Kieran P.O.V
Rayven’s hand hadn’t even dropped from the door before everything in me locked into place.
She was there.
Not a dream.
Not a flicker of the Gate.
Not a half-glimpsed silhouette between worlds.
Her.
Alive. Breathing. Real.
I stood frozen in the doorway—not because I didn’t want to move, but because something inside me already had. My wolf, my mark, my very breath surged toward her with a force that nearly sent me to my knees.
The bond didn’t just pull.
It ignited.
Light slammed up my spine, across my chest, down my arm—straight into the mark beneath my sleeve. It wasn’t just warmth. It wasn’t even heat.
It was recognition.
The kind that hit so hard your lungs forgot how to work.
Her bed, her hand, the faint glow rising beneath the blanket—everything else disappear
