The storm outside Oakhaven tore through the spruce canopy with relentless fury. Heavy sheets of rain slammed against the glass panes of the upper loft, yet the heat inside the small timber chamber was suffocating.
Elena shifted violently under the wool blankets. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each exhale carrying a faint, luminous mist of silver arcane energy.
Her core was fighting itself.
After five years of dormancy under Richard’s dark seal, her awakened royal wolf was expanding too rapidly, consuming her physical blood to stabilize the immense current of lunar power.
Max knelt at the bedside, his knuckles white against the wooden frame. He dipped a fresh linen cloth into the ceramic basin of snowmelt, wrung it dry with a single twist of his calloused hands, and placed it
