Pain radiated through Layla’s limbs, a searing ache that should have left her gasping, but she felt something else, something deeper, awakening. The chains binding her pulsed with dark energy, the runes carved into them glowing in sync with the Blood Moon’s eerie light. The ritual was reaching its peak, but so was something inside her, something ancient, something primal. She was no longer afraid.
Across the battlefield, Ronan staggered to his feet, his breath ragged, his body barely holding together as the rogue alpha loomed over him, claws poised for the final strike. Blood dripped from his wounds, but his golden eyes never wavered from hers. The moment their gazes locked, it was as if the battlefield, the war, and the prophecy itself vanished. There was only him. Her mate.
No. I will
