The dawn broke through the dissipating storm clouds, casting a pale light over the battlefield. The rain had eased into a gentle drizzle, washing away the blood and grime that had stained the estate’s grounds. Aisling stood in the center of it all, her heart still pounding from the surge of energy she had unleashed. The warmth of that power still pulsed faintly within her, a reminder of the life growing inside her—a life that had, in that crucial moment, turned the tide of battle.
But the aftermath of that victory was bittersweet. The estate, once a grand and imposing fortress, now bore the scars of the fight. The walls were cracked, the gates battered, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and smoke. The Lycans who had survived were tending to the wounded, their expressions
