ADAM
I watched them work on her as if I were already losing her.
The priest murmured prayers under his breath, fingers glowing faintly as he traced sigils in the air above Sage’s body. While the doctor moved with efficient calm, checking vials and bandages, checking her pulse, her breathing, her pupils.
Magic and medicine mingled in my room, the air thick with incense and herbs, sharp enough to sting the back of my throat.
I paced. Back and forth, from the foot of the bed to the window, then back again. My boots thudded softly against the polished floor, the sound grounding me just enough to keep me from tearing something apart. Or someone.
She lay too still.
Her face was pale against the dark sheets, lashes resting against her cheeks, lips parted just slightly. If not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I might have thought her gone.
And yet, even unconscious, there had been that smile.
The memory of it gnawed at me. Before her eyes had fluttered shut—she had smiled at me, after I just told her a groundbreaking truth.
Not a soft smile of happiness . Not relieved.
It was... smug.
The word sat ugly in my mind.
She had told me she knew I was her mate. I had expected surprise, denial, maybe even fear. I had not expected that knowing look. That quiet satisfaction. As if she had reached the end of a calculation and liked the result.
What was I missing?
The feeling in my chest twisted, a tight, cold coil of dread settling beneath my ribs.
Ever since she had finished the dome, something had felt wrong. Not loud, not obvious. Just... off. Like a shadow lingering at the edge of my vision no matter how I turned.
I stopped pacing and dragged a hand through my hair, gripping it hard at the roots.
Then my brothers’ voices chose to echo unbidden in my head. She promised us our turns.
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. Why would she say that?
She wasn’t stupid. Sage knew what mates were. She knew the consequences of teasing bonds that deep. She knew Noah and Daniel were not hers. I had felt it clearly—no pull, no resonance, no answering call in my wolf.
So why? To hurt me?
If so, why would she want to hurt me?
The bond between us thrummed, alive and sensitive, reacting sharply to my agitation. I felt it tug, faint but insistent, as if trying to reassure me she was still there.
But reassurance wasn’t what I needed.
I needed answers.
The priest cleared his throat.
I didn’t hear him.
My thoughts spiraled instead—backward, always backward. To Maya’s laughter in the caves. To Dora’s quiet defiance, the way she had looked at me like she knew things she would never say aloud.
To the mark I had placed once, foolish and young and certain.
To the wolf in me, who had never let go of the idea that all three women were the same soul wearing different faces.
"King Adam."
I kept pacing.
"Adam."
A hand touched my arm.
My muscles coiled instinctively, forcing me to look down. The priest stood beside me, brows drawn together, concern etched deep into his face.
"What?" I snapped, then exhaled sharply, reining it in. "What is it?"
"She will wake soon," the priest said.
I stared at him. "Soon?"
He nodded. "Very soon."
That stopped me fully.
The last time—when Dora had attempted something even remotely close to a dome of that magnitude—she had been unconscious for two full days. Her body had nearly burned itself out under the strain.
"Sage has been out for barely an hour," I said slowly.
The doctor finished packing his tools, straightening. "She is... different."
That word again. Different.
"How?" I demanded, stepping closer to the bed, eyes never leaving Sage’s face.
The doctor hesitated, then glanced at the priest. They shared a look—one heavy with things unsaid.
"Speak," I ordered.
The priest sighed softly. "Her reserves are vast. Deeper than we anticipated. The dome did not drain her the way it would most magic users."
"Most," I echoed.
He nodded. "Including Dora."
My heart stuttered, even as I noticed the priest’s curious gaze on Sage.
"What is the problem?"
The priest’s gaze flicked to me, then to Sage again, lingering too long. "The darkness."
I stiffened. "What darkness?"
"It remains," he said carefully. "Hovering. Pressing. Even with the dome enacted, the... foreboding has not lifted."
That word again. The exact one that had been clawing at my thoughts.
I swallowed. "Is she in danger?"
"She is stable," the doctor said quickly. "Physically. But I don’t think that’s what the priest was talking about..."
I ignored him. "And otherwise?"
Silence.
The priest rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, a nervous habit. "Magic like hers attracts... attention. Consequence. Fate is not fond of being bent."
I turned away before my temper could snap. "You’re speaking in riddles."
"Because that is all we have," he said quietly.
The doctor, meanwhile, gathered his things. "I will leave you now, my king. Call if there is any change."
He bowed and left the room without another word, the door closing softly behind him.
The priest stayed back.
I watched Sage’s chest rise and fall, counted each breath like it was a promise she was still here.
"You said something earlier, back in the caves..." I said without looking at him. "About this not being her first time in the pack."
The priest shifted.
"Explain."
He hesitated, then nodded once. "The readings were... familiar. Like echoes. As though her magic remembers this place."
My pulse thundered in my ears. "In a previous life?"
His brows knit together. "Perhaps. Or under a different name or face. I cannot be certain."
My wolf stirred, restless, almost triumphant.
The room felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in. I stepped closer to the bed, my hand hovering just above hers, afraid to touch, afraid not to.
"Is it possible?" I asked hoarsely. "That she has been here before?"
The priest met my gaze. "I believe so."
I sank down onto the edge of the bed, finally taking Sage’s hand in mine. Her skin was warm, her pulse steady beneath my thumb.
Mine.
Or so I wanted to believe.
The smug smile haunted me still, curling in the back of my mind like a warning.
If she was Maya. If she was Dora. If she had lived, died, returned—
Then what, exactly, had she come back to finish?