The Lycan King's Hybrid Mate
Faint but unmistakable, and tangled with another scent that makes my lips peel back in a snarl.
Rosalee.
I burst into a clearing, and the sight nearly tears the breath from my lungs.
Freya lies on the ground, her wold form still, blood matting the thick fur along her neck and chest as she slowly shifts back to her human form. And there, just beside her, is Rosalee, kneeling, also in her human form. Her shoulders hunched, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her hands are trembling as she pulls Freya’s lifeless body against her, cradling her as if she has the right to mourn her.
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