BLAZE – POV
I moved like a wraith through the edge of the wolf lands—every muscle coiled, every sense blazing. The forest here was different: tangled, rough, its ancient magic still crackling in the air like a storm waiting to break. My boots made no sound on the leaf mold. I wore the witch's masking charm, but it faded with every mile, every breath, every drop of panic bleeding from her scent.
I stopped at the rim of a dry creek bed, pressing my back into the gnarled roots of an old oak. Below me, tortured earth led into a clearing where wolves patrolled in pairs. They were too far to see clearly in the gloom, but I could smell them—raw, feral, savage. My claws itched, a hundred fangs itched. I wanted to step forward, rip through them like paper, and shout her name, but that would ruin everything. If I tipped them off, every wolf in the Hunt would descend and tear me—and her—to pieces.
So I stayed in shadow.
I inhaled, tasting something sharp and metallic on the wind. Fear.
