Lily  Buttery sunlight fell in soft waves to the forest floor. Lily wanted to close her eyes, to revel in the feel of eternal dawn upon her skin. She did not need to look to know exactly where she was going. He called to her. It swelled deep in her chest, her scarred heart pounding against her ribcage. The sickness at the similarity of this to feeling dulled, until it was little more than an ache in her temples. This was not Atticus. That pain – the pain he had caused – was merely temporary. Her true path lay ahead. Four white trees stood in a perfect diamond. Lily stilled, cocking her head to one side. A man was resting against one, his sword tossed on the ground beside him. She could smell fresh basil and citrus, undercut with something smoky; a bonfire breathing darkness into the dawn. She feared her growing heart might crush her lungs. 

  Atticus Honey-brown hair spilled across the pillow, tangled from hours of restless sleep. Darkness swelled outside, watching, waiting. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, shadowed crescent moons spilling spider’s legs across his skin in the dusty moonlight. Behind closed eyelids, green eyes searched relentlessly for one thing: her. His heart ached, pulsing with need for a girl with brown eyes that saw beyond the mask he presented to everyone else. Her eyes were brown, but they shone with gold. His fist crumpled the rumpled duvet. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath catching in his throat. He was in the garden again. Spring leaves formed an archway, a floating path that wound gracefully between the wide boughs of the trees. His feet followed it weightlessly. And, for once, his head felt empty, quiet, peaceful. His mind was gentle; she soothe

  Elijah He didn’t want to leave. She’d glanced over at him, hair spilling across her face and down her shoulders, tumbling in thick waves. Her lips – full and red – had parted, and she’d inhaled shakily, her eyelashes fluttering against her bronzed, freckled cheeks. His heart and stomach competed for his attention and, after a moment’s hesitation, he allowed his aching, empty stomach to drag him towards the main house. Above, stars glittered. Interwoven into the fabric of the night sky, they seemed to shine just for him, just for a moment. He brushed his hair over his ears, even though their hosts knew – and had pointed ears of their own. “Hello?” He rapped lightly on the door. “Who is it?” “It’s me. Elijah,” he ad

  Elijah Elijah awoke slowly, the world shaping around him in soft, blurred lines as the sun rose outside. He became aware of the steady sound of Lily’s breathing, finding his own lungs moving in a gentle rhythm along with hers. Her warmth seeped into his skin through the thin layers of their clothing. The night before formed itself in his mind’s eye as dawn light spilled across his frame of vision. They had shared a moment of peace, bodies pressing closer and closer as the moon had rolled across the night sky. His hands had tangled in her hair, in the fabric of her clothes, then splayed across her bare skin. Though they’d edged around the darkest depths of their buried truths, he had learned other facets of her, of who she was, under the shroud of night. They had spoken until sleep had pulled at their eyelids and, at last, they had succumbed to it, entwined toge

  Atticus Onyx eyes surveyed Atticus keenly. He sighed at Ralphin, and rolled his eyes for good measure. “I have nothing new to tell you.” Ralphin sighed dramatically, pushing away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “I’m not here for news, and you know it.” “So you truly are just here to pester me, then?” Atticus folded his arms across his chest. Before Ralphin could retort, he spoke again: “We’re meant to be running. This seems an awful lot like talking to me.” “Fine.” It was Ralphin’s turn to roll his eyes. He slicked back his inky hair and grinned. Letting out a howl that curved around his laughter, he sprinted into the grassy plains bordering the southern edge of the Blood Moon pack. For a moment, Atticus remained. He surveyed