Kael jolted upright in his bed.
His body tensed, instincts on fire. The bond. He felt it surge through him like lightning, dragging him from sleep. It wasn't pain—but something else. A pull. A need.
"Elara…"
He didn't bother with a shirt as he rushed down the hall, following the thread of the connection that now thrummed through his veins. He found her standing near the window, bathed in moonlight, trembling.
She turned at the sound of his approach. "Something's coming."
Kael was at her side in seconds. "What did you feel?"
"I don't know. A voice… a whisper. And then the wind changed." She hugged herself, staring out into the forest. "It smells like blood."
Kael stepped forward and inhaled.
She was right.
The wind carried it—faint but unmistakable. Burnt wood. Wet earth. And blood.
He clenched his jaw. "Stay inside. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."
Elara caught his hand as he turned to go. "Wait. If it's them—the ones who chased me—I need to know."
Kael looked down at her, eyes softening. "You will. But not tonight."
Outside, wolves began to shift, howls ringing through the air. Thorne met him at the edge of the trees, already in partial shift, eyes glowing.
"Two rogues. South ridge," he said. "They weren't trying to hide their scent."
"They wanted us to find them," Kael muttered. "Which means this was a message."
They followed the trail quickly—bodies low, movements swift. The rogue wolves had left carnage behind: two deer slaughtered, their bodies untouched, a twisted symbol carved into the bark of an old tree.
A crescent moon. But broken.
Kael growled low.
"What is that?" Thorne asked.
"A warning," Kael said grimly. "Whoever's after Elara… they know who she is."
He turned back toward the den.
And for the first time in years, Kael felt it deep in h
is bones—the cold, creeping hand of war.
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