Luke yanked Lyra away. She slipped from my grip. Thorne lunged, mid-shift. I dodged as he landed—a massive grey wolf.
I didn't move, a smirk forming. Thorne's crouched, tense wolf form—almost laughable. My smirk made him angrier. That rush in my chest wasn't just arrogance—it was purpose. I fought for Lyra. Thorne fought only to own. He failed to grasp the difference.
I stepped back. Black fur raced up my arms; bones snapped. My wolf form towered over Thorne. He flinched at my lack of fear.
Rage burned with memories of Lyra’s injuries. Kael, my wolf, screamed to attack as I advanced.
I could sense hesitation in Thorne’s stance. There was something in his eyes I couldn’t quite interpret—was it fear? Defiance? Doubt? I couldn’t tell.
I crouched low, tuning out every sound but Thorne. Te
