The Silver Wolf (Diana and Talon) novel Chapter 166

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Chapter One Hundred Sixty Six

He left the coven behind but he did not travel north as he had told the others. Instead, he headed east toward a place no one knew existed. His secret lair.

Gideon had discovered the abandoned structure several months after Agatha disappeared. It had once been a temple used by witches who practiced forbidden magic. The covens had sealed it generations ago, but the wards had weakened over time.

He broke through them easily. The temple was buried beneath a hill, concealed by thick trees and thorn-covered vines. Inside, narrow stone passages led to chambers filled with old symbols and forgotten spells.

Gideon transformed it into his private sanctuary. His workshop. His prison. His place of experimentation. He no longer limited his search to witch covens. He had begun investigating wolf packs as well.

At first, Gideon merely watched them from a distance. He studied patrol routes and territorial markings. He listened to wolves who traveled between packs. He learned their customs, ranks, and traditions. Every piece of knowledge fed his hatred. Wolves called themselves loyal, yet they fought among themselves constantly. They claimed to protect their mates, yet many treated weaker wolves like servants. They spoke of honor while killing anyone who crossed invisible borders. Gideon began convincing himself that Agatha could not truly be safe among them. The wolf had corrupted her. His pack would eventually hurt her. They might already be keeping her as a prisoner.

That belief gave Gideon permission to do things he once would have considered unforgivable. He started capturing wolves.

At first, he kidnapped only scouts who wandered too far from their packs. Then hunters. Travelers. Young warriors. Any wolf unfortunate enough to cross his path alone. In the past, Gideon would have killed them quickly. Now death seemed too merciful.

He brought them to his hidden lair and bound them with enchanted chains. He questioned them about Agatha. A white witch. A healer. A woman traveling with a wolf. Most knew nothing. Gideon tortured them anyway. He used dark magic to invade their minds. He forced them to relive their deepest fears. He stripped away memories, one by one, until they forgot their families, their packs, and even their own names. He poured poisonous mixtures into their mouths. He carved spells into their skin. He twisted the bond between human and wolf until both parts of their souls became consumed by rage. The first experiments failed. Some wolves died. Others lost the ability to shift. A few became so terrified that they stopped responding entirely.

But Gideon continued. He changed the potions. Adjusted the spells. Strengthened the poison. Eventually, he succeeded. He created wolves who no longer possessed reason. They could not recognize friends or family. They felt no loyalty to their packs. No fear. No pain. Only hunger and rage. Savage, mindless creatures who attacked anything placed before them.

He released the first one near the border of a small pack. The creature attacked its own people before they realized what had happened. Gideon watched from the shadows as the wolf tore through two guards and lunged at a third. The sight should have horrified him. Instead, Gideon smiled. Wolves killing wolves. Their own strength turned against them. It felt like justice.

The darkness inside him purred with satisfaction. After that, he created more. With each passing month,

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his methods improved.

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He learned how to break a wolf more quickly. How to preserve its strength while destroying its mind. How to erase loyalty without killing instinct. Then he discovered something even more valuable. He could command them. The orders were simple at first.

Wait. Attack. Stop. Return.

The damaged wolves could not understand complicated instructions, but they responded to magical signals. A certain sound told them when to move. A symbol marked where to attack. A scent directed them toward a specific border. It was imperfect. But useful.

Very useful. Gideon began releasing them near different packs, watching from a distance as they attacked their own kind. The wolves blamed rival packs. Old conflicts resurfaced. Borders became more heavily guarded. Suspicion spread. And while packs fought and questioned one another, Gideon moved through their territories unnoticed.

Every captured wolf became both an experiment and a source of information. He searched their minds for Agatha. Some had heard rumors about witches. Others knew of healers living near distant territories. None led him to her. Yet the failures no longer discouraged Gideon. His obsession had become a ritual. Capture. Question. Torture. Transform. Release. Search again.

He told himself everything he did was for Agatha. Every broken mind. Every death. Every pack thrown into chaos. All of it brought him closer to finding her.

Then, one evening, a traveling merchant arrived at a village near Gideon’s lair. Gideon had gone there searching for supplies.

He sat alone in the corner of a crowded tavern, his hood pulled low over his face, listening to conversations around him. Most were useless. Discussions of weather. Failed crops. Territorial disputes. Then he heard something that made every muscle in his body become still. A merchant at the next table spoke of a healer.

“Never seen anyone like her,” the man said. “My daughter had been sick for weeks. Fever wouldn’t break. Couldn’t keep food down. We thought we would lose her.”

His companion leaned closer.

“And this healer cured her?”

“In one night.”

Gideon slowly turned his head.

“She used nothing but herbs and oil,” the merchant continued. “Made a potion, rubbed some mixture over the girl’s chest, and by sunrise the fever was gone.”

The companion laughed skeptically.

“Sounds like witchcraft.”

“Maybe it was. I don’t care. My daughter is alive.”

Gideon’s fingers tightened around the cup in his hand. Herbs and oil. Agatha had always preferred simple

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remedies. Other healers relied on spella, crystals, and complicated rituals, Agatha believed nature provided everything necessary if one understood how to listen. She could cure sicknesses others considered impossible. She could identify poison with a single touch. She could create healing oils from common plants and make them stronger than enchanted medicine, Gideon’s heartbeat quickened.

“Where?” he asked.

The merchant looked toward him.

“What?”

Gideon stood. The conversation around them quieted as the darkness of his presence spread through the

room.

“Where did you find this healer?”

The merchant studied him cautiously.

“In a settlement west of here.”

“What settlement?”

“I don’t know its name.”

Gideon crossed the distance between them.

“Then describe it.”

The merchant swallowed.

“It’s near the foothills. Beyond the red river. There’s a small forest surrounded by mountains.”

“How far?”

“Three days on horseback. Maybe four.”

“Was she alone?”

The man hesitated. Gideon’s eyes darkened.

“Was she alone?”

“I never saw anyone with her,” the merchant answered quickly. “She lives in a cottage outside the settlement.”

“What did she look like?”

“Dark hair. Young. Maybe your age.”

The cup in Gideon’s hand cracked. The merchant continued nervously.

“She was kind. Quiet. She wouldn’t accept payment. Only asked that we tell no one exactly where she lived.”

Gideon’s breath became shallow. Only one person could heal the way the merchant described. Only one

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woman would refuse payment after saving a child. Only one healer would live in hiding and ask strangers not to reveal her location.

Agatha.

After seven months of searching… After countless failed trails… After blood, pain, and darkness… He had finally found her. Gideon placed both hands on the merchant’s table.

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