Even after they left the corridor, Elara could still feel the corrupted mark behind her, lingering like a cold hand pressed against the back of her neck. Every step she took made her skin prickle, as if something unseen was following. The palace walls seemed to breathe with her, exhaling shadows that curled along the floor like smoke. The air felt wrong, too still, too heavy, too aware.
It felt like the palace itself was listening.
Theron stayed close, far closer than usual, his body radiating heat and tension. His lycan simmered beneath his skin, pacing, snarling, desperate to protect her from a threat he could not see. His aura pressed against her like a shield he could not stop projecting, a storm wrapped in flesh. Every breath he took sounded like it was pulled through clenched teeth
