Chapter 104

The cemetery sprawled across five acres of Lockewood's oldest territory, a patchwork of weathered headstones and crumbling mausoleums shrouded in mist. Achilles and Shea approached cautiously, shifting back to human form at the rusted iron gates.

"I can't pick up Lyra's scent," Achilles whispered, scanning the shadows between graves. "The air's too damp."

Shea closed her eyes, reaching for the connection she'd discovered earlier. The land beneath the cemetery felt different—colder, more reluctant to respond to her call. But gradually, she sensed movement, disturbances in the natural rhythm.

"Someone's been here recently," she said, opening her eyes. "Multiple people. This way."

They moved silently through the maze of headstones, alert to every sound. The moon hung low and heavy, partially obscured by clouds, casting just enough light to navigate by. As they approached the cemetery's center, where a stone angel stood guard over a circular clearing, Shea froze.

"Blood," she whispered.

Achilles tensed beside her. "Lyra's?"

"I don't know." She knelt, pressing her palm to the damp earth. "But it's fresh."

A twig snapped somewhere to their right. In an instant, both were crouched in defensive positions, backs to each other.

"Well, well," came a familiar voice. "Looks like our bait worked after all."

Ryder emerged from behind a mausoleum, flanked by two burly werewolves. His smirk widened as he took in their expressions.

"Where's Lyra?" Achilles demanded.

"Alive. For now." Ryder gestured vaguely toward the far end of the cemetery. "My father thought she might prove useful in convincing you to join us willingly."

Shea felt rage building inside her. "This ends tonight, Ryder. Tell us where she is."

"Or what?" He laughed. "You'll kill me? With my father's men surrounding this entire cemetery?" He spread his arms wide. "Face it—you walked right into our trap."

Achilles took a step forward. "If you've hurt her—"

"Save the threats," Ryder cut him off. "I'm here to deliver a message. My father is willing to make a deal. The girl for Shea."

"That's not happening," Achilles growled.

"Then Lyra dies at midnight," Ryder said simply. "And we take Shea anyway."

Shea placed a restraining hand on Achilles' arm. "What guarantee do we have that Lyra is even alive?"

Ryder reached into his pocket and tossed something that glinted in the moonlight. Achilles caught it—a silver charm bracelet, stained with blood.

"Recognize it?" Ryder asked.

Achilles' face darkened. "This doesn't prove anything."

"No? Well, perhaps this will." Ryder pulled out a phone and played a video—Lyra, bound to a chair, her face bruised but her eyes defiant.

"Don't give them what they want," she said in the recording. "Whatever happens to me—"

The video cut off. Ryder pocketed the phone. "You have one hour to decide. Meet us at the old mill with your answer." He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and don't bother trying to follow me. My friends here will make sure of that."

As if on cue, the two werewolves beside him began to shift, bones cracking as their bodies contorted.

"One hour," Ryder repeated, disappearing into the mist.

Achilles cursed under his breath. "We need to get back to Lucius."

"There's no time," Shea argued. "We need to find where they're keeping Lyra."

"And walk into another trap? We're outnumbered, Shea."

She shook her head. "Something doesn't feel right. Why give us an hour? Why not just ambush us here?"

Before Achilles could respond, a low growl rumbled from the shadows. The two werewolves Ryder had left behind lunged forward, fully transformed now.

Achilles pushed Shea behind him. "Run! I'll hold them off!"

But Shea stood her ground. "No. We fight together."

As the first werewolf charged, Shea reached deep within herself, drawing on her connection to the land. Power surged through her veins, and she met the creature's attack with a strength that surprised even her. She caught its massive paw mid-swipe, twisting until bones snapped.

Beside her, Achilles had partially shifted—enough to give him claws and enhanced strength while maintaining human reasoning. He grappled with the second werewolf, matching it blow for blow.

The fight was brutal but brief. When it ended, both attackers lay unconscious among the headstones.

"We need to move," Achilles panted, wiping blood from a gash on his forehead. "There will be more."

Shea nodded, already scanning their surroundings. "The old mill is northeast of here. If that's where they're keeping Lyra..."

"It's almost certainly a trap," Achilles finished. "But you're right—we can't wait for backup."

They set off through the forest, moving swiftly but cautiously. Shea felt a strange confidence guiding her steps, as if the land itself was helping her navigate.

"Something's changed in you," Achilles observed as they paused to catch their breath. "Since you connected with the forest."

Shea nodded. "I feel... complete. Like I finally understand what I am."

"An Alpha," he said simply.

"More than that." She struggled to find the words. "It's like I can feel the history of this place—all the battles, all the bloodshed. The balance that was disrupted when my father died."

Achilles' expression grew serious. "Donovan believes the ritual will give him control over that power. But what if it's meant for you? What if that's why they've been hunting you all along?"

"Then we need to stop them before they can complete it," Shea said firmly. "Starting with rescuing Lyra."

The old mill came into view, its weathered wooden structure silhouetted against the night sky. No lights burned in its windows, but Shea could sense movement inside—multiple heartbeats, the subtle shift of weight on creaking floorboards.

"I count at least six," she whispered. "Plus Ryder."

"And Lyra?"

Shea concentrated. "Yes... her heartbeat is faint, but she's alive. Upper floor, I think."

Achilles looked at her with newfound respect. "We need a distraction. Something to draw some of them out while we slip in."

Shea smiled grimly. "I have an idea." She placed her hands on the ground, closing her eyes. The connection came easier now, flowing through her like a current. She sent out a silent call, reaching for the wild creatures that shared her bond with the forest.

Minutes later, a cacophony of howls erupted from the trees surrounding the mill—not werewolves, but ordinary wolves, dozens of them, answering her summons.

"Now," she whispered as figures began rushing from the mill to investigate. "Let's get Lyra."