The Werewolf's Bride
“I am older than the curse. I am the shadow it cast. And your child… carries my echo now.”
Elara’s claws extended, pain forgotten.
“You’re dead.”
“Fragments linger,” the smoke answered. “And fragments can grow. Your daughter’s first breath woke me fully. She is my vessel. My rebirth.”
Kael’s growl shook the trees.
“You will not touch her.”
The smoke laughed, soft, chilling.
“I already have.”
The black thread coiled tighter, then struck, straight toward the infant in Kael’s arms.
Elara moved, faster than thought, placing herself between the smoke and her child.