The air at the Northern bridge was thick with the suffocating scent of ozone and wet earth. The river below, usually a calm boundary for the Blood Moon territory, was churning violently, its dark waters reflecting the sickly blue flashes of lightning from the approaching storm.
Kael stood at the center of the bridge, his feet planted firmly on the ancient stone. He wasn't wearing a shirt; his muscular torso was covered in the protective runes of his pack, glowing faintly in the dim light. Beside him, Elara stood with a silver-tipped dagger in each hand, her silver hair whipping around her face like a halo of frost.
Usually, in a moment like this, Kael would have been able to feel her heart rate through the bond. He would have known exactly when she was about to strike, and his wolf would
