The forest was cloaked in silence, the kind that pressed against the skin and made every heartbeat sound too loud. Moonlight slid through the canopy like silver knives, tracing over Kael's tense form. His eyes—storm-gray and fevered—never left Lyria as she stood a few steps away, her breath shallow, her pulse betraying the storm inside her.
He could still taste her name on his tongue. Still feel the echo of her fear and her longing tangled with his own. And yet, she looked at him as if she didn't know whether to run or to fall into his arms.
"You shouldn't have followed me," she whispered, voice breaking like a brittle leaf.
Kael took a step forward, his presence cutting through the cold air. "And leave you to face them alone? You know I couldn't."
Her gaze flickered to the blood staining his arm, then to the faint tremor beneath his control. He'd fought half the patrol to reach her—his own pack. The ones he was born to protect.
