ELDER NIGHTSHADE’S POV
Whiskey stung my throat as I sat in my study, the glass slick with amber, torchlight flickering on the stone walls, my cloak slung over a chair, my boots scuffing the rug, Freya’s face—her cheek red from my slap, her eyes wet, her scream raw—burning in my mind. My fingers gripped the glass, crystal biting my palm, my beard gray in the mirror, my heart heavy, her voice calling me a coward, her love for Lukas a fire I’d tried to snuff, her defiance a wound I’d deepened by locking her in her room, windows nailed shut, her wedding to Alpha Kael of Dawnridge my plan to save her. I exhaled, my breath puffing white, my eyes distant, the memory of yesterday’s visit to the shaman—not the one Freya knew, but another, hidden in the hills—sharper than the whiskey, her words a w
