The forest was restless.
Branches swayed though no wind moved them, and the air carried the sharp tang of iron and sweat. Aria crouched low in the undergrowth, her heart pounding against her ribs as though trying to escape. She knew that smell. Soldiers. Wolves.
Kaelen’s wolves.
Her fingers dug into the earth, nails coated with damp soil. The echoes of boots and snapping twigs pressed against her eardrums, too close, far too close.
“They’re moving north,” Lorien’s low voice whispered beside her. His sharp eyes glimmered through the mist, focused on the shadows weaving between trees. “At least five of them. Scouting party.”
Aria’s throat tightened. She could sense them too—her wolf quivered inside her, ears pricked, hackles raised. She wanted to bolt, but she forced herself still.
“Do
