Chapter 142

Logan

I have a bad feeling the moment I step out of the room.

It’s the way the air changes. It started off dense, like fog pressing down on my chest. The flickering candlelight seeps beneath the small crevice of the door, the low hum of energy that has nothing to do with electricity and everything to do with something older and much darker.

But more than that, it’s Emily’s eyes. She doesn’t look scared — she looks resigned. She looks as if she is walking straight into something she knows she can’t avoid.

Oh, how I wish that I would have fought back against Emily and Madame Wanda’s wishes of privacy. I should have remained in the room instead of fixing myself outside of it, forced to listen to the quiet whispers of the night instead of being in the room.

I stay by the door in the darkened hallway, eyes fixed on that door like I can burn a hole through it. I want to believe this is harmless. That Madame Wanda is just a scam artist with flair for the dramatic and that Emily will walk out with a generic reading and a story to laugh about with me over dinner and dessert.

But my wolf doesn’t like this. He’s pacing, ears back, growling low in my gut. Restless. Worried. His claws dig into the depths of my mind, howling at me to break through the door.

And then — the lights go out. The hallway plunges into darkness like someone’s pulled a curtain over the world. The pale moonlight floats in through the windows, the waves of the ocean crashing more erratically than ever before.

“Logan!” Emily’s scream sends chills down my spine.

My heart stops. For one second — just one — I freeze. My feet are unable to move when I try to jolt myself forward. After a second, I am able to slip my feet from my shoes and rush towards the door. Before I can open it, though, I hit something hard.

It’s invisible — no wall, no visible object — but it’s there, solid as steel. I slam into it again, shoulder first, claws itching to break through, but it doesn’t give. Not even a little. The wooden door creaks and groans from the force but it doesn’t move a single inch.

“What the hell? Emily!” I shout, fists pounding into the barrier of the wooden door.

I can hear her crying now. Muffled. Frantic. Every sound from her is like a knife to the gut, twisting and turning, acting as a reminder of my failure to protect the only person I care about in my life. My heart aches at the sound and my mind drifts to her frantic expression, the way she is most likely protecting her baby bump.

“Emily, I’m right here!” I yell. “I’m coming, stay calm!”

There is no response nor is there a way in. I push harder, teeth gritted, growling with every ounce of strength I have…using up every bit of my Alpha strength as possible.

It’s supposed to mean something. I’m not supposed to be powerless against anything — especially magic. But here I am…locked out while the love of my life is trapped in god-knows-what and I can’t do a damn thing to help her.

This is a scene straight out of a horror movie. Only worse because it’s real. Because she is mine to protect from things just like this.

I try again, digging my claws into the edge of the barrier, snarling like a cornered animal. The air is thick with static and the hair on my arms is standing on end. There’s magic here — strong, old, and unnatural. I have never felt something like this in my life. It is unique and foreign but it is also something that I want to desperately get away from.

“Emily!” I call again, voice cracking. Still no answer.

Then it stops. The air shifts. The heaviness lifts. And the door…opens.

There is no dramatic reveal, no blast of energy. It just quietly gives way, like it was never locked at all. The wooden door moves on its own, acting as if it is as light as air despite weighing like a mountain mere seconds earlier.

The room is dim, candles flickering like they’re gasping for air. The room smells burnt, like ozone and dried herbs scorched in the flame. And there, in the middle of it all, Emily sits at the table, tears streaking silently down her face, hands attached to the baby bump.

She’s not screaming anymore. She’s not even shaking. She simply stares at Wanda.

I rush to her side and drop to my knees beside her, silently urging her to look at me as my hands come up to cup her cheeks.

“Emily?” my voice is quiet. I gently pull her into my arms. She comes easily, leaning into me like her body has forgotten how to hold itself up.

She’s trembling, but not from fear. I don’t sense it on her. Rather, she is trembling from something deeper. Something broken open inside her.

“I’m here,” I whisper, brushing her hair back. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

Her hands clutch at my shirt, fists tight, but she doesn’t say anything. Her breathing is shallow and her gaze is distant — disoriented, even.

“What the hell did you do to her?” I snap, standing up and pulling Emily behind me.

“I helped her remember,” she says calmly. The fortuneteller does not blink. “The wolf inside her was not dead. Only sleeping. And now…she begins to wake.”

“That scream didn’t sound like waking. It sounded like pain,” I speak, spit flying from my mouth.

“She carries pain,” Wanda replies, finally turning to look at me, “more than she knows. The cards told her the truth.”

“What truth?” my voice rises. I don’t care how wise or mystical this woman pretends to be — she crossed a line. One that I am unsure Emily will be able to come back from.

“She said... it wasn’t Derek,” Emily whispers, her voice barely audible. “She said my wolf is gone because of my dad. Not Derek’s death.”

The words hit like a punch. I stare at her, trying to piece it together. Her father? What does that even mean? Was it not the traumatic event that put her wolf in its vegetative state?

Wanda steps closer, but I shift in front of Emily again. No way in hell will I let that witch touch her.

“She must speak with him,” Wanda says, “only his confession can fully free the wolf.”

“No,” I say flatly. Emily flinches from behind me, the baby bump pressing into my back. “She’s been through enough tonight.”

“There must be a second reading,” she says. Her eyes remain locked on Emily. “The first card showed her the sleeping wolf. The second revealed the shadow. The third will show the path forward.”

“I don’t want to go through that again,” Emily whispers.

“You doesn’t need to,” I say, cutting in before Wanda can answer. “We’re done here. No more cards. No more magic. You’ve done enough.”

Wanda finally looks at me. Her gaze sends chills across my body.

“You think you’re protecting her,” she says softly. “But truth can’t be buried forever.”

“I’m not burying anything,” I say. “I’m keeping her safe.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Wanda smiles. It’s not mocking — not cruel. Just tired. Like she knows something I don’t.

“You’ll come back,” she says. “When you’re ready.”

I tighten my grip on Emily and nod my head in the direction of the door. Madame Wanda nods her head back at me, slowly gathering her belongings. Once everything is in its rightful place, the witch silently leaves, the lights and candles flickering as she passes.

Whatever just happened between Emily and the witch, I know that it’s not over. Not even close.