Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted novel Chapter 434

LISA

The pyres stretch across the field like fallen stars, each one a testament to another life lost. Twenty-seven flames reach toward the sky, and my heart aches for every single one. There's a sound barrier over the field, so wolves can howl and mourn.

It's haunting.

Ava stands before the first pyre, her voice steady as she speaks the names. She's grown so much. Even from my position at the back of the crowd, I can see how each name costs her, how she refuses to rush through them, even as her voice shakes.

My fingers find the familiar spot on my thigh, massaging the burning sensation that's been growing worse over the past hour. The pain makes me shift my weight, trying to find a comfortable position.

A particularly mournful howl rises above the others. Wolves of all colors lift their heads to join the lament. Their grief is raw in a way human mourning could never be, and my heart aches.

This pack has been through so much, and it's hard not to feel guilty as I remember my part in the first massacre.

Magister Orion is one of the few of us standing on two feet. Almost all the shifters are in their wolf forms as they grieve. Several of his Fae friends are clustered near him; they're all helping to maintain the sound barrier, faces impassive, despite the clear distrust they've been treated with since arriving here.

I know that feeling well. _{freēwebnovel.com}

The burning in my leg spikes, forcing me to take a half-step back. Normally, I would be surrounded by guards. Right now, they're in their wolf forms, mourning with the others, though only feet away.

None of the names Ava recites are particularly memorable to me, but my heart hurts for their families and this pack I belong to.

My eyes water, both from smoke and the emotions surrounding this place.

Another wave of pain shoots through my thigh.

The wolves continue their mournful chorus as Ava moves between the pyres, marking each one with a rune that glows briefly before fading into the flames. It's something Magister Orion taught her, a rune he said was a blessing for the souls of the deceased.

Twenty-seven times she stops. Twenty-seven times she speaks. Twenty-seven times the pack's howls rise in response.

A strange sensation tugs at my attention, drawing my gaze northeast.

There's nothing there to gather interest, just the darkness of night and stars in the sky. My thigh burns so much. Maybe walking will stretch it out, help take the pain away.

So I do just that.

One foot in front of the other, taking me away from the rites, away from the guards who should be watching my every move.

No one turns. No one notices. The wolves continue their mournful song and the Fae remain focused on their barrier as I slip behind them.

One step.