The air trembled as the figure stepped forward.
It wasn’t flesh. It wasn’t wolf. It was the night itself, pulled into the shape of a man, smoke and fire woven into sinew and bone. Its eyes burned like molten obsidian as they fixed on her.
“Daughter of storm,” it whispered, its voice layered with a hundred echoes, “you are ours.”
The words struck like a blade.
Ronan snarled instantly, pulling Lyra tight against him, his body burning with the storm he’d stolen from her veins. “She belongs to me.”
Kael staggered forward, battered but unbroken, lightning sparking painfully along his arms. His storm was weaker, but his voice was steel. “No. She belongs to herself. Not you. Not them.”
Lyra’s chest heaved, her storm thrashing wildly inside her. She had given it to Ronan, yes—but only becaus
