Duskbane was definitely an interesting pack to be born into—if your idea of interesting involved violent power plays, emotional trauma passed down like cursed heirlooms, and a head witch who could start a forest fire just by sneezing wrong.
The Alpha? A throat-ripping menace with anger management issues and no patience for incompetence. The advisors? Walking bundles of unresolved trauma who considered smiling a sign of weakness. And in the middle of it all was Mariah—a young witch in training with the emotional stability of a blender and the impulse control of a drunk ferret.
She was, in short, absolutely batshit crazy.
Which was probably why the universe had the audacity to put three unfortunate wolf-witches under her wing: 18-year-old Wren, 19-year-old Bram, and 19-year-old Ashley. Their training was going questionably well—until last week, when they were all booted from the academy for attempting an unsanctioned soul-mirroring ritual.
“She called us three-legged, incompetent raccoons,” Wren whisper-yelled, clinging to a tree branch like an actual raccoon mid-breakdown. “And then she rusticated us! Rusticated! Who even uses that word?!”
“We had to do something,” she insisted. “We can’t just let her get away with it.”
“So, your plan was to spy on her. Again. From the top of a tree,” Ashley replied flatly.
“Something’s off about Mariah. I’m serious,” Wren said, adjusting her binoculars.
“Something’s always off about Mariah,” Ashley muttered under her breath.
The trio crouched awkwardly on high branches, cloaked in scent-disguising mist, camouflaged by leaves, disguised like owls who’d made a few bad life decisions.
Down in the ceremonial clearing, Mariah—head witch, part-time psychopath, full-time walking liability—was in the middle of yet another ritual.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“She’s… is she breakdancing around a bonfire like it owes her child support?” Wren whispered, squinting.
Bram, ever the voice of reason, added, “She told everyone this ritual would reveal where our Luna is.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t trust anything that comes out of her mouth unless it’s laced with vodka and regret,” Ashley said.
“Can you hear what she’s chanting?” Ashley asked Wren.
Wren frowned, trying to focus. “Something like—‘Oh Moon, erase the evidence, delete the evidence… and bury the bitch.’”
Ashley smacked her. “This is not the time to joke!”
“I’m not joking!”
Just then, Bram lowered his binoculars slowly and said in a tone of disturbed awe, “She’s wearing possum pelvis as a crown.”
There was a stunned silence.
“That’s what that was?” Wren gagged.
Ashley snatched the binoculars. “What the actual fuck is she doing?!”
“She’s crying—wait—now she’s smirking,” Ashley said. “She’s lost it.”
“And instead of using tiger’s eye for channeling energy, she’s holding up a baguette. A literal baguette. Dipped in what I hope is sacrificial blood,” Bram added.
All three stared in stunned, scandalized silence.
“This is utter nonsense,” Bram finally declared.
Ashley nodded. “She could’ve just done soul-mirroring to connect directly to Luna’s soul. That would’ve worked. But instead? She pulls off a veilmour ritual like it’s some basic grocery store spell.”
“And that spirit she summoned? Too calm. Too chatty. Like it had a rehearsed script,” Wren added suspiciously.
“Also—where are the other witches?” Bram pointed out. “This kind of ritual usually has witnesses. That way, no one can fake shit.”
Just then, Mariah spun dramatically, her long robes swirling like someone had turned her grandmother’s funeral curtains into a couture disaster. She waltzed away like she was on a catwalk from hell, followed by the rest of the ritual attendees who looked like they’d just walked through a fever dream.
The trio slid down from the trees.
“We have to do something,” Bram said, his voice low and serious. “This is treason. She’s faking rituals. She’s keeping us from finding our Luna.”
Ashley glanced around warily. “But who do we go to? If we go to the other advisors, she’ll know.”
“Yeah,” Wren sighed. “This time, it won’t just be rustication. It’ll be exile. Or worse.”
Bram clenched his jaw. “Then we go straight to the Alpha.”
And just like that, silence settled over them like a thick fog.
Because going to the Alpha was suicide.
But at this point, it might also be their only chance.
Excited for the next chapter ???!!??
