The packhouse was still, blanketed by the deep silence of 2 a.m. Outside, the forest slumbered under a veil of moonlight, and inside, even the air seemed to rest. Most of the wolves had gone to bed late, after laughter and stories filled the common hall. They didn’t need alcohol to find joy — Azeo’s pack thrived in simple companionship, their weekly gatherings proof that wolf spirits were happiest when they weren’t alone.
McKenna, however, hadn’t slept soundly in over a week. Each night the dreams clawed her deeper, dragging her where she didn’t want to go but couldn’t resist. Tonight, it began differently. No forest. No dim room. Just… stillness.
And then — the voices.
“He’s coming…”
The words brushed against her mind, faint and cold.
Her wolf stirred uneasily, pacing inside her, ear
