Untamed
Every cry echoed one word: “Purge.”
They were after them.
Anyone associated with her. Anyone who had defended her, offered her shelter, or believed that her bloodline wasn’t corrupt.
Her fingers sank into the soil, her nails were cracking as she gripped the ground, hoping it would keep her balanced. Her wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin, full of fury.
Run, it urged.
But Lydia wasn’t ready to flee at the time.
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