DANTE’S POV
The forest did not welcome me, It tolerated me. Branches scraped against my shoulders as Selene and I walked the narrow, overgrown path toward the witches’ territory. The trees here were older—gnarled and swollen with age, their roots rising like knuckles from the soil. Even the air felt different. Heavy. Watchful.
I hated that we were here.
The kingdom had already begun whispering after the moon ceremony. Alphas from distant territories had returned home with doubt in their eyes. I had seen it. The hesitation. The subtle questioning of my control. Of our bond. If word spread that we sought counsel from a witch worse, the head witch it would not be doubt.
It would be revolt.
Selene’s hand brushed mine as we walked. The bond between us hummed, warm and steady but beneath it
