Chapter 37

Seraphine’s POV

As the witches began their chant, I gripped Draven’s head firmly while he pressed a hand to Maeve’s forehead. Our eyes locked—mine drilling straight into his soul—as I joined the witches in their incantation. We were weaving a spell to grant Draven entry into Maeve’s subconscious.

It had been a day since Maeve fell unconscious, and she still had not stirred. We’d done everything in our power to keep her stable. Her physical wounds were fully healed, so it became clear her condition wasn’t rooted in any injury. This ran far deeper.

Whatever transpired in the cemetery had affected her profoundly. It wasn’t the stone’s power—I could sense that—but something stronger, emanating from Maeve herself. The night she retrieved that stone, every wolf in the pack and even the witches felt a surge of magical energy that rippled through us all. It was alien yet utterly potent.

I’d felt that same magic the night Draven lost control to his demon and ra