The forest had always been Elara's refuge.
No whispers followed her between the trees. No eyes measured her worth by the strength of her shift. The woods didn't care that she had no wolf.
That night, however, the forest felt wrong.
The air was too still. The cicadas had gone quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Elara tightened her cloak and quickened her pace.
That was when she smelled it.
Rot.
Blood.
She turned just as something lunged.
Pain exploded across her shoulder as claws tore into flesh. Elara screamed, stumbling backward, heart slamming against her ribs. Yellow eyes glowed in the darkness—a rogue, foam flecking its jaws.
She fell.
The rogue leapt.
A snarl tore through the forest like thunder.
The rogue never touched her.
It was ripped mid-air, bones snapping like twigs as a massive black wolf slammed it into the ground. The fight was brutal and fast—teeth, blood, death.
Elara scrambled back, shaking, as the black wolf tore out the rogue's throat.
Then the wolf turned.
Rowan.
He shifted back into human form in seconds, blood smeared across his chest, eyes blazing silver with fury.
"You shouldn't be here," he snarled.
"I—I didn't know—" Her vision blurred. The wound on her shoulder burned, warmth soaking her cloak.
Rowan's expression changed.
Fear again.
He crossed the distance between them in two strides and grabbed her wrist. "You're bleeding."
"I'll be fine," she whispered, though the world was tilting.
"No." His voice broke. "You won't."
Before she could ask what he meant, he pulled her close and bit into her shoulder.
Pain detonated.
Elara screamed—and then—
Warmth.
The agony melted into something else, something deep and terrifying. Her heartbeat synced with his. She felt his breath, his pulse, his panic.
Rowan pulled back, horror etched across his face.
"I shouldn't have done that," he whispered.
The forest howled.
And somewhere far above, the Moon turned its gaze toward them.