The shadows lengthened across the stone floors of the Redclaw pack’s infirmary, stretching like long, cold fingers toward Mallory’s bed. Hours had bled into one another since Kaelen had stormed out, leaving her alone with the rhythmic, maddening drip of the herbal infusion. The silence in the room was heavier than any physical weight, pressing down on her bruised ribs and making every inhalation an act of sheer defiance.
Her mind, sharp and feverish, replayed the horrors of the previous night like a relentless loop. She saw the crimson burst of the BloodMoon, felt the tiny, trusting grip of Raven's fingers around her own, and heard the venomous echo of Kaelen's decree ringing through the stone walls. A cold numbness had settled deep into her bones, replacing the frantic, desperate terror
