The walk back from the village should have been quiet. Peaceful, even. Snow drifted softly through the air, settling on rooftops and tree branches. Wolves laughed in the distance, putting away the last of the market supplies. Lanterns flickered warm light along the path.
But the hair on the back of my neck stood up the second we stepped past the final lamppost.
Something felt wrong.
The trees were too still. The silence too sharp. My wolf, who had been oddly restless all day, pressed against my ribs so suddenly I sucked in a breath.
Ronan noticed immediately. “Ayla. What is it.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but then I saw them.
Eyes.
Two faintly glowing eyes, low to the ground, unmoving, fixed on me from the treeline. A soft shimmer of gold. Not bright. Not normal. Watching. Waiting
