The silence where my sons' mental voices used to be was a physical ache, like phantom limbs that remembered sensation long after amputation. Ten days had passed since Lycaon spirited them away to realms between worlds, and the absence carved itself deeper into my bones with each sunrise that dawned without their chaotic telepathic commentary.
Kieran found me on the packhouse balcony at dawn, staring at the lake where it all began—where ancient evils still stirred beneath deceptively peaceful waters, where my babies had channeled forces that nearly consumed them. His presence wrapped around me like heated silk, Alpha energy resonating against my skin in ways that made breathing feel optional.
"Lycaon sent word," he said softly, settling beside me with movements that suggested he was holdi
