Oriana turned around once more to look at the gate of the ethereal realm, her eyes tracing the golden light with desperate longing. The paradise she had spent eighty-one days dreaming of, the peace she had craved for thirty-two years, called to her like a siren's song.
But Vladimir brought the vial to her lips and fed it to her, his hands gentle but insistent. The liquid slid down her throat, warm and thick like honey, and she emptied the content. Still, she turned again, her gaze fixed on the gate of the ethereal realm.
Before Vladimir could stop her, she began to walk toward it, her feet carrying her forward with a will of their own.
But he quickly caught up and swept her into his arms bridal style, cradling her against his chest as he hastened to the other end of the bridge. His legs carried them toward the gate of the werewolf world, the familiar landscape of their home drawing closer with each step.
