The festival grounds were still smoldering when Kael pulled Ariana away. The music had long gone silent, replaced by the hiss of cooling embers and the groans of injured wolves. She barely had time to breathe before he was steering her through the packhouse’s dark hallways, his grip firm but not bruising, his stride purposeful.
The door to his private study opened without a sound, but the moment they crossed the threshold, it closed with a heavy click. The lock turned.
The room smelled of cedar and something darker—faint iron, maybe. A low fire crackled in the hearth, throwing shadows against the walls lined with maps, ancient books, and weapons that gleamed faintly in the light. A single glass of amber liquid sat untouched on his desk, the scent sharp.
Kael said nothing at first. He mo
