Chapter Thirty-Seven-The Fortress
Jack did not run with her—he carried her.
His arms were iron bands as he strode through Green Briar’s woods, not toward the pack house she’d escaped but toward the black spine of the ridge. There, half-swallowed by rock, the old fortress rose—new floodlights stapled to ancient stone, cameras winking red in their housings like patient eyes. The gate yawned open for him. Sentinels stood two-by-two along the wall-walk, rifles slung and silver knives at their hips. The smell of wolfsbane hung in the air like a warning and a dare.
Evandra fought to keep her breathing even. The shift back had left her shaking, and the snapped leg sent a hot, nauseating throb up her thigh with every step Jack took. She set her jaw against it, counting lights, counting turns, c
