The early morning light seeped quietly into the estate grounds, washing the stone walls in soft hues of pink and gray. The night’s violence had faded like a storm had passed—except for the lingering tension that clung heavier than the morning mist. The air was thick with unspoken fears and whispered warnings.
Inside the main house, Rashel sat on the cold wooden floor of her chamber, a small space she had claimed as a sanctuary. The pain from the Wraith’s blade still burned deep beneath her skin, causing her great discomfort, but her mind was ablaze with restless energy. She stared at a little bird perched on her window, its wings flapping in time with her ragged breath.
Her wolf prowled within, pacing and snarling beneath the surface of her human control. It yearned to run, to throw off
