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The night smelled of iron and rain.
Aria stood at the stronghold’s gates, her fingers curled around the hilt of her training blade. The sky above was choked with thick clouds, the faint crimson hue of the moon bleeding through like a wound in the heavens.
The patrol had not returned.
Kael’s wolves shifted restlessly in the courtyard, growls low and urgent. Tension thrummed in the air like a drawn bowstring, and Aria felt it in her bones, vibrating through the bond.
“They should have been back an hour ago,” Mira muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the forest. “This isn’t right.”
Kael’s gaze was fixed on the treeline, his stance rigid. Every inch of him radiated danger, the Alpha’s dominance pressing against the pack to steady them, to keep their fear from fracturing.
When the first
