McKenna couldn’t stop thinking about the rage she had felt the night before at the waterfall. It hadn’t been hers—no, her fury was never that sharp, never that all-consuming. This rage had scorched through the mist like wildfire, shaking her bones, branding her skin. It was not her own. It was someone else’s—dark, primal, protective.
Azeo.
The thought should have been reassuring. Instead, it left her unsettled. She could still feel the weight of his emotions, as though they had been pressed into her chest and left there to smolder. If that rage was truly his, then it was not just fury she had sensed. It had been possession, raw and merciless. A warning to the world that she was not hers alone anymore.
But tonight, her path was her own.
The time had come. Whoever had sent the note was w
