Chapter Twenty-Eight

The gymnasium doors swing open and two people come rushing out, a wall of fog bursting into the hallway before evaporating into the air.

"Oh my god, Shell! We've been looking for you everywhere!" Pete bends over in front of me, gasping so hard it sounds like his lungs are exploding.

"Where's Beck?" Olivian croaks, also trying to catch her breath.

"Ollie?" Cruxley shifts around Beck, making her way toward us. Seeing the two of them together, their matching green eyes and button noses, crushes all hope that this is a dream.

Olivian's body stiffens, her mouth slowly gaping as Cruxley moves to hug her sister. But unlike Beck, Olivian doesn't hug her back.

"What's happening back there?" Pete straightens up, running a hand through his messed-up hair. "Where is everyone?"

"What? Did you not have to wade through the sea of human-mannequins?" I move forward, enough to push the reunited couple out of my peripheral.

Olivian shakes her head. "No, the gym is empty."

"It was full before the fog hit," Pete adds, looking at Olivian as if for story confirmation. "We couldn't see anything, so we stayed near the stage, but then the fog got so thick and it was so hard to breath. We rushed to get out, but the fog started thinning and suddenly there was no one in there but us."

"We weren't sure if the fog had taken you guys, too." Olivian briefly looks at her sister, only to shift her gaze back to Pete.

"How are we still here?" Beck questions.

I don't look at him. I can't. I reach my hand up to scratch where my braid touches my collarbone—the same spot where Beck's thumb grazed before he kissed me. My fingers brush against a cool chain, and they trace down until connecting with the rounded pendant holding my moonstone.

"The protection spell!" I blurt. "Olivian, the one we did at the hotel. That's why we're not affected, right?"

She frowns, holding out her hand to check for the glimmering silver band around her thumb. Pete follows her lead, retrieving his license from the inside of his breast pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beck roll up his sleeves. Even without having his long hair, his lucky hairband is still wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet.

Down the hallway, the outer doors rattle as if a hurricane-grade windstorm has picked up outside. The lights start to surge again, some bursting open like popcorn kernels.

"They're close!" Cruxley pushes past us and rips up open the gym doors. "Come on, we need to find a safer place."

Pete huffs, "Like hell I'm going back in there! What if the fog comes back?"

Glass shatters in the distance and we all spill into the gym. The room is eerily quiet. Cold too, as if the fog had lessened the temperature to match the faux winter trees.

I squint, trying to scan around the room. It's still coated blue from the stage lights. "Guys, there's not really a way out from here."

"We don't need a way out," Cruxley says. She pulls the doors together and locks the metal hinge up top. "We just need to secure the room."

She moves toward Beck and places a hand on his forearm. I look down the staircase, toward the closed red curtain of the theatre stage.

"As for us—"

"How are you here?" Beck cuts in. There's something strained in his voice that I can't read. Happiness? Relief, maybe?

"That's what I'd like to know. You were dead." This is when Olivian steps forward. Her voice is harder, less accepting than Beck's. "We buried you—what was left of you. Right next to Dad."

Cruxley straightens her spine. "I know and I'm sorry for leaving the way I did, but I had to or you would have had to bury me for real."

"It was real. For me, for Damien...for Mom."

"Ollie, enough." Beck's growl rumbles through us.

"Right." Olivian scoffs, shaking her head. "Five minutes in and we've immediately reverted back four years."

"Boyd." Cruxley exhales, as if she's been holding in that name like breath under water. "He forced me to fake my death. It was either I die or Beck." She slides her hand down to take hold of his. "You were refusing to go through the ritual, and he thought it was my fault. That night...the last time we saw each other, he made me a deal. If I agreed to convince you I had died and left town, he would let you decide when you wanted to become an Elite."

"That wasn't a decision for you to make." He frowns, dropping her hand to move away.

"Well it worked, didn't it? I stayed safe at a coven across the country and you're still not Elite. Four years later and Boyd still hasn't forced you into the ritual. That's incredible." Cruxley drops her hands to her side as Beck continues to pace toward the middle of the gym.

"I could've handled him. I always have."

"I couldn't live with the burden of killing your humanity, Beck! And I can't believe you're even suggesting that I should have. It was better this way and you know it."

He growls something inaudible. Apparently, it's enough to irritate Cruxley because she continues following him toward the exit door, throwing jabs at him as if her faking her death was just a prolonged vacation.

"We need to secure the other doors," Olivian says, eyes flashing from her sister and Beck to me. "I could use your help. And Pete's."

"Olivian, tell me what to do," he says, and the words seem to wake her. She nods and motions for us to follow her to the edge of the stage.

"Something's not right." She states, continuing to survey the door as she speaks. "Can you guys feel it? Something's shifted."

"What's after us?" Pete asks. I felt a shift, too, but I thought it was just me, coming down off the buzz from the grimoire.

"Pete, I need you to do something for me," she says, sounding rushed. Her eyes latch onto her sister again, who is now moving toward the emergency exit opposite us. "My grimoire."

He steps toward the door. "You need me to get it?"

Nerves prickle in my gut. If she sees it, she'll know I tampered with it.

"I need you to burn it."

"What?" Pete and I ask in sync.

She peels her eyes from her sister again. "No matter what happens, I can't let Cruxley have it. I didn't trust her when she was alive. I certainly don't trust her now."

"Alright." Pete nods.

"But, Pete. You can't burn it here; she'll be able to sense it. We all will. You'll need to take it Damien. He'll know what to do."

He slips through the door and Olivian pulls it shut. She sets her hand over the lock, repeating a short, low chant until the door clicks into place. She then presses her right hand to the door itself and takes hold of my wrist with her left.

"Cavete autem ab Umbra," she whispers, pressing my hand to the door, too.

Like the voice always used to tell me, I focus on the words and let the energy course through me. I repeat her phrase, matching the quiet tone she's emphasizing.

"Cavete autem ab Umbra." We say together. The wild current licks my spine, planting a flower of heat that blooms against my back, radiating further with each wave. But just as the I feel that familar thrum of excitement, a chilling breeze zaps the heat.

Olivian continues to repeat the phrase, closing her eyes as the spell glows from her fingertips, spreading up the door and wall with a thin, bluish film.

As the film grows, the air is sucked out of my lungs, as if they're shriveling inside of me with each syllable. I rip my hand from the door and slide to the ground, suddenly unable to hold myself upright.

"Ollie, something's happening!" Beck calls out. Soon after, I hear a heavy thud, followed by a series of gasps.

She rips her eyes open and jumps back from the door. As soon as she breaks contact, the film begins to shrink, quickly retreating until it dissolves into nothing. The moment it's gone, fresh air fills the room again.

"What was that?" I swallow as much air as I can as I pull myself up with the edge of a chair. "It felt like I was suffocating."

"Sorry, I had to try," Olivian whispers.

Cruxley sputters, moving toward us as she clumsily gets herself up off the linoleum floor. Her face is red, veins in her forehead taut as if still thumping from the pain. "Did you seriously just try to cut off the Umbra?"

"It was just a protection spell!" Olivian says. "It's not like I was trying to suffocate you."

"Are you stupid? You know that I only pull from Umbra!" Cruxley snaps. The sudden rage exuding from her body doesn't fit with the damsel image she was playing earlier.

Beck collapses on the edge of the stage, near the spot where I now stand, brushing his fingers back through his hair. Finally, he looks over at me, though he doesn't bother to meet my face.

"You okay?" He asks, his tone almost frustrated, quickly enforcing how secondary I've become.

I nod once, keeping my eyes to the floor. I'm unsure of how to even begin untangling the woven ball of emotions filling my head.

"All I asked you to do was seal off the exits," Cruxley mutters, eyes tight with irritation.

"It'd be helpful to know what exactly we're hiding from. Maybe then, I'd know what spell to actually use," Ollie gripes.

"She's right," I say. "We're limited on what we can do if we don't know what's coming for us."

Cruxley turns away from Beck, looking flat at me. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Shelland Conall," Beck answers for me.

Cruxley frowns. "Conall? Wait. As in...Raif Conall?"

He nods.

"You've got to be joking." Her laughs bubble out with an incredulous air. "She's Raif's kid?"

"And why is it so funny that Raif Conall reproduced?" I ask, annoyed.

"It's not funny. It's amazing." Cruxley says. Something has switched in her tone, enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand. "Not only was he dumb enough to reproduce; he was dumb enough to let you live."

"Excuse me?" I push myself off of the stage.

She shakes her head, as if in complete awe. "How has Boyd not gone off of the rails, yet? His little brother being so close to his enemy's bastard child?"

"Whose side are you on?" I ask, floored at her sudden switch in personality.

"Conall," Beck starts in, as if he's about to reason with me, but I don't let him bother.

I step in closer to Cruxley, unwavering in my glare. "Boyd can't touch me, or Beck now. I made sure of that."

She scoffs, our closeness clearly making her uneasy. After of long moment of unbroken staring, Cruxley bursts into a fit of hysteria. "Oh my god. You? You think you killed Boyd Beauchamp?"

We can only watch as she grabs her sides, the laughter pouring out of her as she lets the idea sink in. She reaches up to swipe at the corners of her watering eyes. "Oh, that was the funniest thing I've heard all day. A Conall...kill a Beauchamp? Oh, damn. Do you hear that, Boyd? She actually thinks she killed you!"

For the first time in my life, I feel my heart stop beating.

Cruxley steps away from us, still brushing the tears from her cheeks, and faces the stage. Beck pushes off the edge and the three of us stare as a tall, shadowed figure steps into the light.

Those familiar, icy eyes slice into mine, chilling my body to the bone. My pulse pounds inside my chest, heart coming alive again just to threaten to burst beneath the weight of my fear. The last time I saw Boyd Beauchamp, he had tried to kill Beck and me.

"She almost succeeded," he says, making his way around the dry ice fountain in the middle of the stage. "It would have been impressive, had she not had help."

Beck's hands curl into fists at his sides, rage almost bursting out of his shoulders in waves. Boyd takes each step slowly, savoring each moment as he makes his way closer to us.

I look to Olivian. She's motionless, save the almost-invisible motion her lips are making, as if chanting something under her breath.

Boyd rolls his neck the way someone does if they're uncomfortable. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he says, and then he nods in Olivian's direction.

Olivian screams, suddenly sliding across the court as she's catapulted into the wall. Standing in her place is Val, the bouncer at the Beauchamp Bar. Her yellow eyes are fixed on me, claws freshly protruding from her once-human fingers.

"Olivian!" I scream. For a long minute, her body lays limp near the stage. I convince myself she's dead until she groans, trying to push herself up off the ground.

Val steps toward Olivian, claws digging into her hair until she yanks her to her feet. Olivian screams again, clinging onto Val's iron grip.

"As for you..." Boyd looks at me, his face stone, "if any of those digits' twitch, I'll break every bone in that girl's body."

I raise my arms to my sides, palms out, and bend in ninety-degree angles. Boyd juts out his chin again in another nod, and rough hands take hold of my wrists, yanking them backward until they're secured behind my back.

A sticky, warm gust slides down my neck in a loud whisper. "I certainly missed you."

I can't turn enough to look, but by the fury pulsing across Beck's brow, it confirms my suspicion that the one with the iron grip around my wrists is Tripp, Boyd's henchman.

"I thought I killed you, too."

He chuckles, his grip tightening hard enough that my wrists pops from the pressure. "It takes a bit more than fire to tame a beast."

Boyd leans against the edge of the stage, surveying each of us, now reduced to prisoners by his lackeys.

Beck looks around at us, too, not stopping until his eyes fix on Cruxley. "What is this?"

Cruxley slinks forward, that innocent damsel expression she held onto so well is completely eradicated. She smiles. "God, you're so easy to fool."

"Cruxley," he says. I think it's the first time he's actually said her name since she appeared. "Whatever he's promised you, it's not real. You can't trust him!"

"He's already delivered, babe. Now, it's my turn." Cruxley lifts her hand, fingers pointed toward the ceiling. With one, graceful twist of her wrist, Beck cries out and collapses onto his knees.

Boyd, unflinching, watches as Cruxley walks around his brother. Each time she twists her hand, another bone in his body cracks.

"You know, that's the thing I love about werewolves. They regrow bones so quickly." Cruxley rolls her wrist with a giggle and his spine cracks down the line as she rings his body out like a wet rag.

Beck flattens atop the auditorium floor. I desperately want to look away, to forget that I ever saw him in a mangled mess of lifeless limbs, but part of me is terrified that if I do look away, he'll stop breathing.

"You can make all of this stop, you know," Cruxley says, starting a slow walk around his collapsed body.

"No." Beck wheezes out the word. Already, his limbs are beginning to reform. He groans out as one by one, his fingers painfully pop back into place.

Cruxley closes her eyes, clearly annoyed. With another twist, Beck's ribs crack.

"This can go on however long you want it to, Beck. I'm in no rush."

"No." He growls, this time the word is stronger, firm.

Cruxley raises her hand, ready to twist, when Boyd takes hold of her arm. Without saying a word, she relaxes her fingers and steps back, allowing Boyd to move between her and his brother.

Olivian and I watch nervously as Boyd crouches near Beck's head. Being this close to him now, the light highlights the fresh scars rippling from his temple to his jawbone. His right eye, once the same shade of ice as Beck's, is now brighter coated with a white film that make his pupil near invisible.

Is that from the fire? I wonder, staring at the uneven grooves in his skin that weren't there before.

"I have to hand it to you, kid. You're a lot more resilient than I expected. Our mother would've been proud." Boyd exhales, his face illegible as he surveys the room. "Dad, on the other hand, would have killed you the second you decided that you were too good for us. That being Elite was beneath you."

Beck growls something inaudible and Boyd shakes his head. He stands, his figure stretching out to showcase his full six-foot-something frame. "I've been excessively generous, Beck. Allowing you to go on without paying the same dues as the other members, hoping that, on your own, you would want to discover your full potential. But each day passed, and still, you kept floating through."

Boyd nods at Cruxley and she twists her hand again. Beck whimpers as his knee blows out.

"You are not human, kid. You never have been." Boyd steps back, his arms crossed at his thick chest. "I'm done being generous. Either you choose now, or we break you down until you do."

"You can't force him to become a monster!" I yell out, the fire raging in my veins. The Elite. They want him to submit and go through the ritual. Beck never told me what it entails, but there's reason why he hasn't shifted after all this time.

"You're right. We can't. But we can give him all the incentive he needs."

Without cue, Cruxley mangles Beck up again. This time as she walks around him, she straightens her path and sets her eyes on me. Cruxley is in front of me before I can even think to wriggle free. She takes hold of my braid and rips me away from Tripp, practically dragging me across court until tossing me at Boyd's feet.

"Miss Conall, I've so been looking forward to this meeting." Boyd wraps one hand around my neck and lifts me up until my feet are off of the ground. "It should be your father here, but you'll suffice for now."

I gasp, sputtering for air as his grip tightens.

"Leave...her out...of this!" Beck yells between each pop of healing bone.

Boyd squeezes harder, threatening to break my neck with one more grip. Little yellow and blue lights are floating in my eyes, swimming between my focal point and the blackening frame around it.

I wheeze, searching for air that never comes. Just as the darkness moves inward, a searing jolt ruptures through my neck, a thousand needles piercing my nerves until Boyd drops me to the floor.

I gasp, choking on air as I try to fill my lungs.

Around me, each Elite wolf is screaming. Their bodies seizing on the ground as if being electrocuted.

I hear the chant first.

"Infirmum hosti det," Pete reads out from the grimoire spread in his hands. "Infirmum hosti det."

Boyd struggles, fighting the spell as he tries to climb the steps of the stage. Pete steps forward, standing in front of the fountain, continuously repeating the phrase that's keeping the wolves at bay.

And as I push upward, a bright, flaming ball of green lightning barrels across the gym, illuminating everything in that same emerald glow.

"Pete, run!" Olivian screams. And before I can manifest my own scream, the ball rips through Pete's chest. The world goes silent as Pete falls to his knees, clutching where the magic burned through his tux. His face goes white and both he and the grimoire clatter against the floor.

Cutting through the silence, Cruxley's feet clack against the linoleum floor. One by one, she climbs each stair, stopping at the base of Pete's limp body. She reaches down, taking hold of the grimoire by one corner and clutches it to her chest.

Slowly, the wolves rise, shaking out what's left of the electricity coursing through them.

Boyd growls, his shoulders tense with rage as he straightens upright. Olivian sobs as Val peels her off the ground, pulling her back up to watch as her sister opens the grimoire.

Tripp grabs hold of Beck, still too weak from trying to heal himself, and drags him until he's at Boyd's feet.

"Well, that was sad." Cruxley moves forward, a wicked smile plastered on her face as she steps over Pete and moves to the top step. "Now, Beck, where were we?"

Barely able to move without gasping, Beck pushes himself onto his knees, clutching his ribs. His nose is bleeding, parts of his face starting to swell. The sound of bones still rings out, pop together as they try to mend.

"Stop," he wheezes. Unsatisfied, Cruxley motions to Val.

Olivian lets out a noise between a scream and a sob as Val drags her to the middle of the court. Val raises her free hand, the human skin peeling away as her jagged claws protrude.

"I submit! I submit!" He gasps, wincing as he speaks harder. "I submit to the pack, Boyd. You've won."