56. Nightfell

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The East part of the Nightfell Territory looked, at first glance, like any ordinary forest—a vast expanse of towering pines and oaks, their branches intertwined to form a dense canopy above.

The forest floor was carpeted with layers of soft moss, scattered leaves, and the occasional bloom of wildflowers, their faintly glowing petals the only thing breaking the monotony of green.

The light filtered through the canopy in muted, dusky hues, never fully bright, as though the sun above was hesitant to intrude.

Shadows lingered longer than they should, pooling unnaturally at the bases of trees, stretching in directions that didn't match the faint light above.

The deeper we ventured, the more the name "Nightfell" made sense. The forest seemed to grow darker, as though the trees themselves were drawing the light away.

The trees bore faint markings on their trunks—scratches and grooves that might have been left by claws.

Just as we had agreed, Zev teleported us to the Nightfell pack's territory. He arrived in my room only two hours after I had sneaked out.

In a way, I felt relieved that it wasn't Ansel—and that I didn't have to face him right away.

When we first arrived, Zev tried to talk to me, but I wasn't in the mood for conversation.

The only questions I asked were about our location in the territory and whether there was any chance of running into the Nightfell pack's patrollers or the Shadow Weavers.

He explained that we were on the eastern side of the pack's land where Shadow Weavers seen most active and assured me that he was using shadow-cloaking to keep us hidden.

They wouldn't be able to see or smell us, but the ability had its drawbacks—they could still hear us if we made too much noise.

Keeping quiet wasn't the problem, though.

The real issue was the distance. To keep both of us under his shadow-cloaking ability, I had to stay within three feet of him.

Three feet.

That was all he could manage with his current powers.

But even those three feet felt far too close for me.

I could feel him practically breathing down my neck as he walked behind me—or maybe it was just the lingering effect of last night that I couldn't shake off.

My hand instinctively went to my neck, recalling the horror I'd felt when I saw the marks he'd left on my neck and shoulder last night.

With nothing to cover them, I threw on a hoodie over my black crop top—the same one I'd borrowed from Ansel's closet back during the Grimwood incident and still hadn't returned.

Not that Ansel seemed to mind.

I tucked it in as best I could, trying not to look like some kind of hobo.

Seriously, should I just go buy some proper clothes so I wouldn't have to keep stealing his?

Not that it was really an option, and honestly, finding proper clothes was the least of my concerns right now.

"Do you want me to carry you, mate?" Zev asked suddenly, his tone almost affectionate.

I stopped mid-step, spinning around to face him. "Excuse me?"

And once again my gaze automatically dropped to something which had left me gaping at him when he first came to get me in the morning.

To his outfit—a crisp, tailored white dress shirt beneath a charcoal double-breasted waistcoat, its understated buttons oozing quiet luxury.

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