Chapter 244

Olivia

The world seemed to have quieted for a moment. The ethereal remnants of Freya’s departure hung in the air, and a hush seemed to settle around Nathan and me.

The stillness was violently broken once again by the alarming scent of smoke growing even stronger in the air, something out of place in the crisp night.

“Nathan?” I murmured, searching for answers in his glowing eyes. His gaze mirrored my unease, and he shifted comfortably in his spot.

There was a change in the wind, carrying an urgency that gripped us both. We exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. Words were often unnecessary between us, but right now, I needed to hear his voice.

“A fire. It’s coming from the direction of the town,” Nathan exclaimed, his sharp eyes catching the ominous orange hue staining the horizon. The clouds seemed to have adopted an eerie glow, and the darkness had given way to a burning orange light. “We have to go.”

Cries pierced through the distance—sounds of terror and desperation. Without uttering another word, Nathan crouched low, signaling for me to clamber onto his back.

As I secured myself, the sheer strength of his being radiated warmth and assurance, even in the face of uncertainty. I curled my fingers into his fur and held on tight as he began to sprint back toward the town.

He moved with grace, each stride echoing our shared concern. The trees blurred past, their tall silhouettes fading into the night as we approached the town at an alarming speed.

It was as if nature itself was mourning, the once proud and towering pines now mere witnesses to impending disaster.

“The children,” I said, feeling panic beginning to grip my heart the closer we got to town. “Oh, god, the children!”

“My scent is telling me that it’s not coming from the direction of the villa,” Nathan said, although his reassurance didn’t do much to ease my concerns. “But I’ll drop you off at home.”

“No,” I said, remembering Clint’s steadfast attitude when we had woken him earlier to watch over the twins. “I’ll go with you, just in case, so we don’t waste any time. Clint has them in good hands.”

Nathan said nothing, but kept running in the direction of the orange glow and the smell of smoke.

Upon our arrival, the gravity of the situation was unmistakable.

The town square, once a beacon of camaraderie and celebration, was engulfed in flames. They danced wildly, almost maliciously, threatening to consume all in their path. Villagers, their faces painted with fear, dashed around—some were drawing water from the well in buckets, others were desperately attempting to douse the inferno.

My eyes went wide. From a young boy helping his elderly neighbor to a mother clutching her newborn, the town’s vulnerability was painfully evident. Their voices filled the air: prayers, commands, cries for help.

After letting me slip down from his back, Nathan shifted back into his human form and grabbed one of the Elders—Amara—by her wrist as she scurried past.

“What happened here?” Nathan asked, panic evident in his voice. “An attack?”

“One could call it that,” she hissed, ripping her wrist away. “Can’t you see? Get to work!”

Nathan and I sprang into action. While he aided in evacuating those too close to the danger, I joined a makeshift water brigade, passing buckets filled to the brim with water to put out the flames.

The icy touch of the liquid contrasted with the scorching environment, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in my leg and ribs. Still, I kept working, not allowing the pain to stop me from helping my people.

Eventually, the flames began to dwindle somewhat. It seemed as though the fire had somehow spread outwards from the center of the town square, eventually catching hold of a few buildings that surrounded the square.

“That was when I smelled it,” a teenage boy said, carrying two buckets of water at a time. “I woke up, and there was smoke everywhere.”

“Is anyone hurt?” I asked, not wanting to mention the even darker alternative—that people had died.

“I don’t think so,” the boy replied, before being pulled away to assist someone else.

Yet, as the moments ticked by, I felt a shift—a change that wasn’t due to the increasing smoke or diminishing flames. Whispers weaved through the crowd, eyes darted in my direction, and a once-united front seemed to fracture. Doubt had joined the battle.

“It’s her,” a woman mumbled to someone else, throwing me a distrustful look as I handed her a bucket.

“Why would she be helping if she’s the cause of this whole mess?” another man grumbled.

Guilt, though unwarranted, began to suffocate me, just as the smoke threatened the air around. Each hushed conversation, each pointed finger, seemed to burrow into my soul.

Before I could comprehend the weight of the accusations, a forceful grip seized my arm, pulling me away from my efforts. I was met with the stern gaze of Mingan. Her status as an Elder was evident, not just from her age-marked skin and silver strands of hair but by the aura of authority she emitted.

“You!” she spat, her voice as cold as the northern winds. “This is your doing.”

I staggered back, the sharpness of her words stinging more than the embers in the air. “Mingan,” I whispered, disbelief coating every syllable, “how can you say that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” a voice sneered from behind. Turning, I recognized several other Elders, their expressions a unified front of disdain and accusation.

“She’s been nothing but trouble,” Elder Corbin muttered. “We should have taken the boy when we had a chance. And now look what’s happened!”

“You were behind this, weren’t you?” Amara snarled. “Why are you so hell-bent on destroying this pack?”

Heat—unrelated to the fire—rose in my cheeks. “Behind this?” I asked. “I’ve been away, in the forest, with Nathan. How could I possibly have any part in this?”

Mingan’s glare didn’t waver. “Whether it was intentional or not, you are at the root of this,” she said, her voice so low it was almost a growl. “You know just as well as I do. It was your silly actions that led us to this point.”

My heart raced, the implications of her words swirling in my mind. “I would never harm this town or its people. This is my home,” I protested, desperate for them to see reason.

Nathan, sensing the tension, moved closer, a low growl vibrating from his chest, ready to defend. “We’ve been together the entire time,” he argued, locking eyes with Mingan. “She’s innocent.”

But Mingan was unyielding. With deliberate slowness, she reached down, retrieving a handful of charred straw off of the ground. Holding it up, the ash-blackened strands seemed out of place in her otherwise pristine hand.

“This,” she declared, “is linked to you. It’s all linked to you, you treacherous fool!”

With that Mingan hurled the handful of straw back at the ground. It fluttered back onto the pavement, a strange juxtaposition from the force of her throw.

I stared at the straw, then back at Mingan, confusion and fear melding into a toxic mix. What did a handful of burnt straw have to do with anything?