They don’t ask her.
“You’re coming,” Rael said that morning, his voice cold steel under velvet. “The moon doesn’t wait for cowards.”
Vera had spit at his feet.
He hadn’t even flinched. Just smiled, slow and cruel. “Save your fire. You’ll need it.”
Now she’s wrapped in black silk and rage, standing at the edge of a clearing carved into the ribs of the forest. The moon hangs above them—huge, swollen, watching. It spills silver over fur and sweat and bare skin, over eyes that gleam like predators waiting for the signal to unleash.
The fire at the center crackles, throwing shadows that move like teeth.
The pack circles around the fire. Some are still human, barely. Muscles twitching, veins bulging, sweat slicking down their backs as they fight the change. Others are already on four legs,
