The moon bled deeper, staining the treetops crimson as if the sky itself anticipated a hunt.
I held Rowan tighter, his small body slack against my chest, while Jace stood rigid near the cave mouth. His claws were half-extended, his amber eyes flickering with restrained fury.
And then he stepped into view.
Garrick Thorn.
The man who tore my mate bond apart. The man who ordered Jace’s mind wiped. The man who, if Rowan’s prophecy was right, had started everything.
He moved through the clearing like he owned the ground he walked on—broad-shouldered, dressed in high-council black edged with silver. His hair, darker than Jace’s, was threaded with white at the temples, but his scent was the same as it had always been: sharp dominance, like a blade held just under your throat.
Behind him mov
