Katherine lingered at the doorway, her pulse quickening with uncertainty. She’d agreed to respect Shade’s boundary, letting him decide when she could meet his mate, but Abbie’s injury shifted her priorities. The possibility that Shade’s mate could pose a danger to the neighborhood children gnawed at her, mixing her sense of responsibility with a growing apprehension. She squared her shoulders, wondering whether her presence would soothe or antagonize the panther.

  Shade’s mate was strikingly beautiful; the silver of her fur shimmered in the dappled light, each movement catching Katherine’s eye and drawing attention to the violet stripes that so closely echoed Shade’s own coloring. Yet beneath the elegance, Katherine sensed tension—the slight arch of the panther’s back, the wary flick of her tail, betraying her inner conflict. Was she feeling fear, curiosity, or simply the instinct to defend her new territory?

  As Katherine watched, she felt the familiar pulse of the telepathic link with Shade—warm and steady, yet tinged with unease. Suddenly, Shade’s mate’s voice cut sharply into his mind: Why did you attack me? Her mental tone carried more than accusation; Katherine sensed confusion and a prickling defensiveness.

  Shade responded gently, his thoughts brushing against hers in a soothing wave: No, mate, she wasn’t stealing. That human was only taking the bag so Katherine wouldn’t be annoyed by its location. He shifted closer to his mate, his presence both reassuring and quietly protective.

  Turning her head to Shade, his mate’s thoughts pressed forward, edged with skepticism and a hint of longing: You trust humans and others like them? Her tail lashed once, betraying her unease.

  Shade’s reply carried a gentle certainty: No, I trust my human. His gaze lingered on Katherine, silently inviting her to share in the moment. The bond between them felt palpable—a current of vulnerability and trust flowing silently beneath the surface.

  Shade’s mate’s internal voice grew sharper, a mix of suspicion and genuine curiosity: What has she done for that to happen? Her hackles rose, her posture tense as she awaited an answer.

  Shade’s feline noises signaled his request, and Katherine, understanding, adjusted her wheelchair. She lifted her shirt just enough to reveal the brutal scar across her side, a visible testament to her past struggle. The sight of the puckered skin—where the drake’s tail had struck, and new ribs had grown—made Katherine shiver, remembering the pain and the cost.

  Shade’s mental voice was hushed, reverent: She tried to save my life. That scar was part of the cost that was paid. Katherine let the shirt fall back, the room filling with a quiet, heavy understanding.

  Shade’s mate considered, her thoughts slow and guarded: That is not enough to prove trust. Yet Katherine glimpsed the flicker of uncertainty in the panther’s eyes—a wariness that mingled with reluctant respect.

  Shade pressed on; his thoughts layered with memory and emotion: When Katherine and I met, I was a cub—alone and starving. I tried to eat her, thinking she was the weakest among her group. Her mind was cloudy by the night. I got too close, and when she turned, her presence overwhelmed me. I submitted and became her familiar out of fear, but she hasn’t been cruel like other humans. She’s given me shelter, protection, guidance in hunting, and enough to eat and grow strong. His mental voice trembled with gratitude, as if Katherine had become the mother he never had. We became one when I found her. That’s why I brought you here—I feel safe, and I wanted you to feel safe too.

  Shade’s mate eyed Katherine with renewed scrutiny, her feelings tangled between intimidation and the desire to assert herself. For a moment, she unsheathed her claws, hissing quietly—a test of dominance, a wordless question hanging in the air.

  Katherine’s gaze hardened as she locked eyes with the silver panther, her voice low but unwavering: “Try it, and Shade won’t save you.” She made no attempt to soften her words, letting her familiar’s mate sense the seriousness behind them. “He’ll be pissed for a while, maybe even hold a grudge against me—and that’s fine. I can live with being the villain if I have to.” She leaned in, letting her aura press just enough to reinforce her authority, her expression cool and unflinching.

  The panther hesitated, muscles tense, then slowly backed down, her posture relaxing in reluctant submission. Katherine exhaled, the tension in the room ebbing as she straightened in her wheelchair. “Shade, can you fill your mate in about the surroundings if she wants to stay?” she asked, her tone shifting to something more practical. “She doesn’t have to become a familiar like you. Just make sure she keeps her claws to herself, within reason.” With a final, measured look at the pair, Katherine turned and wheeled herself out of the room.

  The hallways felt quieter as she left the charged atmosphere behind. After leaving Shade and his mate, Katherine made her way to the common room, where she spotted Abbie curled up on the couch, nursing her hand but looking more embarrassed than hurt. The light from the window cast gentle shadows across the room, a welcome contrast to the earlier tension.

  Katherine rolled over, concern etched across her features. “I’m sorry that happened,” she said softly, her voice tinged with regret as she searched Abbie’s face for signs of distress. “Shade told me he brought her here. I didn’t think anyone would come in—”

  Abbie quickly cut her off, her cheeks flushed with guilt. “No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have entered if you weren’t there.” She looked away, shoulders hunched, the memory clearly weighing on her.

  Katherine leaned forward, her tone gentle as she offered reassurance. “You were looking out for Shade,” she pointed out with a small, understanding smile. “It was only natural—you didn’t want his pride to be bruised any more than it already was.”

  Abbie’s lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced down at her healed hand. “Still, I heard the growl,” she admitted quietly, self-reproach evident in her voice. “I should’ve backed away.”

  Katherine reached out, placing a comforting hand on Abbie’s arm. “Given the circumstances, you did nothing wrong,” she said warmly, hoping to ease her friend’s lingering anxiety. Seeing Abbie’s lingering tension, Katherine decided a little gossip might help lift the mood. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she added, “If it makes you feel any better, she’s actually pretty.”

  ...

  Lira was intentionally testing the limits of her patron’s patience—a reckless move, considering her magic was her lifeline. The risk of losing it hovered constantly at the edge of her thoughts, making every choice feel heavier. For someone who’d always danced on the edge of loyalty and survival, balancing her duty as both adventurer and aristocrat, the stakes had never felt so personal. Now, after everything that had happened to Katherine since arriving in this world, recruiting her felt less like fulfilling an obligation and more like betraying a friend. The weight of that possibility settled in her chest, tight and unyielding. She remembered Katherine’s first bewildered smile, the way she clung to hope despite being stranded in a foreign world. Each moment spent together blurred the line between duty and friendship, making Lira question whether loyalty to her patron should outweigh compassion for a lost soul.

  The wind was cool against Lira’s cheek as she made her way to the small farm cottage. Her hands shook as she knocked, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. If she failed her patron—or if she hurt Katherine—what would become of her? The door opened, and she bowed low, forcing her voice steady. “Good afternoon, Nightblade. Sorry to drop in like this, but I… I need some advice.” She tried to smile, but her worry leaked through the edges, betraying the struggle roiling inside her.

  The man’s eyes softened, a brief spark of humor warming his expression. “The High One mentioned you might stop by.” He stepped aside, gesturing her in. “Come in, let’s have some tea.”

  Inside, the familiar scents of dried herbs and parchment mingled with the faint aroma of wood smoke. Lira’s shoulders relaxed—just a little. Her mind drifted to her coven’s traditions: the three paths members could take to advance. There was the scholars’ path, for those who delved into every form of magic approved by the patron; the warriors’ path, centered on weapons and battle spells; and finally, a third path blending both—where discipline and arcane power met. She’d chosen the arcane path as a girl, enchanted by the very idea of spellcraft. Fate, of course, had twisted that dream, making each step forward depend on her patron’s ever-shifting favor.

  The Nightblade, a senior figure in the coven, poured tea as Lira hovered, feeling both out of place and oddly exposed. She wasn’t supposed to know who he was, not at her rank, but her family’s status had earned her a few exceptions. Still, the air around him felt sharp—like he could see right through her.

  He watched her for a moment, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “So, this Katherine,” he said, his tone inviting but focused. “What’s her story? How’d she come to our patron’s attention?”

  Lira hesitated, tracing a circle on the rim of her cup. “I was working for the guild—and the coven. The job sounded simple enough at first: hunt down a coven that’d gone rogue, a threat to the rest of us.”

  “Void Call, right?” Nightblade leaned back, remembering. “I read your report. If memory serves, you said the ritual was completed—but failed.”

  Lira let out a nervous laugh and shrugged, meeting his gaze with a sheepish smile. “You remember right—sort of. It’s... complicated.” She fiddled with her sleeve, feeling the tension coil tighter in her chest.

  Nightblade’s eyes narrowed, but there was no accusation, just expectation. “So which is it? Was it finished, or did it fail?”

  Her heart thudded as she weighed her answer. She knew what was at stake—a wrong word could mean banishment or worse. After a beat, she nodded reluctantly. “It failed.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Nightblade’s voice dropped, and the room suddenly charged. “Careful, Moongazed. What happened?”

  Lira’s pulse hammered as she rushed to explain, words tumbling out. “No abominations, I swear. When the coven was killed, the ritual changed. The runes twisted, and instead of summoning something monstrous, it brought someone back—a deathwalker. Katherine.” She paused, glancing up to gauge Nightblade’s reaction. Deathwalkers were rare beings—neither fully alive nor dead, feared by most covens for their unpredictable nature. “I’ve been watching her, trying to understand if my theory’s right.”

  His eyes widened. “You think Katherine’s a deathwalker?”

  “I do,” Lira said quietly, nodding. “But she’s... different. As you know better than me, our coven doesn’t tolerate undead, but deathwalkers are strange—almost like the living. Katherine’s not cold, not empty. She feels things—compassion, empathy. The ritual must have done something more; it’s like she was resurrected, not just returned.”

  Lira took a shaky breath, pressing her palms together to steady herself. “She’s said, more than once, that she’s died before. In her world, she was a warrior. Their healers managed to bring her soul back before it could cross over.” A memory flickered: Katherine, her voice steady as she recounted distant battles and the moment between life and death, her resilience shining through.

  Nightblade’s tone sharpened, cutting through her reverie. “Then why haven’t you recruited her yet?”

  Lira’s cheeks flushed with guilt. She looked away, voice barely above a whisper. “I did not mean to befriend her. But she was lost when she arrived, and I wanted to help. Before she ever stepped foot in town, I tried to show her how things worked so she would not feel even more isolated. If I do what the High One asks, it’ll feel like I’m using her trust. And I don’t want to be that kind of person.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty and hope for understanding.

  Nightblade leaned back in his chair, taking a drink of his tea. “Did you take notes of what you saw?”

  “Better, I put it in my living archive,” Lira confirmed, tapping her satchel. “You know—the enchanted books we use to share secrets across the coven. A living archive, a magically linked set of books, allows members to record discoveries instantly and send them to a master copy hidden away for safe keeping—a tool both powerful and secretive.” Nightblade nodded, understanding the gravity of what she’d recorded.

  Lira specifically used hers to record oddities she noticed in magic—like a living person emerging from a ritual that wasn’t designed to transport anyone ordinary. Or as ordinary as Katherine probably was.

  She found the page where she’d drawn what was readable of the ritual circle, given all the blood that had been spilled at the time. She showed Nightblade, pointing out the runes she’d translated: Vessel, Destruction, Sacrifice, Oblivion, Threshold, and Binding.

  “Are you sure this is what they meant?” Nightblade asked, rising from his chair, nearly knocking it over.

  “Not entirely,” Lira admitted, her voice sounding smaller than usual. “Most of the diagram and runic sections were covered in blood. With how much was obscured, I didn’t want to trouble the coven with something trivial.”

  Nightblade’s gaze sharpened. “Where is this deathwalker, Moongazed?”

  “She went into town to buy things for her familiar,” Lira confided. “He’s been looking for a mate. My family’s beast master should be with her to help ease the changes.”

  ...

  Katherine stifled a sneeze, bringing her hand to her nose. The sound echoed lightly in the quiet street.

  Roland, quick to notice, offered his pocket square with an easy grin. “Careful, you could summon a horde if you do that too much,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with playful concern. His gaze drifted to Katherine’s side, where Shade usually lounged protectively. But today, Shade still nursed a grudge over his recent fur-color punishment—a pink coat for wrecking Katherine’s room—and had asked his mate to keep Katherine company instead.

  Over the last several weeks, Shade’s mate had become more tolerant of Katherine’s presence, though the distance between them lingered. Katherine suspected the subtle currents of mana flowing through the dorms helped ease the panther’s wariness. Whatever the reason, Shade was visibly brighter whenever his mate joined him during Katherine’s visits to Arnold. The day Shade’s fur returned to its natural, abyssal black marked a turning point—except for the scarred patch on his flank, left bare from the lesser forest drake’s tail. Shade’s gaze often lingered on that spot, eyes shadowed with the memory of pain and a yearning for the wholeness he’d lost.

  Katherine herself felt an overwhelming wave of relief and joy at being out of her wheelchair at last. When Arnold finally declared her ready to walk, handing her a cane, it felt as though the world had widened beyond the confines of metal and wheels. As Katherine gripped the cane, gratitude and hope surged through her. Each tentative step was a quiet victory—a promise that she was reclaiming her independence. Determined to test her limits, she walked farther than ever before, Roland trailing beside her with a watchful eye, knowing all too well how fiercely she guarded her autonomy.

  “Have you decided on a name for her yet?” Roland asked, glancing at Shade’s mate as they moved along. His tone was casual, but curiosity danced behind it. “Everyone’s getting tired of calling her ‘Shade’s mate.’”

  Katherine shook her head, a hint of frustration coloring her reply. “We’ve talked about it, but she’s only bonded to Shade. I think he just calls her ‘mate’—or whatever panthers call each other.” She shrugged, her thoughts lingering on the subtle complexities of their interwoven bonds.

  The connection between Katherine and Shade was profound—an intertwining of souls that made them reliant on one another. But Katherine recognized the difference in Shade’s relationship with his mate, marked by a private telepathic link she could never access. She’d tried reaching out, hoping to understand Shade’s mate better, but the most she managed was a skill that let her mimic familiar sounds to attract potential companions. Out of respect for their privacy, she never pushed further; it felt too much like eavesdropping on a child’s secret world.

  Without warning, Shade’s mate slipped away, drawn by something unseen. Katherine caught Roland’s eye, giving him a reassuring nod before following the panther’s quiet trail.

  They found themselves beside a blacksmith shop, where the soft whimpering of puppies reached their ears. A mother dog nursed her litter in the alley, her body curled protectively around them. One tiny pup struggled to find purchase among its siblings, losing out in the scramble to feed. Shade’s mate watched, her ears drooping with silent empathy. Katherine’s chest tightened as she observed the panther’s reaction, sensing that the sight stirred a deep worry—perhaps a fear that her own future cubs might one day face such a desperate fight for survival. Katherine wondered if this moment revealed a gentler side to the panther, a glimmer of compassion she’d never witnessed before.

  Before Katherine could offer comfort, Shade’s mate faded from view, vanishing as if swallowed by the air. Though the panther was invisible, Katherine’s combat skill tingled at the edge of her awareness, alerting her to the silent presence beside her. It was a subtle signal—a prickle along her senses that told her where Shade’s mate lingered, hidden but never truly gone.

  Shade’s mate moved to stand quietly beside Katherine as she turned and walked back to Roland. Roland, always perceptive, noticed the shift. “What was it?” he asked, concern threading his words as he hadn’t seen what Katherine had.

  Katherine offered a gentle scratch to the unseen silver panther’s head before replying, her voice low and reassuring. “I’ll explain later,” she promised, her tone soft but firm—an anchor for both Roland and the panther.

  Just then, Katherine felt a prickle along the back of her neck—a familiar warning of being watched. She discreetly slid her free hand toward the knife at her waist, a habit born from countless close calls and sharpened instincts.

  Roland had given her the knife for practical use: opening sandbags, cutting bundles of hardwood, and other everyday tasks. But now, its weight comforted her, a reminder of readiness.

  Katherine’s voice, light but tense, cut through the quiet. “Roland,” she said—a tone he’d never heard before. “Don’t turn around.” Roland, reflexively starting to look, yelped as Katherine jabbed the flat tip of her cane into his foot, halting his movement.

  He was about to protest, but Katherine pressed a finger to her lips, signaling silence. “We’re being watched. Not sure by who, or why, but it’s happening. Act normal—like you’re giving me a lesson on how different affinities in different areas can affect a familiar.” She kept her tone steady, guiding him through the performance.

  Roland nodded, worry flickering in his voice but not his face. “That is what I’m doing,” he replied, adapting quickly to Katherine’s lead.

  Katherine flashed him a bright, rare smile. “Good. Keep doing that.” Her confidence was infectious, and Roland let her take control, recognizing that she thrived under pressure.

  “Go, warn Shade,” Katherine murmured, directing her words to Shade’s mate, who remained hidden from anyone nearby. “Let him know trouble’s coming, but stay out of sight until I say.” She slipped through the shadow of a nearby cart, moving as Shade would—quiet and purposeful.

  “Follow,” she whispered to Roland, cutting through the crowd with practiced ease. Roland did his best to match her composure, though his nerves buzzed beneath the surface. Katherine guided them into a deserted alley, her every movement deliberate.

  Two hooded men blocked their path ahead, and another pair appeared behind, sealing off escape. Katherine straightened, her confidence radiating as she faced the threat.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s be civil about this,” Katherine called, her voice smooth and unflappable—a blend of invitation and challenge.

  One of the men sneered, his bravado barely hiding a hint of uncertainty. “Heh. You think you can hurt us?”

  Katherine placed her hand at the base of her throat, her tone shifting to something playful yet menacing—her cadence that of a seasoned entertainer. “Oh, us? No, I doubt we can hurt you. But my buddy can. Say ‘hi,’ buddy.”

  Skill [Call of the Hunt] Active

  [Call of the Hunt]

  Cost: Moderate

  Cooldown: 1 hour

  Effect: Use familiar as a beacon to summon it as well as other creatures allied or subservient to it to add to combative prowess.

  Shade emerged from the shadow; hackles raised, a low growl rumbling in his chest. An illusion of a brick wall sprang up behind him, hemming in the attackers. Another wall materialized behind the second pair, as Shade’s mate revealed herself, equally imposing.

  Katherine’s smile turned predatory as she addressed the intruders, her eyes gleaming with confidence. “Now, answer a few questions and you don’t die.” The threat hung in the air, sharp as a blade, leaving no doubt as to who held control of the alley.

  ...

  The captain of the town guard sat at his desk, reviewing supply requests, urban training schedules, and the monthly budget. In a world shaped by magic, he knew that any situation could quickly spiral out of control. His job was to ensure everyone was fed, paid, or both.

  A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. The captain didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Does it have to do with the usual suspects?” he asked, his tone dry and practiced.

  The lieutenant stepped inside, visibly uneasy, a sheen of sweat on his neck. “No sir, it seems to be something that you need to handle personally though.” He hesitated, fingers fidgeting at the edge of his belt.

  The captain’s jaw tightened—a sure sign he expected trouble. He glanced at the lieutenant, searching for any hint of exaggeration in the young officer’s posture. “And why is that?” he prompted, voice even but watchful.

  The lieutenant cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “It seems that a couple members of the ducal staff were assaulted. Or at least that is the story that they are sticking to. The other party involved claims they were the aggressors.”

  The captain rubbed his temples, already feeling the weight of a long day settling in. He looked up, resignation flickering in his eyes. “Where are they now?”

  “Downstairs. Both groups are separated,” the lieutenant replied. He shifted his weight, as if debating how much to reveal. “Given the situation, I thought it was best to inform the duke.” The sounds of unrest drifting up from below made the silence hang heavy between them.

  The captain leaned forward, sensing there was more. “What else?” he pressed, his eyes narrowing with expectation.

  The lieutenant hesitated before answering; his voice dropped lower. “It seems that the familiar—and its mate—are rather… agitated.”