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Chapter 71

CLYDE'S POV The stench of Silas is a rot that poisons the mountain air. It’s the smell of a scavenger who thinks he’s found a buffet—a masterless female and a fresh kill. From my position in the darkness, I watch as he stalks into the silver light of the clearing, his mangy grey fur bristling. Behind him, two of his enforcers fan out, their tails tucked but their teeth bared."Look at you," Silas’s voice slithers through the psychic link, a greasy, invasive rasp. "A Southern Prize, shivering in the cold. You don't know what to do with that elk, do you, little stray? You need a real Alpha to show you how to tear into the marrow."Coralina doesn't retreat. My heart swells with a painful, jagged pride as she stands her ground over the tribute I gave her. Her silver-and-violet fur stands on end, making her look twice her size. She lowers her head, and for the first time, I see the Southern Fire manifest in its rawest form. Violet sparks dance like lightning between her ears, and the grou

Chapter 72

CORALINA'S POV The man stands before me, naked and painted in the dark, hot blood of the wolves he just dismantled. I can feel the vibration of his power humming in the air, a heavy, suffocating pressure that tastes of rain and ancient stone. He is massive—a monolith of bronze skin and hard muscle—but to me, he is a ghost. A phantom that has been haunting my peripheral vision since I woke in the grotto.My palm stings. The sound of the slap is still echoing off the limestone cliffs, a sharp punctuation mark in the silence. I hit him with every ounce of the Priestess’s indignity, my fingers still humming with the violet sparks of my rage.He doesn't move. He doesn't snarl. His head is snapped to the side, a fresh bead of blood blooming on his lip to join the carnage of the rogues, but he doesn't flinch. He stands there, accepting the blow as if it were a tribute he deserved."Who gave you the right?" I demand, my voice a jagged blade of sound. I am shivering, not from the cold, but fr

Chapter 73

CORALINA’S POV The dawn does not rise with warmth; it bleeds into the sky like a fresh bruise. I stand at the edge of the Council’s ritual camp, my feet bare against the frost-bitten grass. My white silk robe is little more than a collection of rags held together by dried mud and my own stubbornness. I can feel the Shadow—Clyde—at the exact perimeter I set. He is a dark, silent sentinel among the pines, his golden eyes a constant weight on my back. He is honoring the "Beta" position I forced him into, but the air around him hums with a restrained, lethal protective energy. The silence of the morning is shattered by the sound of high-pitched, melodic laughter. It tastes like saccharine and venom. "Look at it," a voice purrs. I turn. Diana and Brielle are approaching, flanked by their own retinues of handmaidens and guards. They look like portraits of Northern nobility. Diana is draped in ivory-white hunting leathers, stitched with silver thread that catches the morning light.

Chapter 74

CORALINA'S POV The forest is talking to me, but its voice is becoming garbled.I am running, my bare feet hitting the moss with a rhythm that feels ancient, a drumbeat of blood and survival. I am close. I can feel the Stag; its presence is a cool shimmer in the air, smelling of winter ozone and crushed peppermint. It is a holy, crystalline scent that stands out against the damp rot of the undergrowth. My wolf is at the surface, her violet eyes scanning the grey-green blur of the Ravine of Echoes, her ears swiveling to catch the rhythmic clack of hooves against limestone.Then, the world goes dead.I skid to a halt, my heels digging into the soft loam. The silence isn't just auditory; it’s a sensory vacuum. The smell of the peat, the damp pine, even the distant, comforting scent of Clyde’s rain-and-cedar shadow—it all vanishes. It’s as if a thick, invisible wall of wool has been dropped over my head.The air in front of me is a "black hole." It tastes of nothing. No, it tastes of some

Chapter 75

CORALINA'S POVShe and Diana surge out from behind the rocks, jumping down into the gulley. They run toward the thrashing, silvered mass, Diana already reaching for the charcoal pouch at her belt."Finally," Diana sneers, her face twisted in a mask of ugly victory. "Let’s see how 'High' the Priestess is when she’s—"She stops dead. The words die in her throat.The silver net is shredding under the claws of the mountain lion, which has turned its blind rage toward the two women in white and grey. Diana’s eyes go wide, her face turning a sickly shade of ash as she looks into the yellow, murderous eyes of a four-hundred-pound cat."That's... that's not her," Brielle stammers, backing away so fast she trips over a root."Looking for someone?" I ask.My voice is a low, melodic purr that cuts through the lion's roars. I drop from my ledge, landing silently on the moss ten feet behind them. I am not a wolf; I am the woman, but the violet light in my eyes is so bright it casts shadows against

Chapter 76**

CLYDE’S POV The camp of the High Council is a festival of silent shock. I stand at the exact boundary of the western tree line, my boots sunk into the frozen mud, watching Coralina walk out of the mist. She carries herself like a deity of the hunt, her chin high, her fingers stained with the sacred charcoal of the White Stag. Behind her, Diana and Brielle drag themselves into the clearing like beaten dogs, their expensive leathers ruined, their faces pale with the humiliation of a trap that snapped back on their own ankles. The Elders whisper. The Southern commanders let out low, rumbling growls of triumph. But I don't care about the Council, and I don't care about the trial. I only care about the way she looks at me. As she passes my perimeter, her amethyst eyes flick to mine. There is no memory of our city life in that gaze, no recollection of the penthouse or the boardroom. But there is something else—a raw, instinctual recognition of the male who guarded her flank. She smell

Chapter 77**

CORALINA'S POV The dark, enclosed world of the cavern collapses into a single point of blinding, white-hot sensation.When his teeth puncture the skin of my neck, the world doesn't just fracture; it dissolves. A long, shuddering cry tears from my throat—a sound that is half-agony, half-ecstasy, echoing off the damp stone walls and vibrating through the ancient moss beneath us. My body convulses beneath his weight, a primal reflex over which I have absolutely no control. My legs wrap tightly around his waist, my instincts driving me to pull this massive, obsidian shadow into the absolute deepest center of the fire burning in my veins.The heat is a physical wave, thick and suffocating, rolling off our fused skin. I expect to feel violated. I expect my wolf to roar in fury at the intrusion of a male who has ignored my commands to stay at the perimeter. Instead, she is singing. She is a silver-and-violet spirit thrashing in the dark, throwing herself into his shadow, begging for the ver

Chapter 78

CORALINA'S POV The transition from the blinding heat of the cavern to the cold reality of the morning is like a plunge into freezing water.I wake up before he does. The air inside the hollow beneath the lightning-struck sequoia is heavy with the scent of damp earth, ozone, and the fierce, masculine musk of the male sleeping beside me. His long, muscular arm is still a solid, heavy bar locked across my waist, pinning my back to his chest. The fresh, swollen mark on my neck throbs with a rhythmic, low-frequency ache that feels less like a wound and more like a second heartbeat.I don't pull away from his heat, but my mind is wide awake, pacing the perimeter of my skull like a caged animal.The fragments of the vision from last night are gone, dissolved by the reality of the morning light filtering through the massive roots. I still don't remember the city. I don't remember a life before the grotto. When I look at my hands, I see the faint, dark traces of the sacred charcoal from the W

Chapter 79

CORALINA'S POV The path to the Ancestral Hearth is a winding staircase of jagged stone, cut into the raw flank of the mountain where the forest gives way to the grey, barren peaks. The mist hangs low and heavy here, smelling of sulfur, ancient grease, and the sharp, suffocating bite of the ritual incense already burning in the distance.My tattered silk robe drags against the gravel, but I don't care. I walk with my fingers intertwined with Clyde’s, his broad, calloused palm a steady furnace against mine. Every step we take away from the sanctuary of the sequoia roots feels like marching toward a firing squad, but the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart through our joined hands keeps my wolf from retreating into the dark."The censers will be silver, Coral," Clyde murmurs, his voice a low, subterranean vibration that barely carries over the howling wind. He doesn't look at me; his golden eyes are fixed on the summit, his jaw a hard, unyielding line of granite. "The smoke is laced with

Chapter 80

CORALINA'S POVThe taste of silver and sulfur still clings to the back of my throat like a layer of cold ash, but the heat in my blood is entirely my own.I step out of the volcanic ring of the Ancestral Hearth, my bare feet leaving faint, steaming prints on the frost-dented stone. Behind me, the murmurs of the twelve Elders rise like a flock of startled crows, their pristine scrolls suddenly feeling very thin against the weight of the ancient shames I just dragged into the light.Diana is still standing by the basalt pillar of her house, her fingers digging so hard into the gold embroidery of her tunic that I can hear the threads popping. Her perfect, aristocratic mask hasn't just cracked; it’s shattered. Next to her, Brielle looks like she wants the mountain to open up and swallow her whole, her eyes darting toward the Council guards who are no longer looking at me like I'm a stray. They are looking at me like I’m a threat.I don’t look back at them. My eyes are fixed on the western

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