CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The air is thick with tension, and the scent of old earth clings to the walls of the stone chamber where I stand, face-to-face with Finnic. My heart drums a frantic rhythm against my ribs, echoing the confusion that's swirling in my mind. The realization that this man, whose silver-streaked hair and piercing gaze mirror the wildness of our shifter kind, claims to be my father—it's like a maelstrom, threatening to sweep me away.
"Skye," Finnic says, his voice low and rough as gravel, "I know it's hard to accept, but I did what I had to do. To protect you." His eyes search mine, seeking absolution in their depths.
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. "Protect me?" I echo, my words barely above a whisper. "From what?"
"From those who feared your power." He takes a
