The Lunar Legacy
“You think it’s them?”
Sam didn’t answer, her gaze locked on the meadow. Then she saw them—shadows moving through the fog, their forms low and predatory. Black Shadow wolves, at least a dozen, their amber eyes glowing like embers in the mist. Their coats were matted, their claws long and stained with blood, and they moved with a coordinated precision that sent a chill down Sam’s spine. At their head was Rhea Blackthorn, her jet-black hair braided tight, her cruel smile visible even through the fog. She wore a leather vest and pants, a dagger strapped to her thigh, and her presence was a promise of violence.
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