Chapter 6 None

Chapter 6

EVANGELINE POINT OF VIEW

I can't give up. Not like this.

The thought burns through my mind as I sit in the school library after hours. Uncle Marcus didn't die just so I could fade into nothing. He believed I was more than they said I was. More than what Ronan tried to make me feel.

The way Ronan looked at me in that cafeteria, like I was a bug under his boot

I'll never forget it. And I won't let it be the last thing I feel.

My hands shake as I pull another book from the shelf. "Ancient Werewolf Practices" stares back at me in faded gold letters. The pages smell like old paper and secrets.

I've been here for three hours. Three hours of reading about magic I don't understand. About powers that died out centuries ago. About things that should be myths but feel terrifyingly real.

The necklace. I have to find out about the necklace.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it. That dark blue stone pulsing with unnatural light. The way it seemed to drink in the brightness around it instead of reflecting it back.

And every pulse made me weaker.

"Binding stones," I whisper, reading from the book spread before me. "Used by ancient packs to control rebellious wolves. Often crafted from obsidian or dark sapphire, these artifacts could suppress a wolf's connection to their human host."

My breath catches. This has to be it.

I read faster, my eyes scanning the yellowed pages. "The stones worked by creating a barrier between human and wolf consciousness. Prolonged exposure could result in permanent separation, leaving the victim essentially human."

No wolf. No bond. No connection to anything supernatural.

Just empty human existence.

My chest tightens with panic. How long has he been wearing it? How much time do I have before the damage becomes forever?

"The practice was banned in 1847 after the Treaty of Silver Creek," I continue reading. "All known binding stones were supposed to be destroyed. However, rumors persist that some ancient families kept the artifacts as heirlooms."

Ancient families. Like the Nightbanes.

I flip through more pages, searching for anything about breaking the connection. About stopping the magic before it's too late.

"Binding stones require physical proximity to maintain their effect," another passage says. "The further the victim moves from the artifact, the weaker its influence becomes."

Distance. That's one way to fight it.

But I can't leave school. Can't run away from my only chance at a future. Uncle Marcus died believing I could make something of myself here. I won't dishonor his memory by giving up.

There has to be another way.

I keep reading until my eyes burn. The words start blurring together. Information about moon phases and counter-spells and ritual breaking dance in my vision like fever dreams.

"Miss Cross?"

I jump, my heart hammering against my ribs. Mrs. Chen stands at the end of the aisle, her expression worried.

"The library closed an hour ago," she says gently. "I've been letting you stay, but security will be making rounds soon."

An hour? It felt like minutes.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, closing the book. "I was just researching something for class."

She glances at the title and raises an eyebrow. "Ancient Werewolf Practices? That's quite advanced reading for a high school student."

Heat floods my cheeks. "It's for... extra credit."

Mrs. Chen studies me for a long moment. There's something knowing in her eyes. Something that makes me wonder if she sees more than she lets on.

"Some knowledge comes with a price," she says quietly. Then her voice drops even lower, barely a whisper: "Be careful, Miss Cross. The last girl who asked too many questions about old magic... she never came back the same."

Before I can ask what she means, she walks away. Her footsteps echo through the empty library like a warning.

I gather my things and sneak out through the side door. The parking lot is nearly empty now. Only a few cars remain under the flickering streetlights.

My apartment is dark and quiet when I get there. My three roommates are probably at work or out with friends. People with normal lives who don't have to worry about magical artifacts stealing their souls.

I collapse onto my bed and pull out my phone. My fingers hover over the search engine. Maybe the internet has answers the old books don't.

"Binding stones werewolves" brings up nothing useful. Just fantasy novels and role-playing games.

"Ancient wolf magic artifacts" gives me more of the same.

"How to break supernatural bonds" leads to a bunch of relationship advice websites.

Frustration builds in my chest like steam in a kettle. The modern world has forgotten about real magic. About the things that go bump in the night and steal pieces of your soul.

But maybe that's good. Maybe it means fewer people know how to use these things.

Maybe it means Ronan doesn't know everything about what he's doing either.

Finally, i find something. "Nightbane family history" finally brings up more promising results.

A genealogy website shows their family tree going back hundreds of years. Names and dates that mean nothing to me. But one entry catches my attention.

"Mordecai Nightbane (1823-1891) - Known collector of supernatural artifacts. Rumored to have possessed one of the last binding stones in North America."

My blood turns to ice. The binding stone has been in Ronan's family for generations. Passed down like a deadly heirloom.

I click on more links. Read about the Nightbane pack's rise to power. About their reputation for crushing anyone who challenged their authority.

About the mysterious disappearances of rival wolves who got in their way.

How many people have suffered because of that necklace? How many wolves have been stripped of their nature and left as empty shells?

Am I just the latest in a long line of victims?

The thought makes me sick. But it also makes me angry.

I spend the next two hours reading everything I can find about the Nightbane family. About their methods. Their weaknesses. Anything that might help me understand what I'm up against.

Most of it is useless. Society page mentions of charity galas and business deals. Pictures of Ronan's parents looking powerful and untouchable.

But buried in an old newspaper archive, I find something interesting.

"Local Teen Hospitalized After Mysterious Illness" reads the headline from three years ago.

The article is short. A girl named Sarah Mitchell was found unconscious at Blackclaw Academy. She'd been weak and disoriented for weeks before collapsing. Doctors couldn't find anything wrong with her.

She recovered after a month in the hospital. But according to the follow-up article, she transferred schools immediately after. Moved across the country with her family.

Another victim? Another wolf who got too close to something she shouldn't have?

I save the article and keep searching. If this happened before, there might be others.

There might be a pattern.And patterns can be broken.

My phone buzzes with a text message. Unknown number again.

"Stop digging. Some stones are better left unturned."

My hands shake as I read it. He knows what I'm doing. Somehow, he knows I'm researching his family's secrets.

Fear crawls up my spine like ice water. But underneath it, something else grows. Something fierce and determined.

I text back with fingers that barely work: *"Try and stop me."*

The response comes immediately: *"I don't have to. The stone will do it for me."*

As if summoned by his words, weakness crashes over me like a wave. My vision blurs. My chest feels like it's caving in.

The binding stone's influence reaches even here. Even in my own home. The distance isn't enough to break free.

But I force myself to stay conscious.

I won't let him erase me that easily.

I'm going to find a way to destroy that necklace.