The Mate Hunt
Ronan
The moon crept over the horizon, its pale light casting long shadows across the judgment ground. Hundreds of Caine wolves stood in a silent circle, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the center. The air was thick with anticipation and something colder, an old grief that lingered in every breath.
Maeve stood beside me, refusing to be anywhere else. Fresh stitches cut angrily across her cheek, catching the torchlight like a badge of survival. She'd argued against staying inside, of course. She always did.