The fire was gone.
Elaria didn't believe it for a second. Her skin still burned with phantom heat, the noise still rang in her ears, and the taste of smoke clung to the back of her throat like cinders. Her eyesight was swimming as she stumbled forward, her knees giving way.
Had it not been for Draven's iron hold on her wrist, she would have fallen into the circle of ash. His hand was blistered, the flesh charred, but he held her as if letting go meant death.
Together, they stumbled out of the fire’s cradle.
The pack echoed with gasps. The council stood up, their faces etched with astonishment and fear. Some wolves lowered their heads in homage; others bared their teeth in blatant distrust. No one talked at first—the quiet itself was a weapon, sharper than any blade.
Pain screamed thro
