Quinn’s heartbeat was thunder in his ears. He stood between the ancient woman and his son, chest heaving, scent sharp and defiant. Beside him, Jace’s low snarl rumbled in warning—a primal vibration that dared anything to move against them.
But the woman… the mate of the Echo... wasn’t afraid.
She tilted her head slowly, like a curious predator considering prey that had surprised it.
“So brave,” she said, her voice lilting, ethereal. “You wear his scent still, Quinn Vale. You carry the echo of a bond that was never meant to outlast the moon.”
“I don’t care what you were,” Quinn said, voice shaking with fury. “You don’t get to touch my son.”
Her gaze flicked to Rowan again—who knelt behind them, clutching his head, teeth gritted in pain. Silver leaked from the corners of his eyes.
“He
