shrugged.
Close enough.
Each frog had a tiny paper note tied gently to one leg. Some said things like:
"Believe in yourself!"

"Croak less, live more."

"Your hair looks amazing today."

"Ribbit. (That's frog for 'I love you.')"

A few simply said: "This is Ash's fault."

He pushed open the side door of the pack house and gently released his army into the hallway.
The frogs scattered.
Some hopped into the common room. Others took the stairs two at a time.
He closed the door with a satisfied smile and whispered, "Go forth, my sons."

Phase Two: Brooks vs. Bowels

At 8:30 a.m., Forrest found Brooks in the kitchen blending his daily green nightmare smoothie.
It looked like swamp water had personal issues.
"Morning!" Forrest said innocently, all sunshine and fake virtue.
Brooks grunted in return and turned his back to grab a protein bar.
Amateur mistake.

Forrest struck fast, emptying a small vial of high-grade laxative powder into the blender and snapping the lid back on like nothing had happened.
"You doing leg day today?" Forrest asked as Brooks poured the smoothie into a bottle.
Brooks shrugged. "Upper body."
"Bold choice," Forrest said, already walking away, "with what's about to happen in your lower half."
Brooks stared at forrest and just drank his smothie unaware of the chaos that was about to happen.

Phase Three: Glitterocalypse

At 9:00 a.m., it was time for the crown jewel of the morning.
Opal.
She'd been tense all week—carrying the weight of leadership, fate, and maybe feelings she wasn't ready to talk about. So Forrest, being a supportive brother
, decided to lighten her mood.
With glitter.
He rigged her weapons locker using a spring-loaded mechanism, a funnel, and two pounds
of glitter—mixed pink and silver, for maximum effect.
She was in the training yard when she opened it.
There was a moment of silence.
Then:
BOOM.

A mushroom cloud of sparkle erupted into the air. Glitter blasted into her face, hair, chest—everywhere. Even her boots
looked like disco balls.
Forrest was already laughing when she turned around.
But when she locked eyes
with him, his laughter doubled over into wheezing.
Opal looked like a vengeful fairy queen.
Her eyes were pure murder.
Her hair sparkled like a unicorn exploded.
And she was coming for him.

"Forrest Blackthorn!" she shouted, stalking forward, hands clenched into fists.
He tried to run.
He tripped over a frog.
Hit the ground.
Hard.
Still laughing.
"I—you look so majestic—
" he wheezed as she stomped closer, glitter still raining off her like a sparkly demon.
"You GLITTER-BOMBED MY WEAPONS."
"It was a gift!"
Opal tackled him.
They rolled into the grass as Forrest gasped, still laughing too hard to fight back. Opal sat on his chest, pressing a knee into his ribs, and glared down at him.
"Any last
words?" she growled.
"Yeah," he choked out, grinning up at her. "You're welcome."

Later that day, as Seraphina lectured him about hygiene, biological hazards, and psychological warfare via amphibians, Forrest sat with an ice pack on his head and a big dumb smile on his face.
Opal was still picking glitter out of her hair.
Brooks was somewhere in the infirmary, swearing between bathroom breaks.
Kael had threatened to kill him twice
after finding a frog in his bed.
Ash had said nothing, which meant he was definitely
plotting revenge.
It was fine.
They were laughing again. Rolling their eyes again. Living again.
And that?
That was the whole point.