The mansion had never felt smaller.
Or warmer.
Heat lived in the walls tonight, carried by the low crackle of the hearth and the slow, restless rhythm of Aria's pacing. Firelight stretched across stone in long, shifting shapes, shadows bending and leaping like silent wolves circling unseen prey.
Every instinct warned her the Ashen Circle would strike again. That danger lingered just beyond the veil of quiet.
Yet tonight, for the first time in years, she did not feel fragile.
Her wolf moved beneath her skin, alert, restless, alive.
Not for battle.
For him.
Damien stood at the archway carved from dark stone, shoulders relaxed but presence unmistakable. His arms crossed loosely over his chest, a faint curve of knowing amusement touching his lips. Black and gold light shimmered faintly around him, restrained power humming like distant thunder held beneath calm skies.
He watched her.
Not restraining.
Not commanding.
Protecting without caging.
