“Zion…”
Arwen’s soft voice broke the silence on the balcony of the high chamber.
The moon hung large in the sky, spilling silver light across the grounds of the Moonstrike Pack.
The night wind carried the scent of pine and a soft mist that clung to the brunette’s hair.
Zion stood beside her—broad shoulders, his eyes fixed on the sky but unfocused.
“You shouldn’t be out here. The wound on your shoulder hasn’t fully healed.”
Arwen slowly turned, glancing at his profile. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Zion lifted his chin slightly. “Is the pain back?”
“No,” she replied softly. “I was just thinking about everything that’s happened. About Isolde, about Ryan, about what happened in the valley. It all feels like a nightmare that hasn’t ended yet.”
Zion exhaled, then looked down at her. “But you’re
