The world was still reeling from the chaos of the night before.
The scent of blood lingered in the morning air, iron-sharp and impossible to ignore. Elaria walked slowly across the frost-crusted ground, her boots crunching into the thin sheet of snow that had fallen in the early dawn. The wind carried with it the muted howls of wolves in the distance—Kaelith scouts, maybe, or sentries warning of fresh movement beyond the borders.
She should have been in the safety of the Alpha’s fortress. She should have been resting. Instead, here she was, crossing the open stretch of ground just outside the main gate, her heart hammering in her ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.
Draven was ahead of her.
Even in wolf form, she could recognize him instantly—the sheer size, the impos
