Romance

  Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The stench of the sewer—a mix of decay and fresh blood—clung to the back of my throat like a piece of rotting meat. Celena and I moved in a low crouch, feeling our way along the damp, slime-covered walls of the pipe. From deeper within came the sounds of a struggle: impacts, scraping, and a shrill, inhuman shriek that made the hackles on my wolf-spirit rise. The beam from my flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating streaks of dark, viscous fluid slowly dripping down the curved walls.
  &quot;Slow,&quot; I breathed, pulling Celena back, my own throat tight. &quot;Around the bend.&quot;
  We pressed ourselves against the cold concrete at the turn, edging just enough to see. The flashlight beam swept across the scene, and my stomach clenched hard.
  We&#39;d found it. Or rather, we&#39;d found the aftermath.
  It was worse than we&#39;d imagined.
  The f

  Celena&#39;s Perspective
  “…He’s dead.”
  That voice—using Brett’s vocal cords to form utterly alien, icy syllables—kept echoing in my skull. It was like a rusted manacle, tightening with every reverberation, crushing my lungs, squeezing my heart until it felt ready to burst.
  Some part of me had known. From the very beginning… a corner of my mind, the most rational and coldest corner, had whispered it, over and over: *He’s not coming back.*
  But knowing was one thing. Hearing it confirmed, in that flat, cruel tone, from that familiar face… that was another.
  Brett. The person who had grown up beside me.
  He was gone.
  Erased. As if he’d never been.
  A candle snuffed by the wind. That’s what the monster had said.
  I stood rooted to the cold, damp concrete, surrounded by scattered bodies and a clotting reek of blood. But I couldn’t feel the cold, couldn’t smell the rot. The worl

  Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The smell in the motel room was a mix of mildew and cheap industrial cleaner that made the back of my throat itch. I sat in the wobbly chair by the window, watching Celena. She was curled on the edge of the bed, meticulously cleaning her dagger under the sickly yellow glow of the lampshade. The blade caught the light in cold, sharp arcs. Her movements were focused, but I knew her mind was miles away. A faint frown creased her brow.
  She was worrying. I needed to distract her, or at least remind her I was right here, no matter what.
  I was about to say something stupid—maybe ask if she wanted to brave the plastic-looking donuts from the vending machine downstairs—when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Not a call. A text. From Lily. The sound made both of us look up, our eyes meeting across the dim room.
  “Lily,” I said, pulling out the phone and unlocking it. Ce

Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The stench of the sewer—a mix of decay and fresh blood—clung to the back of my throat like a piece of rotting meat. Celena and I moved in a low crouch, feeling our way along the damp, slime-covered walls of the pipe. From deeper within came the sounds of a struggle: impacts, scraping, and a shrill, inhuman shriek that made the hackles on my wolf-spirit rise. The beam from my flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating streaks of dark, viscous fluid slowly dripping down the curved walls.
  &quot;Slow,&quot; I breathed, pulling Celena back, my own throat tight. &quot;Around the bend.&quot;
  We pressed ourselves against the cold concrete at the turn, edging just enough to see. The flashlight beam swept across the scene, and my stomach clenched hard.
  We&#39;d found it. Or rather, we&#39;d found the aftermath.
  It was worse than we&#39;d imagined.
  The first thing that hit was the smell—a nauseating cocktail of spent witchcraft, thick with the reek

Chapter 239