The church stood silent under a bruised midnight sky, its steeple a dark finger pointed at heaven like an accusation. Inside, moonlight bled through stained glass, scattering crimson and sapphire across the empty pews. The air smelled of candle wax, old wood, and something far less sacred.
Ava slipped through the side door, her white cotton sundress clinging to damp skin. She had come to pray, she told herself. To ask for strength before tomorrow’s wedding. But the truth was heavier: she had come because she knew he would be here.
Lucas Hale.
The pastor’s son.
He was waiting in the shadows of the altar, black shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal the dark ink curling over his forearms. His eyes caught the colored light like a wolf’s, and when they found her, Av
