Lou
The night was thick with smoke and wolvesong.
We moved fast, paws silent, blades gleaming, my wings sweeping low to stir the ash. Ahead lay Javier’s forward camp—fires guttering low, tents sprawled across the ridgeline like teeth. Too still. Too easy.
Nesbit loped at my flank, fur black against the moonlight. His growl was low, steady, a warning to any fool who thought wolves hunted alone.
“Strike fast,” I snarled, my voice riding Tan’s thunder. “Burn everything.”
We descended like a storm.
Fire rolled from my jaws, setting the first row of tents ablaze. Wolves slammed into the outer sentries, snarls tearing the night apart. Fae arrows rained down silver-bright, punching through hunters’ armor. The ground split under my claws as Tan surged, and I reveled in it—this was what I was
