The morning air carried a pulse that wasn’t natural. Azeo felt it before anyone else did—an invisible tremor that rippled through his veins like static, clawing at the edges of his mind. He froze mid-step, his senses sharpening instantly, every muscle in his body tightening as the familiar scent of magic brushed across the air.
Not just any magic. Her magic.
McKayla.
The surge came from miles away, but it was strong enough to make the ground under his boots quiver and his wolf growl low in warning. The power was wild, untamed, desperate—like something buried too long had finally clawed its way to the surface.
Azeo clenched his jaw. “They’re moving faster than I thought.”
The Coven.
He’d known they were scheming, waiting for the right moment to strike—but this? This was bold, reckless
