Damien
Moonveil territory doesn’t welcome intruders.
Damien feels it the moment he crosses the boundary.
The air tightens—not hostile, not aggressive, but aware. The forest here is older than Crescent Crest’s lands, thicker with magic and memory. The ground hums beneath his boots, a low vibration that crawls up his legs and settles in his bones.
This land knows Alphas.
And it knows when one does not belong.
His wolf lifts its head, hackles rising—not in fear, but challenge.
Good, Damien thinks grimly. Let it watch.
He moves deeper into the forest without hesitation, following instinct more than direction. He doesn’t need a map. The bond—damaged, strained, but alive—pulls subtly, tugging him forward like a needle toward north.
Lila is here.
Not close enough to touch.
Close enough
