An hour later, the ground trembled under heavy boots.
I stepped out to see Rowan return—this time flanked by four soldiers in full armor, their wolves barely restrained beneath their skin. And there, cradled in his arms, was Myra.
“Candy aunt!” Her voice was faint but bright, a fragile sound in the morning air.
My chest tightened painfully. “Give her to me.”
Rowan didn’t hesitate. He placed her carefully in my arms, his voice sharp: “One month. Heal her, or face the Alpha yourself.”
I ignored him, turning to go back inside. If there was one thing I was good at, then it was winning.
The soldiers’ stares burned into my back as I carried Myra inside.
She was too light in my arms. A child her age should have been full of restless energy, kicking and squirming to be let down, not sagging
