The circle of wolves broke slowly, as though none dared breathe until the Alpha gave permission. The snow was scarred where claws and steel had clashed, the faint steam of spilled blood curling into the night air. Rhyven remained on his knees, chest heaving, eyes lowered—not from submission, but from shame. His hand pressed against the torn skin at his throat where Draven’s fangs had hovered only heartbeats before.
Elaria’s heart felt split between the two men. The one who had shielded her all her life, and the one fate had marked into her blood. She had no words to bridge the divide, no comfort to give without tearing something else apart.
Draven’s fingers brushed her arm, pulling her closer into his side. His presence was heat, protection, gravity. She hated how easily she leaned into
