Chapter Forty-three
The creature climbed the ridge slowly.
Too slowly.
Lyra’s wolf instincts prickled immediately.
Predators did not move like that. Wolves either stalked or charged. Every movement served a purpose. Even humans carried the rhythm of fear or aggression in their bodies.
This thing had neither.
It crawled upward with long, deliberate motions, pale fingers digging into stone as if testing every surface before committing its weight. Its limbs bent at unnatural angles. Knees too sharp. Shoulders hunched like something had pulled the bones out of place and shoved them back wrong.
The smell hit them next.
Rot.
Old blood.
Something chemical and bitter that made Lyra’s wolf snarl deep in her chest.
Around her, the pack reacted instantly. Fur bristled. Low growls rippled t
