Apollo moved like lightning.
Faster than any warrior, faster than the wind that howled through the wounded forest. Her cloak billowed behind her as she raced past fallen trees and scorched earth. The battlefield was still thick with smoke and blood, but she had seen it, felt it. The shift in the air, the sudden silence among the Lycans. The King had fallen.
Or was falling.
She didn’t stop until she reached the royal chambers, where pack doctors were huddled over a massive figure sprawled on a bloodstained bed. Her heart clenched.
Draka.
The King of Lycans.
The strongest of them all.
“Move aside,” Apollo commanded, her voice like thunder. The doctors hesitated only for a heartbeat before parting to let her through.
Aria sat by the bedside, her eyes swollen, tears fresh on her cheeks
