Third Person POV
Euriale did not expect a f*cking phoenix and two ancient dragons to chase her into that wretched pack’s territory.
The searing air had burned away her glamour. Flames licked at her heels like vengeful hounds. Her tattered cloak smoldered, the edges curling into cinders as she crashed through the invisible boundary into werewolf territory. Magic crackled around her like shards of glass. The seal in her chest pulsed with warning. She had seconds, maybe less, before those fire-born bastards caught her and dragged her back to hell in shackles.
They would not kill her. No—no one could. Her blood, her soul, her chains. But they would drag her back to the underworld and that would cause a delay. Hecate hated delays. She would imprison her for another millennia of silence.
And
