The forest slept beneath a pale silver glow, its breath held between the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the wind. Lucian carried Lyra through the narrow path that cut between jagged stone and moss-slick roots, his arms tight around her as though she might dissolve if he let go. Her head rested against his shoulder, skin cool and faintly glowing, the aftershock of the moon’s bond still pulsing faintly through her veins.
They had run for hours, guided only by instinct and the wild call of his wolf. At last, they found shelter — a cave carved into the belly of the Silverpine Mountains, hidden behind a curtain of ivy. Inside, the air was damp but still. Moonlight filtered through a c***k in the rock, scattering silver dust across the ground. Lucian laid her gently on the soft earth, his
