The stranger arrived in the storm.
No announcement. No messenger.
One moment the forest was quiet—gray with morning mist.
The next, the eastern gates groaned open without a hand touching them, and a figure stepped through like he belonged to the land itself.
He wore no cloak. No insignia. His hair was silver—not white, but the color of lightning—and his eyes were a shade too bright to be human. Gold with flecks of violet.
The same violet that pulsed beneath Aria’s skin when her wolf stirred.
Thorne met him at the gates, every inch the Alpha, backed by two sentries with blades drawn.
“You crossed a warded line without permission,” Thorne said.
The stranger barely glanced at the guards. “Your wards were designed to repel enemies. I am not one.”
“You’ll understand if we disagree.”
“
