Chapter 6 TEETH BENEATH THE SURFACE

The moon was still high when Rowan woke, heart pounding from a dream she couldn't quite remember. Shadows danced across the ceiling of the lodge as wind rustled through the trees outside. The fire had burned low, casting a soft orange glow over the worn wood floors and stone hearth.

Silas hadn't moved from his place by the hearth. He sat in the armchair, half-asleep, one hand still curled loosely around a half-burned log he must have added to the fire during the night. His head tilted slightly, breath slow and even, but his presence felt like a coiled wire-still alert beneath the stillness.

Rowan sat up on the couch, blanket sliding off her shoulders. "You stayed up all night?"

Silas blinked awake slowly, eyes sharpening as they met hers. "Didn't mean to," he murmured.

She stood, stretching her arms overhead, trying to shake the lingering unease from her limbs. "I had the dream again."

"The Hollow?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

She nodded, rubbing her arms. "Only this time, it wasn't Elandra I saw. It was... me. Standing in the circle. Blood on my hands. And your wolf was watching from the trees."

Silas's face darkened, his expression tightening like a storm cloud. "Omen or memory?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "It felt real. More real than any dream should be."

He rose from the chair, moving toward the table where the old grimoire still lay open, its pages curled slightly from the fire's warmth. "We need answers faster than they're coming. The full moon is in three nights."

Rowan crossed the room, leaning against the edge of the table. "What happens when it rises?"

"You'll see me for what I am," he said, voice low and even. "And I'll either lose control... or I won't."

She met his eyes, steady. "Then let's make sure it's the latter."

-

Later that day, the lodge was filled with the scent of burning sage and dried herbs. Rowan had spent the morning preparing a set of protective wards, each one laced with spells of grounding, resistance, and clarity. The floor was swept clean, the furniture moved aside. A wide circle had been drawn across the wooden boards in salt and ash, traced with old runes that glimmered faintly when touched by light.

Silas sat shirtless in the center of the room, surrounded by the markings. His broad shoulders and arms bore old scars-testaments to battles survived, wounds earned. Muscles tensed, but he didn't flinch as she worked, even when the spelllight crackled like static against his skin.

"This may sting," she warned as she approached, holding a small charm stone in one hand.

He gave her a lopsided grin. "I've been clawed, bitten, and burned. I'll survive."

Rowan held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then stepped into the circle. She knelt before him and pressed her palm to the center of his chest. Heat surged between them-magic responding, recognizing. Her mark flared faintly against her wrist, glowing in tandem with the symbols she had drawn.

For a heartbeat, she felt everything inside him-rage, grief, strength-and beneath it all, a deep loneliness that echoed like a cavern.

She pulled back with a sharp breath. "Your spirit is tangled. Like something's coiled around it, anchored deep."

Silas's brow furrowed. "Can you undo it?"

"I can try. But I'll need something stronger."

"Like what?"

"Blood," she said quietly. "Yours. And mine."

Silas nodded without hesitation. "Then take it."

She hesitated, knife in hand. "If I do this, it'll bind us more than we already are."

"I'm already bound to you, Rowan," he said. "Whether we name it or not."

Her throat tightened, but she nodded. She drew a silver-bladed ritual knife from her pouch, slicing a shallow line across her palm. Silas mirrored the motion without a word. They pressed their hands together, blood mingling, and the runes around them flared like wildfire.

The power surged through her like a lightning strike. Memories-not hers-flooded her mind. A boy in the woods. A girl on a cliff's edge. A kiss shared under a blood moon. A scream torn from the throat. A binding cast in desperation. A curse, sealed in blood.

Rowan stumbled back, her breath ragged. Silas caught her before she could collapse, his arms steady, warm.

"What did you see?" he asked, voice low and tight.

"Everything," she whispered. "The curse... it wasn't just a punishment. It was a choice. Elandra offered herself-her blood, her magic-as a vessel to anchor it. That's why her essence still lingers. Why mine does."

Silas looked shaken. "You're a part of it. A living link."

"I think that's why the elders are afraid of me. They know I can either break the curse... or become the next anchor."

Before Silas could respond, the lodge door slammed open with a bang that echoed through the rafters.

Gage stood in the doorway, fury radiating off him like wildfire. His eyes locked on their blood-bound hands, then on the circle. Behind him, Elara lingered with a more cautious expression.

"You're binding blood now?" Gage spat. "With her?"

Silas stepped forward, voice calm but edged with warning. "Careful, Gage."

"No, Silas. I won't be silent while you let a witch dig her claws into your soul."

Rowan stepped between them, her tone sharp. "I'm not your enemy."

Gage snarled. "You're a reminder of everything we've lost."

Elara raised a hand, trying to cut through the tension. "Enough. This isn't helping."

But Gage wasn't finished. He turned to Silas, voice rising. "The pack is restless. They feel the shift in you. The pull toward her. They think you've forgotten who you are."

Silas's eyes flashed gold, his wolf stirring beneath his skin. "I know exactly who I am. I'm the Alpha cursed by your ancestors-and hers. And I'm the only one willing to stop it."

Gage's lip curled in a sneer, but he said nothing more. He stalked out, slamming the door behind him like a final warning.

Elara lingered in the doorway, eyes flicking between Rowan and Silas. "Be careful," she said softly. "He's not the only one who's watching."

Then she was gone.

Rowan exhaled shakily, her hand still bleeding slightly.

Silas stepped close, his hand brushing her arm. "They'll come around."

"Will they?" she asked, voice hushed. "Or are we just fueling the fire?"

He looked her in the eyes, steady and unflinching. "Then let it burn. We'll walk through it together."

And in that moment, with the scent of ash thick in the air, the moonlight creeping through the windows, and their blood still fresh between their hands, Rowan believed him.