Aria woke to the scent of iron and pine.
At first, she thought she was dead.
The forest above her pulsed with a dim silver haze, moonlight filtering through branches warped by smoke and storm. Her body screamed in fragments—burns along her ribs, a sharp ache in her shoulder, her throat raw as if she had screamed until sound abandoned her. When she tried to move, pain flared white-hot and forced the breath from her lungs.
She wasn’t alone.
Footsteps crunched nearby—deliberate, unhurried. Not the feral chaos of rogues. Not the heavy dominance of an Alpha.
A shadow stepped into the moonlight.
He was tall, wrapped in dark leather scarred by age and battle, ash-gray hair tied back with a strip of crimson cloth. A blade rested across his back, worn but carefully maintained. His eyes—silver
