The silence shattered.
A growl rose from the tree line, guttural, wrong, carrying the stench of death. Dozens of eyes glowed crimson in the dark, moving with unnatural fluidity. The Shadowlands had answered her storm.
Lyra’s breath caught. Her storm whispered against her skin like a living thing, urging her to unleash again, to burn everything that dared step close. But her body trembled with exhaustion, her veins still raw from the last outburst.
Ronan staggered to his feet, golden eyes blazing despite the blood matting his hair. He put himself between her and the advancing shadows without hesitation, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that anchored her trembling heart.
“Stay behind me,” he growled, voice low, lethal.
But Kael’s broken form shifted at the
