On the seventh night, the mate mark began to burn.
Full moonlight filled the small chamber. I had known the ritual would hurt, but the first surge drove my teeth through my lower lip before I could prepare.
I curled on the cot with my right wrist pressed to my chest. The ache from my broken ribs barely registered beside the heat running through my arm.
My wolf fought the ritual, pushing one demand through my mind: find Caleb.
It remembered the bond as shelter even after two lives had proved otherwise. Each time I resisted, the mark tightened around my wrist and sent heat into my shoulder.
I bit the inside of my cheek and pictured his arms around Elara at the Moon Tree. The pull toward him weakened.
At midnight, silver light burst from the mark. My body jerked against the cot, and I b
