Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted - Chapter 403

Chapter 403: Ava: It Isn’t There
Buoyed by my mate’s support, though dreading what Ivy’s situation might mean—for her and for all of us—I scurry through the packed trails of camp, unsurprised as fresh snow flutters through the sky. It feels like we snow more days than not.

Find out anything yet? I reach out to Grimoire, who’s been silent. I can sense Selene watching, but have no idea what he’s doing. Sometimes I wish I could just pull his expertise into my head so I don’t have to take the long route of actually learning how to do things myself.

Don’t be lazy, he chides.

Okay, but did you discover anything yet?

He’s silent, leaving my brain to itch as I wait for his response. Finally, he does.

No.

Helpful.

Don’t blame me. I’m limited in my abilities until you get here.

“I’m not blaming you,” I grumble, almost slipping over a patch of re-freeze. The temperature’s plummeted, more than I’d think it would. The sky isn’t even fully grayed out.

My magic wriggles in my belly, and I realize I’ve covered myself in a light layer of warmth without thinking twice.

Like autopilot, but the magical version.

Nice.

Stop being impressed with yourself and hurry up.

“I am, I am.” Picking up the pace, I notice a small group of wolves headed toward the debriefing tent. My connection with the pack is not as defined as it should be, but I can vaguely sense that they’re Westwood wolves. Must be a scout party coming in.

Hopefully they come with good news. We could use some.

You’re slowing down again.

Selene’s gentle nudge kicks me into a light jog.

The hospital lodge smells of antiseptic and bleach, a stark contrast to the crisp winter air outside. My boots squeak against the freshly mopped floor as I enter, and I wave at the receptionist—someone I’ve seen several times, yet still can’t remember her name. She nods back, professional and distant.

“Luna,” she murmurs as I pass.

“Looks like it’s pretty quiet today.”

Her eyes widen. “Luna, you can’t use that word. You know it’s bad luck.”

Oops. “Sorry—” I surreptitiously peek at her little badge “—Tanya.”

She reaches over to knock on the wooden frame of her desk. “Better safe than sorry.”

Flashing an apologetic grin, I head down the hall to Ivy’s room.

A solid mass crashes into my shoulder, throwing me off balance. My hand flies to the wall to steady myself as a man in dark clothing stumbles back.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice rough and low. He keeps his face angled down, dark hair falling forward to obscure his features. His shoulders hunch as he hurries past me, footsteps quick and deliberate.

I turn to watch him go, unease prickling at the base of my neck. There’s something about his posture, his hurried exit—

But my pack bond assures me he’s a Westwood wolf. Not an intruder.

Oh. Maybe he’s one of Ivy’s little fans. Probably didn’t want to be caught by his Luna. Cute. Her followers are everywhere.

The door to Ivy’s room flies open. Vanessa stands in the doorway, her face pinched with worry. “Her fever’s spiked again. Any news?”

My heart jumps into my throat. “No. Even with the medicine, it’s going up?”

“No, it’s getting worse.” Vanessa pulls me into the room, her grip tight on my arm. “Come see for yourself. It just started.”

Ivy thrashes on the bed, her skin slick with sweat. Her head whips from side to side, auburn hair plastered to her face. The blankets twist around her legs as she fights some unseen enemy in her fevered state.

But what catches my attention isn’t her physical state—it’s the corruption inside her. The darkness pulses like a second heartbeat, stronger than before.

A flash of silver light fills the room. Grimoire materializes beside me in his adult form, towering and alien, red hair floating around his face.

“Take her hand,” he commands, his voice deep and resonant. “I need you to establish a physical connection.”

I reach for Ivy’s hand. Her skin burns against mine, and the contact amplifies the sensation of that strange, pulsing darkness.

Grimoire’s silver eyes narrow as he studies her. His hands hover over her body, trailing ethereal light. After a moment, his brow furrows.

“This isn’t possible.” He moves his hands again, more deliberately this time. “I can’t make contact with the corruption. It’s as if it isn’t there.”

“What do you mean you can’t make contact?” My grip tightens on Ivy’s hand. “I can feel it right now.”

He shakes his head. “Try to make contact. It isn’t there.”

My frown deepens as I stare at Grimoire. “That’s impossible. I can feel it right here.” The darkness pulses beneath my fingers, a steady rhythm that matches perfectly with Ivy’s elevated heartbeat.

“Try to touch it with your magic.”

“Fine.” I close my eyes and kneel beside the bed, clasping both my hands around Ivy’s burning fingers. The position reminds me of prayer, and I press my forehead against our joined hands.

My magic surges forward, eager to investigate the corruption. The sensation of wrongness grows stronger as I focus on it, like oil sliding over my skin. The darkness calls to my power, a song of corruption that promises answers if I just reach out and—

Nothing.

My magic drifts through empty space, finding no purchase. No resistance. No darkness to purify.

I try again, certain I must have missed something. The corruption is right there. I can feel it, taste it, smell it.

But my magic passes through the space where it should be, like trying to grab smoke.

“It’s an illusion,” Grimoire says.

“Her fever isn’t,” Vanessa points out, her voice tight.

“How?” I lift my head to look at him, keeping my grip on Ivy’s hand. “How can it feel so real? My magic is practically begging to interact with it.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

The darkness pulses again, strong and steady. If I wasn’t trying to touch it with my magic, I’d never know it wasn’t real. The deception is perfect—too perfect.

Selene slinks beside me, her black nose sniffing intensely at Ivy’s hand, grasped tightly in mine. She sneezes. It smells so real. If this is an illusion, what purpose would it serve?