Hours before the eclipse, while the royal pack’s warriors drilled in the frost and the white witches sang their protective hymns over the bunker walls, Sabrina moved through the royal packhouse like a wraith in nurse’s whites.
She had waited weeks for this moment.
The witches’ circle was perfect: Seraphina and twelve white-robed elders, Elara and Selene among the grays, hands linked around the hidden entrance to the royal bunker. Their voices rose in layered harmony, gold and silver light weaving into a dome that would render the shelter invisible and impenetrable to enemy eyes. To the untrained ear it was beautiful. To Sabrina it was a cage she intended to break.
The bunker, a fortified underground lair beneath the packhouse, was the heart of the royals’ defense. Women, children, and
