The surroundings were still. The blood of rogues stained the earth like a macabre canvas, painted with claws and rage. The coppery scent of death still hung in the air, thick and heavy, as the dust began to settle.
In the middle of it all stood him.
Heiko.
Or what remained of the man in that moment.
Towering, his massive wolf form was coated in blood—none of it his own. His fur bristled with tension, eyes glowing gold with fury, growling low and dangerous in his throat. His claws flexed into the dirt, leaving deep, angry furrows beneath him.
Inside the carriage, River sat frozen. Her body shook slightly, not from fear—but from the bond. From the intensity of what she felt through it.
He wasn’t gone.
But he wasn’t there either.
She could feel the tip of the storm raging within him,
