The Lycan King’s Broken Mate
The word safe doesn’t fit, though he means it.
“In the dream,” I start again, afraid it might fade, “…there was something else. Tiny luminous moss on the stone edge. Not green like normal moss, but a creamy blue. And when I leaned close, the air grew colder.” My body remembers it—the fine hairs lifting on my arm. “I’ve never seen that kind before.”
“Mae has a field-book for lichens,” Aedan mutters, raising a brow. “If it matches even half a page, the search narrows.”