Remo's POV
The moment I marked her, something shifted. Not between us—that was expected. It was the world itself that flinched.
I stood by the window of my chambers, shirt half-buttoned, her scent still clinging to my skin like a second soul. My wolf—restless, emboldened—paced beneath my surface, both possessive and uneasy.
Then it came.
A ripple of cold across my spine.
Subtle. Sinister.
Like the forest itself had drawn breath and exhaled rot.
My hand curled around the windowsill, splintering wood beneath my grip. The pulse of magic in the distance was unmistakable—wrong, old, and angry.
Witchcraft.
But this wasn't like before.
This wasn't a trap, or a curse, or one of their cowardly attempts at illusion. This was aware. Watching. Reacting.
I turned from the window, every sense
