1.
This is the third installment in the Arcane-series and can be enjoyed as a standalone. However, for a richer reading experience and deeper understanding of returning characters and events, it is recommended to read the first two books—Arcane Vow and Arcane Fate—first.
New here? Start with Arcane Vow to fully enjoy the journey: https://www.inkitt.com/stories/1433768
I can’t wait to see you there! 💖
She had stayed because she had nowhere else to go. Not because she was brave. Or noble. Or strong. Those things had been stripped from her the moment she betrayed her coven.
The Moonbeam packlands breathed with a rhythm that didn’t belong to her no matter the fact that she had been here for almost a year now. Silence settled thick over the forest, broken only by the occasional crack of twigs beneath padded feet. Wolves moved like shadows—fluid, alert, purposeful. She was the wrong kind of silence among them. The pause in their harmony.
But Irma had let her stay. Sonja had trusted her. Despite everything.
She wasn’t sure if they were naive or simply too kind. Maybe both.
Shame clung to her like damp linen, stubborn and suffocating. She saw it in the way the pack members eyed her—tense, wary, like she was a storm cloud about to break. And they weren’t wrong.
She missed her sisters in the coven. Even the ones who would sooner curse her than let her back in. And she missed the scent of juniper and salt, the hum of power buzzing through spellwork. She missed belonging.
But there was also a deeper ache beneath the shame. A heaviness that had nothing to do with covens or betrayal. It lived in the hollows of her chest, in the still moments between breaths, in the way her magic sometimes flickered like a candle fighting the wind. Something had been torn from her, something she wasn’t ready to name. Grief, maybe. Or the ghost of a connection severed too suddenly.
Irma never spoke of that night. And Anna never asked. But sometimes—when she caught the way Irma looked at her, like she wanted to say something and couldn’t—it scraped against that unnamed wound inside her.
And yet—she would make the same choice again. She had to believe that.
And then there was Lyra. Gods, Lyra.
She stood taller than most of them, broad through the shoulders with that thick muscle earned from a life of discipline and battle. Her dark skin caught the light like polished stone, and her black hair coiled wild and unapologetic down her back. She didn’t speak to Anna—barely even acknowledged her. But when she did look at her, it was with a frost that could’ve frozen fire.
Still, Anna felt it. That strange, slow unraveling. Like something beneath her skin had begun to stir whenever Lyra was near.
She shouldn’t have noticed her. Not like that. But she did. The graceful, deliberate way Lyra moved. The power coiled under her skin. Those hazel eyes that pierced through her like they saw every lie she’d ever told.
It was foolish. And yet, it was.
Magic wasn’t supposed to slip like that. Not hers. But it did, every time their gazes met—Lyra cold and angry, Anna reeling. Something ancient shifted when they were near each other. Something deep and quiet and unavoidable.
She had stayed because she had nowhere else to go. But now... now she wondered if she was being pulled by something older than fear. Older than guilt.
She told herself it was just instinct. Just the natural unease of being surrounded by wolves, even if they hadn’t bared their teeth yet. But instincts weren’t supposed to feel like gravity. Weren’t supposed to hum through her bones like blood magic stirred by a drum she couldn’t hear.
Lyra hadn’t said a single word to her. Not one for an entire year. Not even when they passed in the hall outside the war room, Lyra’s eyes cold and unflinching. And yet, Anna felt more spoken to in those seconds than she had in entire conversations. Judged. Measured. Seen in a way that scraped her raw.
But there was no hatred in Lyra’s gaze. Not truly. Hatred burned bright. Clean. This was something messier. Like suspicion and curiosity had been stitched together by a trembling thread—and that thread was fraying.
Anna didn’t want to follow that thread. Not when so much of her was already unraveling.
She was already holding too many pieces of herself together. The silence from her coven still rang louder than words ever could. Not a single rune-carved note. Not even the cold formality of a severing. Just... nothing. She might as well be a ghost.
No. Not a ghost. A traitor.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the thought.
She blinked. It took a second to rise—her limbs heavy with the weight of too many regrets—and padded across the wooden floor barefoot. She hesitated, hand on the handle, sensing the surge of magic that flickered through her like static. Not danger. Familiarity.
She opened the door.
Sonja stood on one side, her dark shoulder length hair wilder than usual, lips curled in something between a smile and an apology. Irma flanked her, mismatched eyes bright with a kind of stubborn optimism, one brow raised, and in her hand—a bottle of deep red wine, tilted in greeting like an olive branch.
“We come bearing questionable taste in wine and even worse judgment,” Sonja said, waving the bottle slightly.
Irma grinned. “You’re officially out of excuses to mope alone.”
Anna stared at them for a breath too long.
A lump rose in her throat so suddenly it almost hurt. She wanted to tell them no, to say the weight in her chest wasn’t something wine could lift—but the words never came. The doorway stretched between them like a spell unfinished.
So instead, she stepped aside.
And let them in.
Sonja breezed past her like she owned the place—which, apparently, she once did—dropping the bottle on the counter with a flourish. Irma followed, her arms already halfway out of her coat, eyes scanning the dim interior with a slight smile.
“So,” Sonja said, spinning slowly in the center of the living room. “What do you think of it? Cozy, right?”
Anna blinked, then let out a breath somewhere between amusement and surprise. “You have great taste.”
Sonja grinned.
“It was Sonjas idea,” Irma added quickly. “We didn’t want you sleeping in the pack guest quarters forever. Too much beige.”
“It’s more than I expected,” Anna said, meaning it. Her fingers brushed the edge of the old bookshelf—scarred but sturdy. “More than I hoped for, honestly.”
She hesitated, then smiled, small and unsure. “It helps. Being around you two, I mean. I know the others don’t want me here. But... I appreciate that you’re trying. That you haven’t—” She cut herself off.
“Thrown you to the wolves?” Sonja offered, cocking an eyebrow. “Literally?”
Anna huffed a laugh despite herself. “Something like that.”
Sonja waved a hand. “Kane’s just being ridiculous. He gets all moody and grumpy when things mess with pack dynamics or whatever. But he’ll come around.”
Irma snorted. “No he won’t”
Anna arched an eyebrow. “Not exactly a glowing review.”
Irma didn’t miss a beat.
“He’s arrogant, broody, and so infuriatingly controlling it makes my teeth itch. No offence,” she added, flashing Sonja a look over her wine glass.
Sonja just smirked and winked at her. “None taken.”
Irma leaned back against the armrest, swirling the wine in her glass like it had personally wronged her. “Honestly, Son, I’m amazed you haven’t stabbed him yet. Though maybe that’s what makes you two work—he broods, you roll your eyes, and the universe somehow balances itself.”
Sonja gave a dramatic sigh and smiled. “It’s not balance. It’s endurance.”
Anna chuckled, her mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. “Sounds... romantic.”
Irma tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Only if your idea of romance includes an arrogant, obnoxious bastard.”
Sonja raised her glass. “To enduring love, then.”
They laughed, and for a moment, Anna let herself ease into the comfort of it. She hadn’t laughed like that in weeks. Maybe longer.
Sonja took another sip. “Careful, Irma. Keep mocking Kane like that and he might try to curse your door.”
Irma scoffed. “Please. He’s a wolf, the worst he can do is growl at it.”
“Which he definitely would,” Sonja added with a grin. “Probably while brooding in a doorway shirtless.”
Irma nodded solemnly. “The sacred alpha ritual.”
They all cracked up again, wine catching in their throats and loosening the seams between them.
Anna’s smile lingered. Softer now. Quieter.
She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the red catch the moonlight. “Lyra doesn’t seem like the enduring type.”
It wasn’t meant to silence the room, but it did.
Sonja stilled mid-sip. Irma’s gaze dropped, a flicker too fast. Neither of them spoke.
Anna blinked. “What?” she asked, trying to play it off with a little laugh. “Did I say something?”
“Nothing,” Sonja said quickly, her tone lighter than her expression. “It’s just... Lyra’s complicated.”
“Very complicated,” Irma echoed, but her voice lacked its usual bite. “You don’t want to unpack all that after half a bottle of wine.”
Anna tilted her head, studying them both. “You’re being weird about this.”
“We’re not being weird,” Sonja said quickly, way too quickly.
“You are,” Anna said, her voice quieter this time. “I just said her name. And you both... froze. Like I stepped into something I wasn’t supposed to.”
Irma glanced at Sonja, who shrugged—equal parts helpless and hesitant.
“It’s just…” Sonja said eventually. “Lyra values her privacy. It wouldn’t feel right to speak for her.”
“And some of it’s just a headache,” Irma added, pouring the last of the wine into her glass.
“I think she hates me,” Anna said flatly. “I can feel it.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Sonja said, though she didn’t quite meet Anna’s eyes. “Lyra’s just guarded. And not great at pretending otherwise.”
Anna let the silence settle again. She didn’t believe them, not entirely. There was more in their pause than in their words. But she could feel the walls going back up, brick by brick. The conversation was being steered gently but firmly away from whatever truth she had stumbled toward.
So she let it go—for now.
The pause dragged just long enough to make it uncomfortable before Sonja clapped her hands once and stood. “Okay! Enough talk about moody werewolves. Let’s find something terribly trashy to watch.”
Anna hesitated. Her curiosity flared, but something in the way neither of them would meet her eyes kept her quiet.
Still, the question coiled like a snake in her belly. Why did Lyras name make them flinch?
She followed them into the other room, wine glass in hand, and let herself laugh at the terrible show Sonja insisted on watching. But the laughter never reached the pit of her stomach.
And somewhere beneath the flicker of candlelight and low hum of dialogue, Anna felt it again— that strange tug, that gravity, pulling her closer to a truth she hadn’t meant to touch.
