Lyra
The morning air was crisp, biting at my cheeks as I left the clinic. The faint scent of herbs still clung to my hands from the work I had been doing with my mother, sorting roots and powders into neat glass jars. My mind, however, wasn’t on echinacea or dried wolfsbane.
No.
It was on Damon.
On Selene.
On the fact that every sneer, every whisper I had endured over the past few days had their fingerprints all over it.
I had been through worse. In my past life, their poison hadn’t been confined to words. But this… this simmering hostility, the rumors about me being a traitor, the subtle turning of the pack against me, was a direct consequence of choices I had made in this life. In my last one, I never broke away from Damon. I stayed by his side, thinking loyalty meant love, thinki
