The forest didn’t sleep. Even after the last screams faded, after the rogues scattered into the night, the woods felt alive in a way that made the air taste wrong. The moon hung high above like a watchful, unblinking eye, silvering the jagged branches and painting every shadow into something darker, deeper. Lyra stumbled over a root, breath hitching as Rowan’s hand clamped around her arm to steady her. “Keep moving,” he murmured, voice low and urgent. Her lungs burned, her legs screamed, but she let him drag her through the thickets anyway. Every sound behind them—snapping twigs, a distant howl—made her heart jerk. She glanced over her shoulder. The distant glow of the clearing was gone now. So were the screams. But the smell of blood clung to her like smoke. Rowan didn’t slow. His grip on her arm was firm, almost too firm, but there was something protective in the way his body always positioned itself between her and the forest. “You can’t just drag me away from my pack!” she
Last Updated : 2025-08-20 Read more