The first attempt didn’t come with howls.
It came with silence.
That was how I knew it was real.
The land had always warned me before—wind shifting, ground tightening, breath catching in my chest. But this time, the night lay unnaturally still, like a held blade.
Ronan noticed it too.
He stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing as the campfire crackled once… then died.
No wind.
No scent.
No sound.
“Don’t move,” he murmured.
Too late.
The darkness broke.
The strike came from above.
A figure dropped from the standing stones, moving too fast, too precise to be rogue. Silver flashed—blessed steel, etched with old runes meant to sever connection to land and wolf alike.
Ronan shifted instantly, bone snapping, fur tearing through skin as his wolf lunged.
The blade missed my throat by inche
