Through the early mist and bars of thread-light that fell between rotting trees, the mountain pass moved ahead. It was quiet here, not peaceful though. The silence had been the sort that fell before something began — or returned.
They had marched for hours, boots crunching on dirt and frost, a golden scent of pine and ash in the air. They climbed, down their bent, back toward land that turned in crooked slope, the trees thinning, the shadow splaying out more freely.
Serena walked beside Lucian. Neither of them had said all that much since they got the two of them out of those ruins, but their silence wasn't one of like uncomfortable silences. It had weight. A build of tension, slow like a bow drawn, not released. He remained almost side by side with her, close enough to brush her arm a time or two. Each time, she had felt it — something charged. Not the wolf, not fear, but a pull. Like something in her knew something about him.
