Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
I want to check on Lisa, but… No. She’s with Kellan. The last thing she needs is me hovering when she’s finally spending time with her mate. They might even be in bed, and that would be an awkward situation if I came knocking on their door.
Why the concern for the human? Grimoire’s voice holds genuine curiosity.
Selene’s hackles rise. Weren’t you paying attention?
Funerals aren’t my preferred form of entertainment.
A low growl rumbles from Selene’s chest. Twenty-seven of our pack died.
And I mourn Ava’s loss. But watching their bodies burn brings me no peace.
The door to my cabin creaks as I push it open. Darkness greets me, along with a silence that echoes Lucas’ absence. No warmth lingers within these walls tonight, just memories of what should be.
It doesn’t take long to coax the lingering fire into a strong blaze, but the warm glow does nothing to chase away the emptiness. “Lisa seemed off during the rites. She wandered off a little at one point. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
I see.
“It must have been hard to hear all that noise and be surrounded by hundreds of wolves. Even knowing she’s safe with the pack, her body probably wanted to run.” It’s a feeling I’m too familiar with.
Yet you didn’t run, Grimoire points out.
My lips quirk. Grimoire might be able to read my memories, but he doesn’t seem to understand my life before we met. “Yes, I did. I always ran. It was always about surviving.”
Funny; I wanted to be stronger then, too, but it was different. The kind of strong where I could just survive a little easier; that’s all I ever wished for. Todd Mason’s face flashes through my memory, and that beautiful, moonlit night the day I killed him. The night Lucas rescued me.
What a fascinating memory, Grimoire says, and I can feel him sorting through my head for more.
A snort escapes me as memories of Cedarwood surface. The Novel Grind. My tiny apartment. The life I’d carved out for myself, thinking I was finally free. I’ll always miss it, but… “I thought that was the end of everything when they dragged me back to Blackwood. I was so desperate to return.”
It feels so distant now.
You’ve come far from that terrified girl. Selene settles near the fire, curling up into a little husky ball of fur. Though you still are the same in many ways.
My body sinks into the couch cushions, every muscle aching from the day’s events. The fire casts dancing shadows on the ceiling, and I trace their patterns with tired eyes.
Oh, this is interesting. Grimoire’s presence flutters through my mind, picking through memories like pages in a book. Your brother pushed you down the stairs.
“I was seven. I had the flu, and I wasn’t moving fast enough.”
Your father threw you into the woods and left you there?
“He wanted me to find my wolf.”
Selene snorts.
What a terrible family. The number of ‘accidents’ in your childhood is concerning.
A laugh bubbles up, surprising me with how hollow it sounds. “You know what’s sad? I’m too exhausted to even be angry about it anymore.”
Your entire family is deeply flawed.
Grimoire’s presence settles in my head, and I can feel how he’s done looking through my past. So, how serious are you about getting stronger, my little witch friend?
Selene’s eye pops open at his non sequitur. What are you up to, book?
Grimoire appears, floating in mid-air, in his preferred form of a child. “I’m not up to anything, you suspicious mutt.”
Selene’s lips curl back, exposing sharp teeth in a silent warning. The darker fur along her spine bristles, but she remains where she is. Grimoire ignores her.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” I ask, feeling a vague sense of trepidation tickling its way down my spine. “You’re plotting something. I can tell.”
“I believe it’s time we seriously consider removing your soul’s wards.” Grimoire’s childlike form hovers as he rotates slowly, his hair and clothes the only things that move according to gravity. It’s a trick he doesn’t do often; not everyone in Wolf’s Landing knows he exists. Outside of our cabin, he’s usually in the form of a fox, if he takes a form at all.
A few have seen the red-haired child, but not often enough to cause rumors. While everyone knows about Selene, few know about this second magical being in my head.
“My what?” Frowning, I turn his words over in my head. They’re strange and don’t make sense. Soul wards? “What are you talking about?”
Grimoire’s palm meets his forehead with a sharp smack; it’s a mannerism he’s picked up from watching the pack’s children, and looks odd when he does it. “Not this again. We’ve had this conversation before, Ava.”
A chill races across my skin. My gaze darts to Selene, whose ears now lay flat against her skull.
Yes, Selene says, answering my unspoken question. I remember this discussion. We decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
That’s impossible. I would remember being a part of this conversation. “When did we talk about this?”
It’s been quite some time now, but not long enough for you to forget.
“It’s the second time,” Grimoire points out. “She forgot my words on our first meeting, as well.” His form is finally upside down as he stares at me, eyes glittering.
“What are these wards?”
“The layered wards on your soul are what we believe prevent you from shifting. They’re complex and strange.”
Definitely not the kind of information I’d forget so completely. My heart trembles, and I wrap my arms around myself. As if I can hold all my memories inside by the simple movement. “This can’t be true. Memories don’t just disappear like that.”
But my eyes dart to Selene again, because—they do. She’s living, furry proof of it.
Selene rests her chin against the floor, heaving a deep sigh.
I understand this pain, she says, her presence warm and soothing in my head, like a metaphysical hug. Can you feel where they are missing? The void in your head?
My fingers drum against my arms, but I can’t feel any gaps in my memories. No empty spaces. No missing pieces. Everything feels whole, complete—and that terrifies me more than finding holes would. At least Selene has a fuzzy realization of missing memories. I have nothing.
“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t I notice if memories disappeared?”
Grimoire’s small form floats closer, upright once again. “The mind is complex.”
I wonder how many other conversations we’ve had that you no longer remember.
“There’s no way to track what’s been lost,” Grimoire says, with a shrug—as if this is little more than a minor bump in the road. “At least you have us to remember for you.”
A violent shiver wracks my body, but the cold isn’t from the winter air. “And these wards are on my soul? What are they supposed to do?”
“Yes. They’re likely preventing you from accessing your true nature, your full potential. The reason you can’t shift or integrate with the pack links. It’s only my theory, but I can’t imagine it being wrong.” Grimoire’s childlike face grows serious. “We need to work on removing them.”
She’s strong enough as she is. Selene’s hackles rise. We agreed it isn’t worth the risk. You said she could get lost in her own soul!
The phantom scent of burning pyres is sudden and overwhelming. Twenty-seven names. The pack’s howls of grief still echo in my ears.
My head spins, aching with Grimoire’s words. With how desperately I want more strength. And the terrifying idea I could disappear, lost in my own soul, of all places.
Would I die? Or would my body live on, dependent on IVs and machines to keep me alive? Lucas would do that—waiting for the day I woke up as Ava again.
“It’s impossible to answer your questions. Tampering with a soul is forbidden for many reasons—the outcome is never assured.” Grimoire lowers himself until he’s standing on the ground and walks toward me with his arms stretched out for a hug, like he’s the child he’s pretending to be.
Still, I grab his tiny body and pull him onto my lap, grateful for the warmth he brings. It’s enough to chase away the chill of fear leaving me trembling.
Selene scoots across the floor on her belly, until her muzzle rests against my foot.
I force my racing thoughts into order, pushing the panic aside. Logic. Facts. That’s what I need right now.
“Who would even put wards on my soul?” I absently pat Grimoire’s hair as I consider the situation, trying to pretend it’s about someone else. It’s easier to create distance that way. “The Blackwood Pack doesn’t have any magicians. Was it a vampire?”
“Unlikely.” Grimoire wraps his arms around my waist and leans into me. He’s so affectionate, when he isn’t being condescending. Being alone for so long has left its scars on his bookish soul. It feels natural to hold him like this when he’s silent, but strange when he talks. Like holding a tiny adult instead of a child. “A vampire’s magic doesn’t look like this. Though I suppose it’s unlikely for anyone in your pack to know magic; they were quite traditional.”
Traditional. A polite way of saying they rejected anything that wasn’t pure wolf shifter. There’s no way someone who knew magic would go under the radar there… right?
When did the wards appear? Selene wonders. From birth, or as a child?
“It’s impossible to see when a ward was created, but they are complex. Perhaps even ancient. I can sense their presence, but my understanding of their purpose or origin…” Grimoire pats my arm with his tiny hand, and it’s only then I realize he’s trying to comfort me, instead of seeking affection. “I’m sorry, Ava. I wish I knew more.”
“You can’t tell me anything else?”
“Only that they exist. And that they exist in layers.”
My teeth worry at my bottom lip. For Grimoire to be so stumped… It isn’t something we haven’t run into before, but it’s always unnerving. I’ve become dependent on his knowledge.
But now there’s someone else we can rely on.
“We should talk to Magister Orion before we decide anything. He might have some insight.”
After the rites last night, I expected the energy of Wolf’s Landing to be gloomy. Instead, it’s bustling.
Everyone’s rushing to repair the hospital, something that’s become more possible with the arrival of our Fae friends, who are helping mend walls with their magic. Despite the natural distrust between wolf and Fae, they’re getting along well. And the injured are now walking, talking, laughing, and eating with ease, thanks to Heize—who specializes in healing magic.
Anyone coming in for the first time would never guess we just lost twenty-seven people to a mere ten-minute attack.
Selene yawns; she’s half-asleep still in my cabin, having used the night to scout the general area. The time for grief is done. We are survivors.
Our pack didn’t bounce back this quickly after the initial massacre in Westwood, though.
Things have changed since then, Grimoire points out. We are in a long, drawn-out war. Time for grief is a luxury in times like this.
“I’m not arguing,” I mumble at them both. “Just noticing how different it is.”
Both of my bonded souls settle in my head, leaving me in silence as I watch the Fae work.
The hospital’s front doors rest against the doorframe of a rebuilt wall, askew and unattached, but not for long. Eris lifts her hands, and the metal hinges twist back into place with a soft groan. The door rights itself, settling perfectly into its frame as if it had never been damaged.
Remarkable.
Eris’ magic is not raw and wild. It’s precise, controlled. Almost artificially clean. Her black hair sweeps back as she gestures at a pile of broken furniture. Pieces of wood and metal float up, spinning until they click together like puzzle pieces. A bed frame materializes from the chaos, pristine and perfect.