Cold stone. That was the first thing Giselle felt. Even now—free, clean, wrapped in fresh clothes—the memory clung to her. The dungeon had a way of staying with you. It crept beneath the skin, settled into bone.
No matter how warm the corridors of the pack house were, no matter how brightly the torches burned, part of her was still there, curled on the floor, her teeth chattering, listening to the drip of water and the echo of her own thoughts.
She stood at the window of her room, her fingers braced against the sill, staring out into the dark stretch of forest beyond the estate.
Her wolf, Kara, stirred uneasily inside her, restless and alert. You’re safe now, Giselle told herself for the hundredth time.
But safety was a fragile thing. She had learned that long ago. Her gaze drifted, u
