Chapter Thirty-Four
Alvaro's Point Of View
The river had long since swallowed the last of the night when I returned to camp.
Dawn came grudgingly, a pale light that felt too clean for what it touched. Smoke still hung over the clearing where our pyres had burned, a thin ghost that refused to leave. The pack moved quietly, tending wounds, rebuilding what little structure we had left, pretending not to notice the mark on Rafe's neck pulsing faintly like a second heartbeat.
Felicia met me near the healer's tent. Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp from sleeplessness. "He has not woken yet. Whatever magic Xavier used is clinging to him."
I pushed past the tent flap.
Rafe lay beneath a rough blanket, sweat beading his brow. The veins along his throat glowed black-blue under the skin, pulsi
