The anchor screamed.
Blue fire burst from the stuffed fox, racing over Gwyn’s hand and Kael’s like frost made flame.
Linden cried out.
His mother lunged forward, but Ronan caught her around the waist before she could reach the bed.
“Do not touch them,” Kael snapped.
His voice was strained.
Gwyn could feel the burn of the anchor beneath her palm, not on her skin, but deeper — pressing against the Alpha power she had called up from the territory. The fox trembled under their joined hands, its worn fabric twisting as if something inside it had teeth.
Kael’s shadows wrapped around their fingers.
Not separating them.
Holding the fire in.
The contact sent a sharp awareness up Gwyn’s arm.
His hand beneath hers.
The hard line of his knuckles.
The tremor he was trying to hide.
The way
