Chapter 153

LOGAN

The Blightwood stood before me like a promise and a punishment all at once.

Branches arched high above, skeletal and twisted, their tips clawing at the bruised sky like they wanted to tear it open. The air was damp and metallic, thick with the scent of rot and old things buried deep. Even the light here felt wrong—diffused, gray, like it had passed through a veil of shadow before reaching the forest floor.

I hadn’t meant to come back here.

The first time, it had been Cassandra’s idea. Her voice, full of false confidence, whispering that there were powers older than the Council, powers that didn’t care about bloodlines or mating bonds or whether or not you were a disgrace to your pack.

But now? Now I was here because I had nowhere else to go.

Maggie had been captured. I didn’t know what she’d already said—or what she might say if they pressed her hard enough. And if the Alpha Council had issued a warrant for me, then it was only a matter of time before someone tracked me down.

I needed protection.

Leverage.

Power.

Something.

Anything.

I didn’t know what I was going to ask the Priestess for—only that she was the last hand left to play. And I was out of time.

I stepped into the forest, and it swallowed me whole.

The canopy blocked out what little sunlight remained. My boots crunched over brittle leaves, and with every step, the air grew heavier. Wet, almost. The kind of thick that clung to your skin and crawled into your lungs.

Around me, the trees whispered.

Not the usual rustling of leaves. Not wind.

Actual whispers.

I froze, my ears straining, but the voices melted back into the hush.

I pressed on.

Farther in. Deeper still.

Something slithered across the path ahead, just out of sight. Something too long, too low. I didn’t look.

The forest was watching. I could feel it. In the gooseflesh on my arms. In the sharp prickling at the base of my neck.

And then—

She was there.

One moment the path was empty. The next, she was standing in it, draped in smoke and shadow.

The Dark Priestess.

“Logan of the Forsaken Vow,” she said, her voice like leaves scraping over bone. “You’ve come back.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I hadn’t expected her to look so… real. Tangible. She wasn’t some phantom or whisper. She was flesh. And something else entirely.

Finally, I managed, “I’m in some trouble.”

She tilted her head. “On more than one plane.”

I frowned. “What?”

She smiled slightly, and I hated how it made the shadows lean in closer. “It’s not just the wolves who are after you now.”

I didn’t ask what she meant. I didn’t want to know.

“The wolves are enough,” I muttered.

She regarded me for a moment, unreadable. “Why have you come?”

I hesitated.

This was it. My moment to bargain. To turn the tide back in my favor.

“My… fated mate,” I began. “She knows things. Things that could destroy me. She’s in custody. They’re going to put her on trial. If she speaks, my life will be over.”

The Priestess watched me like a cat might watch a bird that hadn’t noticed the open mouth below.

“And what would you have me do about it?” she asked.

I swallowed hard.

It hit me then—what I wanted. What I needed.

“If she’s dead,” I said, voice raw, “she can’t talk.”

The words hung there. Heavy. Poisonous.

The Priestess arched a brow. “You would have me kill your mate?”

“She’s not my mate,” I snapped. Too fast. Too defensive.

“Just because you’ve rejected your bond,” she said softly, “doesn’t mean the Moon Goddess has.”

I looked away, jaw clenched.

“Nevertheless,” I said through my teeth. “I want her gone.”

The Priestess turned.

Started to walk into the trees.

“Will you do it?” I called after her.

She stopped. Looked back over her shoulder.

“It’s too late,” she said.

My heart dropped. “What do you mean?”

“By coming here,” she said slowly, “by asking the Moon to murder the mate she gifted you… she has turned her eye from you, Logan of Blackwood.”

My pulse thundered in my ears.

“For you,” she finished, “the moon is in an eclipse from which it will not emerge.”

“You’re talking in riddles!” I shouted. “I don’t know what the hell that means!”

But she was already fading.

Like mist evaporating into deeper fog. One second she was there—the next, the shadows swallowed her whole.

And I was alone.

The forest groaned.

A low, shuddering creak rolled through the branches above me. The sound wasn’t natural. It wasn’t the trees moving in wind—it was more like bones shifting in their sockets. The gnarled limbs overhead began to sway, not with any breeze, but with intent.

I turned.

And the whispers started again.

Only this time, they weren’t faint. They were clear. And close. And circling.

My name.

Soft and slurred. Dozens of voices. Hundreds.

Logan... Logan... Logan...

Something brushed my shoulder.

I wheeled around, heart slamming into my ribs—but nothing was there.

I ran.

Bolted through the path, the branches lashing at my arms and snagging in my shirt. The forest that had let me in without resistance now fought me at every step.

I stumbled over roots that hadn’t been there before. Crashed through brambles that seemed to claw at my skin. Shadows darted across my path—some long and slinking, others tall and hunched.

I didn’t look closely.

Didn’t dare.

I just needed to get back to the car. Back to the road. Back to anything resembling the real world.

The forest grew thicker.

The path narrowed.

And still—I ran.

But no matter how far I pushed, how hard I sprinted, the treeline never came.

There was no break in the canopy.

No familiar bend in the trail.

It was like I was running in place.

I cursed, skidded to a halt, and tried to shift.

To call my wolf.

But nothing happened.

No heat. No crackle of power beneath my skin.

Just… silence.

Like the wolf inside me was gone.

“No,” I gasped. “No, no—this isn’t happening—”

But I knew.

The moment the Priestess said it.

The moment she told me the Moon had turned her face from me.

I was cut off.

Forsaken.

By the Goddess herself.

I screamed. A raw, broken sound that echoed through the forest like a death cry.

And then—I tripped.

Something snared my ankle. A vine? A root?

No.

It moved.

It coiled.

I hit the ground hard, the air punched from my lungs.

The forest floor writhed beneath me.

The leaves pulled back. Peeled away like a curtain of rot, revealing wet, pulsing soil underneath. It churned and sucked like a mouth—hungry and waiting.

My fingers clawed at the ground, trying to dig in, trying to find anything to hold onto.

But the roots were alive.

They twisted around my arms, my chest, my legs.

Dragging me down.

“No—no—NO—!”

I thrashed.

Kicked.

But the forest didn’t care.

The cold seeped into my bones. It wasn’t natural. It was the kind of cold that came from beneath.

From old places. Forgotten places.

My chest tightened. Like iron bands were locking around my ribs.

My vision blurred.

I was sinking.

The trees leaned in, whispering secrets I couldn’t understand.

The sky above dimmed, even darker than before, the clouds swallowing all light.

And then—

I was gone.

Swallowed whole by the Blightwood.

The Goddess didn’t answer.

The wolf didn’t come.

Only darkness.