“Stay behind me, Moira! Don’t let go of my hand!”
Aidrian’s voice trembled with barely restrained fury. He pulled Moira into the shelter of his arms as warning sirens shrieked throughout the Silvercrest complex, slicing through the stillness of the night.
Red searchlights spun and swept across the vast mansion grounds, casting long, terrifying shadows behind rows of pine trees.
Moira could feel Aidrian’s ragged breathing. His body began to heat up, his muscles coiling tight, and a low growl—no longer human—rumbled from his throat.
“Aidrian, what’s happening? Is it Olivian?”
“Not human,” Aidrian hissed. His eyes flashed a deep blue, his pupils narrowing sharply.
“This stench—rotten and feral. Rogues.”
Suddenly, from the darkness of the forest, three massive shadowy figures burst fort
