The sun came up hard and bright after Ronan's warning, glaring down on everything with no mercy. I trudged back to the den, his words pounding in my head—don't ever go back, over and over, until it synced up with my pulse. My arm still tingled where he'd grabbed me, not from pain, but from the heat he'd left behind.
Lyra was hunched by the hearth when I got in, stirring a pot that gave off the smell of herbs and simmering meat. She glanced up, caught my expression, and then just went back to her cooking. That was Lyra for you—she always knew when to keep quiet.
I all but collapsed onto the furs by the fire, wiped out from another bad night's sleep. My bones still ached from the binding, and now Ronan's warning was like a new burden pressing down on top of it. My hand drifted to my belly without thinking—reassuring myself that the one constant in all this chaos was still there.
The baby kicked, a gentle nudge. As if to remind me who I was fighting for.
