The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Aria’s legs ached as she stumbled over twisted roots, Killian’s weight heavy against her chest. His head lolled against her shoulder, his breathing shallow and ragged. Every sound—the snap of a branch, the cry of an owl—sent her wolf surging, protective, feral. The moon filtered through the canopy in pale, silver streaks, painting Killian’s blood-streaked skin like a warning.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, Killian… don’t you dare leave me now.”
He didn’t answer, only shuddered once, a weak growl rumbling in his throat before fading again.
The witch’s clearing appeared suddenly, like it had been waiting for her. The air shifted—warmer, thick with the scent of herbs and burning sage. The trees curved inward as if forming
