The midnight air, which clung to the stone corridors of the Vale estate, was narrow, catching the sharp, icy draft that rolled off the northern peaks. Seraphina was a statue, frozen near the heavy, arched stained-glass windows of the eastern wing, her slender fingers trailing lightly along the cool, rough masonry. The scent of the estate at night was usually something that held her to the ground. A familiar weave of ancient pine wood, rising iron polish from the lower armory and the unique, musk-heavy pheromones of the sleeping pack vanguard. But tonight, in addition to the normal smells of the stronghold, was a very different chemical signature. It was a sharp, subtle sweetness that made her inner wolf growl in deep, instinctual warning.
Moonshade ash.
It was so faint it was nearly los
