Freya Nightshade has always felt a strange pull toward the forbidden forest that looms just beyond her village, but she's spent her life obeying her grandmother's warnings to stay far away. That all changes one fateful night under the Harvest Moon w...
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The heavy oak doors of the pack's stronghold closed behind Ozias with a resonating thud. He stood still for a moment, the weight of what had just transpired pressing down on him. Freya's unconscious body was cradled in his arms, her head resting limply against his chest, her breaths shallow. His heart raced beneath her, a turmoil of protectiveness and uncertainty churning within him. She should never have been out there. Not in the woods. Not this close to their world.
She was never supposed to see this side of me, of us.
His grip on her tightened, his steps slower than usual as he carried her deeper into the stronghold. The stone walls of the sanctuary loomed high, casting long shadows over the floor as flickering candlelight danced across the stone. He could feel the magic in the air—dense and thick as it rippled through the very bones of the fortress.
Freya stirred slightly, a soft, barely audible whimper escaping her lips. It sent a jolt of something raw and fierce through Ozias, something primal that made him grit his teeth and clench his jaw. It wasn't just the wraiths that threatened her. It was everything. The world he belonged to, the ancient power that flowed through the Whisper Pack's veins. She didn't belong here, yet she had crossed the threshold into his domain, into his world, and now... now, it was too late to turn back.
His eyes flicked to Lysander, who stood waiting in the corridor ahead, his posture rigid, his gaze focused on Ozias's every move. His Beta always knew when something was amiss, and tonight was no exception.
"Alpha," Lysander spoke softly, his voice laced with concern. His hazel eyes locked onto Freya's pale form. "What happened?"
"She shouldn't have been out there." Ozias's voice was a low growl, edged with frustration and something deeper. He couldn't quite explain it, not even to himself. "The wraiths... they were after her."
Lysander's brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Why her? What would make them target a human?"
"That's what we need to find out." Ozias's voice held a dangerous edge, his wolf rising just beneath the surface, clawing to break free. He hated not having answers, hated the feeling of being blindsided. Freya had been a part of the mundane world, separate from the ancient forces that governed his pack's existence. But the forest had chosen her. The pathways had chosen her.
Lysander's gaze shifted to Freya once more, his eyes softening slightly as if he could see the weight of everything she'd been through in the past few hours etched into her features. "She looks fragile, Ozias. This world... it isn't meant for someone like her."
Ozias's grip on Freya tightened as he met Lysander's gaze. "She's stronger than you think." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and for a moment, he wondered if they were meant to reassure Lysander or himself. She had to be strong. She had to survive this.
