The air in the Lycan Highlands didn't just feel cold; it felt ancient. As the helicopter cleared the final ridge of the volcanic mountain range, the Obsidian Castle appeared like a dark crown sitting atop a throne of ice.
Victor Sterling sat in the co-pilot seat, his hands tight on the controls. He had spent his life looking down on the world from glass penthouses, but as he stared at the sheer, vertical drops of the Lycan territory, his jaw remained tight. He was out of his element, and he knew it.
In the back, Julian was slumped against the window, his face pale. The energy he’d used to blast the Sterling grid had left him hollow. I sat across from him, my hand resting on his knee, sending small pulses of Sun-Blood warmth into his system to keep him from slipping into a magical coma.
