Nevara
The forest tears at me like it knows.
Branches whip my arms, pine needles stab my skin, frost slicks the ground beneath my shoes. Every breath is fire in my lungs. My wolf claws forward, urging, screaming, faster, faster, but she’s still weak—too long poisoned, too long caged.
I can’t shift.
That’s the worst part.
I can feel the shape of her inside me—coiled, desperate, furious—but she won’t come. The wolfsbane has drained us too deeply. All I have is human speed against something that is no longer human at all.
Another howl rips through the trees.
Closer.
“s**t,” I whisper, skidding around a fallen log, boots slipping on frost‑slick bark.
I don’t even look back.
I don’t need to.
I can feel him.
I cut left, then right, zigzagging through undergrowth, using every scrap of
