Beneath the Silver Moon
She cries out, body contorting, the light around her squeezing tighter, like it means to wring the life from her bones.
Inside me, my wolf thrashes against my ribs, panic and rage burning together. Fix it. The demand pulses through my blood, primal and fierce.
“I’m trying,” I rasp, lungs raw, reaching for the silver. It flickers in the air, lurid and alive, surging forward—only to freeze, trembling midair. It doesn’t wait for my command. It waits for something deeper, something older. Judgment.
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