The silence in the moon-drenched grove was a living thing. It pressed against Luna’s eardrums, a heavy, expectant hush broken only by the frantic rhythm of her own heart. Ancient oaks, their bark etched silver by countless cycles of the moon, stood as sentinels around the sacred clearing—a perfect circle of bare, packed earth where nothing grew, as if the very soil refused to bear life that might distract from the rituals it witnessed.
Luna shivered, drawing her thin white shift closer. The linen was a mockery against the psychic chill of this place. Beside her, Kane was a mountain of coiled tension. His massive arms were crossed, every muscle in his shoulders rigid. His amber eyes, usually so warm when they looked at her, relentlessly scanned the deepest shadows between the trees. He
