Lyra
The acrid stench of smoke still clung to me, even though the fire hadn’t touched my skin. It clung to my hair, my clothes, my mind, a reminder that it had almost happened again.
Almost.
If Luca hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t trusted my instincts… my mother would have been nothing more than a memory, just like in my past life. The thought made my throat tighten.
We had acted quickly, quicker than Carl and Rafe could have anticipated. Luca had tackled one while I shoved the other face-first into the dirt, my nails digging into his scalp. The rage inside me had been cold and precise, not wild. I had learned my lesson about wasting time on fury. I wanted results. And results meant keeping my mother alive and those two in chains.
Luca had dragged them to the pack prison without hesit
