The battlefield reeked of smoke, blood, and fear. Wolves staggered among the ruins of their own strength, their eyes darting from the bodies of rogues to the faint glow still clinging to Aria’s skin. Silence pressed on them, heavier than the death littering the earth.
And then, the howl came again.
Low. Drawn-out. Wrong.
It didn’t belong to any wolf she had ever known. It wasn’t even the rabid scream of rogues. It was deeper, threaded with something unnatural that scraped against the inside of her skull. Her wolf whimpered, her body trembling despite the heat still pulsing in her veins.
The pack shifted nervously, hackles raised. Murmurs broke out.
“What was that?”
“It’s not one of ours—”
“Moon above, what is she?”
The last whisper cut sharper than claws. Aria’s stomach clenched.
