Rebirth and Revenge:Lycan King’s Feisty Luna
The text beneath the illustration was old enough that half the words meant nothing to me, but Alaric read it slower, tracing the lines with one finger like he was translating as he went.
“Before there were packs, there was one wolf who needed none. She rose when kingdoms bled and crowns fell, not born but remembered, wearing new skin over old bones each time the world required her again.” He stopped. Swallowed. Kept going. “They called her…”
He didn’t finish it either.
I leaned over his shoulder and read the rest myself, the two words sitting right there in old, faded ink, plain as anything.
The White Wolf.
Neither of us said it out loud. Not yet. Reading it hadn’t made it real, not complete