The morning light was a lie.
It painted the forest in shades of gold, soft and forgiving, as if the night before hadn't torn the world apart. But beneath that fragile peace, the air still carried Kael's scent — wild, electric, threaded with iron and storm.
Lyria stood at the edge of the clearing, her boots sinking into the damp earth, her breath trembling as she stared at the broken ground where he'd vanished. The mark on her neck pulsed faintly, each throb a cruel reminder of what they had unleashed. It wasn't just love. It was something older. Something that demanded blood.
"Lyria."
She turned sharply. It was Dren, Kael's beta — his eyes shadowed, his stance rigid. There was fear there, though he tried to hide it. Everyone in the pack could feel it now: the fracture in their Alpha's control. The beast that had answered the Moon's call.
"They're saying he's gone rogue," Dren said quietly. "That the curse took him."
Her jaw tightened. "He's not gone."
