But so will we. More will die before it’s done.
Dwelling on that now would only make it worse. I had to keep my wits about me, my brain working, thinking, acting. The Chained had to know it couldn’t succeed with a frontal assault. Not yet. Though it held many minor creatures within its thrall, beasts like the moose were few and far between.
I directed more of my people to tend to wounded as we gathered our full strength and headed to the far side of the den.
There we found cabins aflame or outright torn asunder, planking and pieces of wood strewn everywhere.
And then there were the bodies. They had been pinned to the trees, their blood soaking the ground nearby, feeding the hungry roots. There were a lot. Few of my people had escaped the initial strike.
How did this happen? We had guards out. Patrols in full strength. How could they have found such a weak point, that we were not afforded any warning whatsoever?
I shook my head. There would be time to dwell on that later. For now, I had to focus on stomping out the last of the minions and figuring out what the point of this had been. Why would the Chained make such a pointless attack?
That was just it. Itwouldn’t. Which meant the attack wasn’t pointless. It had a purpose. But what? All it had achieved was to gather the pack,my pack, and have us drive its forces back. It had failed. All the wolves were awake and acting as one, stopping the Chained from-
All thewolves were here.
I cursed, paws digging in deep as I spun and raced back the way we had come.
That was the point of it all-a sacrifice, a diversion, nothing more. Designed to focus all our attention on point.
Yet somehow during the attack, the Chained’s strongest weapon had never appeared. But now I knew exactly where it was. My only hope was I could get there in time.
All this time, the evil entity at the heart of the forest hadn’t cared about killing my people. It had shown but one focus, and one focus only to this point. And it wasn’t the wolves.
It was Sylvie.
Sylvie
I stared out the window at the flames in the distance. Lincoln’s wolf emerged below me, the slate gray fur appearing far darker in the shadows than it was in the light. He paused long enough to toss his head back and howl. The sound was loud, penetrating the cabin walls with surprising ease and making me wince.
Elsewhere, more wolves took up the cry. I clenched my teeth, hoping they were in time. There were alot of flames visible, and as I watched in frozen fear, more appeared still. The den was burning, and I couldn’t shake the sensation that it was all my fault. That I had led them here, to this beautiful place.
I needed to do something.
Stay in the house. At least they can fight back. Would you be anything more than a liability?
The silence was deafening. I was alone, and arguing in my head, but the embarrassment of being useless still burned my cheeks.
That was the worst part of watching the den burn as the wolves fought to protect it. I was a witness. Nothing more. Locked inside Lincoln’s house, forced to do nothing but observe as the proud wolves fought-and likely died-to protect their home. I didn’t live there, but someone I cared for did, and I wanted to help.
Spinning away from the upstairs window, I searched the room for something movable. The empty vase on the dresser would do just fine.
“I’m a witch. Right?” I said, shaking my hands and pointing them at the spun-glass tube. “Then I should be able to do witch stuff. Magic. Come on!”
The vase didn’t so much as shed a mote of dust.
“Stupid. You know better. Leave this to Lincoln. He can handle it.” I stomped a foot on the floor. It didn’t make me feel better, nor did it dampen the knots forming in my stomach.
He was out there, leading his people. Doing exactly what a leader should do. Fighting for them, from the front lines. Which was an excellent place to get hurt. Or worse.
I clamped down on that line of thought, cutting off brain-function supply to it until it withered. It would never die, but that was good enough. Spending time worry about Lincoln just then was pointless. He was an excellent fighter. I’d seen it multiple times.
Especially if he didn’t pick on something bigger than him. And if he did, he had his entire pack to help him out this time. He wasn’t alone.
But I was.
“Ala-ka-zam!” I cried, pointing a crooked finger at a picture frame.
Nothing. I frowned, looking closer. The frame still had the stock photo in it, judging by the blonde little girl being hauled around by her parents. It was a guest room, but that was still weird.
“Okay, Grandma. Now’s the time for you to come through. Speak to me, some sort of ghostly projection. Tell me how to use this power that we supposedly have. They need my help.”
There was no response. Not that I’d expected one.
“Fire!” I spat, thrusting a fist at the photo frame and opening my hand at the last second.
No stream of eye-searing flame burst from my wrist, but Idid get a reaction to my command. Millions of tiny needles drove their pinpricks deep into nerve endings in unison as my spine locked up.
Danger.
I bolted for the door as the window imploded inward in a shower of glass, giving way to the last thing I ever wanted to see again.
Bloodbound.
“No!” I screamed as a bony finger reached for my arm, coming up just short thanks to the early warning of my intuition. “Get away from me!”
The house cracked and gave way as the evil ebony-wood tree-thing tore its way into Lincoln’s house piece by piece, ripping a hole through the wall. I backed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. Then I booked it for the stairs.
Wood splintered as the tree-thing body-checked the door from its hinges and emerged into the upstairs hallway.
My intuition power was off the charts, screaming at me like fire klaxons, the noise both distracting and incredibly painful.
My skull could only take so much before I was sure it would split in half.
The tree-thing reached me before I made it to the stairs, grabbing me and spinning me around. My ankle caught on something, and I tumbled through the doorway into Lincoln’s room, hitting the floor. The monster meanwhile had been moving too fast to stop, and it smacked hard against the wall when it reached the landing halfway down the stairs. The entire house shook on its foundations from the impact.
Bloodbound.
“Get out of my head!” I howled, scratching at my temples as the voice repeated with its rhythmic drumbeat consistency.
My spine arched and flexed with a constant stream of danger warnings, the pressure beyond incredible. I knew I was in danger. Could it not just shut up for a moment? I needed to think, to try to come up with a-
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