Twenty-eight dead.
The number kept circling in my brain while I sat in the medical building watching healers work on the wounded and tried not to focus on how the bonds felt wrong—muted and distant in ways that meant all four alphas were either unconscious or blocking me out so I wouldn't feel their pain.
Twenty-eight wolves and vampires and witches who'd trusted me to keep them alive.
More than four times what we'd lost in the first attack.
And the demon was still out there. Wounded. Retreating. But alive.
"Selene." Morgana appeared with water I didn't want and the kind of expression that said she was about to lecture me. "You need to drink."
I took the water because arguing seemed exhausting and also she was right, my mouth tasted like ash and copper and I couldn't remember the last time I'd had anything to drink.
