The night sky was a canvas of restless stars and storm-stirred clouds when Rayne rode out of the Eastern Highlands. The heavy gates groaned closed behind her, but the ache in her chest roared louder than any iron hinge.
The wind whipped through her cloak, her wolf pacing restlessly beneath her skin, sensing the turmoil inside her. Her fists clenched the reins as her horse galloped into the dark, hooves pounding the earth in rhythm with her pulsing thoughts.
Rayne’s thoughts swirled like a tempest—Lucian’s confession, Seraphine’s intrusion, the way his voice cracked when he said her name. She should have felt closure. But the truth had only carved deeper wounds.
Why didn’t he fight harder?
Why didn’t I?
Her chest constricted. There had been a moment—brief but blinding—where she’d thou
