Adiana had been alert—too alert. Her body was coiled like a spring, every muscle tense beneath her skin, every nerve flaring as though warning her of the storm to come. Hera, her wolf, was pacing within her, barely restrained. Her claws scratched at the inside of Adiana’s mind, snarling, snapping, ready to launch at the faintest signal. It was primal instinct—pure, raw, and wild—an ancient call passed down through blood and bone. She was standing at the edge of hell itself, and her beast knew it.
They were at the devil’s mouth.
The air around them felt charged, humming with a dark energy that made the hair at the back of her neck rise. Shadows danced in the flickering firelight, elongated and exaggerated, like sinister wraiths twisting around the ritual circle. Just a little away, cloake
