The moon hung low that night, casting pale, sickly light across the Valen stronghold.
Rayne sat at the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, hands tangled in her hair. The fortress was quiet, but inside her, a storm churned—louder than any war drum, more violent than any sword clash.
She hadn’t slept.
Not a second.
The images wouldn’t leave her.
The Ironfang prisoners—blood gushing from their throats, lifeless bodies collapsed on the stone floor. The look on Jace’s face when he grabbed her arm, pulled her away, eyes wide with disbelief. Even Garran had been silent. She had silenced them all with that one impulsive act of rage.
It hadn’t been justice.
It had been emotion.
And she, an Alpha, had acted like a rabid pup.
Rayne stood and crossed to the window, gripping the cold frame a
