The moon hung heavy and full over the cliffs of Stormborn territory, its pale glow illuminating the rugged terrain that stretched far below. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine, earth, and the faint lingering trace of embers from distant campfires. It was a rare moment of solitude, stolen from the chaos that surrounded them, from the whispers of prophecy and the bloodshed waiting on the horizon.
Layla stood at the cliff’s edge, her bare skin kissed by the cool wind, her breath slow and unsteady. Behind her, Ronan watched, his golden eyes darkened with something far more primal than battle-hardened focus. The bond between them pulsed like a living thing, unspoken yet undeniable, a magnetic pull drawing them together. Here, under the watchful gaze of the Blood Moon, they had
