Anabel.
The heavy wooden doors leading out to the high stone pavilion swung open, and the freezing night air hit my face like a slap.
Aidan kept a firm, steady grip on my hand, pulling me along beside him as we stepped out into the open light of the courtyard torches. Noah and Maria were already standing near the balustrade, their expressions rigid and severe, while Davian stood slightly ahead of them, his bandaged shoulder seeping dark red as his hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword.
Below us, the entire host pack had gathered in the main square. Hundreds of faces—guard captains, servants, warrior ranks, and elder pack members—looked up at the stone platform in dead, breathless silence. The air was thick with the heavy scent of burning pine, dried blood, and a terrifying, collective demand for retribution.
