Soran’s POV
The Blackwood mansion was never truly quiet, even at night. The old stone walls seemed to breathe—creaking timbers, distant wind rattling the leaded windows, the low hum of the pack’s energy that never quite slept. But tonight it felt heavier, like the house itself was holding its breath.
I couldn’t stay in my room. Couldn’t lie there staring at the ceiling while my brain replayed that hallway moment on loop: her small hands fisting my shirt, the shiver that ran through her when the lights died, the way she looked at me like she wasn’t sure if I was the monster or the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
I shoved out into the corridor, boots silent on the thick rugs that lined the family wing. The mansion’s main hallway stretched long and shadowed, portraits of dead Bl
