The Night Market was alive in that feral, glorious way Lycandra did best—lanterns strung between vendor stalls, magic buzzing in the cobblestones, a thousand scents colliding in the air. Smoke from roasting meat curled with bright fae incense and the sweet bite of witch-spelled sugar. Wolves prowled in loose clusters. Fae merchants bartered with too-sharp smiles. Witches flicked sparks like afterthoughts.
The whole place thrummed.
But none of it mattered.
Because she was here.
Rhea walked at Callum’s side, chin up, shoulders tense, silver hair catching every flicker of firelight. The pull thrummed between us—quiet, unsettled, like her wolf couldn’t decide if she wanted to bolt or press into our shadows. Jaxon stalked just behind her, a whole storm wrapped in leather and silence. Seth s
