Two months had passed since the wedding beneath the ancient oak, and Lugh's Claw had settled into a new rhythm. Spring was creeping in, bringing fresh morning dew and green buds among the trees. Saoirse stood at the forest's edge, bow in hand, her sharp eyes scanning the foliage for any sign of movement. The breeze brushed through her hair, now often left loose-a symbol of the freedom she'd embraced as Luna.
Declan stood a few paces behind her, spear in hand, his gaze not only on the forest but also on his wife. Two months together had deepened their bond, transforming that primal pull into something tangible-trust, affection, and an unspoken partnership. Today, he'd invited her to hunt, a tradition he hoped they could share.
"There," Saoirse whispered, nodding toward a faint shadow among the undergrowth. A stag, its antlers proud and branching, grazed unaware of their presence. Her heart quickened, the thrill of the hunt coursing through her veins. She drew her bowstring taut, muscles tense, breath steady.
Declan gave a small, approving smile. "Good," he said softly. "Wait until he shifts left. The wind will cover your sound."
Saoirse nodded, her focus unwavering. She'd learned much in these two months-not just how to lead alongside Declan, but the survival skills she'd once only dreamed of as an omega in Erynn's Veil. Her arrow was poised, its tip aimed at the stag's vital point. One more second, and-
The air suddenly trembled, an unseen presence raising the hairs on her neck. The stag bolted, vanishing into the forest. Saoirse lowered her bow, frustration flaring, but before she could voice it, a deep, ancient rumble echoed through the trees, like stone grinding against wind.
Declan stiffened, his spear rising, eyes sweeping the woods. "What was that?" he asked, his voice taut.
From the shadows emerged something Saoirse had never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams. A griffin-a legendary creature with the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle-stepped into the late afternoon light. Its golden feathers gleamed, its curved beak sharp, and its blazing yellow eyes fixed on her. It didn't move to attack, only stood, majestic and terrifying, its aura filling the air with power.
Saoirse held her breath, her heart pounding. Griffins were forest spirits, the legends said, appearing only to deliver prophecies or warnings. Declan stepped closer, placing himself between her and the creature, but the griffin remained still. That voice rumbled again, clearer now, resonating in their bones.
"Dusk has fallen, child of the Veil," it said, its tone like distant thunder. "Return home, before the shadows claim you."
Saoirse frowned, her grip tightening on her bow. "Return?" she retorted, her voice defiant. "I'm hunting. That stag was nearly mine. I'm not leaving just because-"
"Saoirse," Declan cut in, his tone firm but laced with concern. "Listen to it. This isn't some ordinary spirit."
The griffin raised its head, its wings spreading slightly, blocking the sinking sun. "Time is short, Luna. Return, or lose more than your prey."
Saoirse huffed, irritated at losing her quarry and at this cryptic command. "I'm fine," she snapped, turning to track the stag's trail again, but suddenly her head felt light, her vision clouding. She stumbled, her bow slipping from hands that went abruptly weak.
"Saoirse!" Declan moved fast, catching her before she hit the ground. His face paled as he looked at her, and then he saw it-bright red blood trickling from her nose, dripping onto her chin.
Saoirse raised a hand to her face, fingers trembling as they touched the wetness. "I... I'm fine," she insisted, but her voice was faint, her legs like mist beneath her. Her head throbbed, the world tilting around her.
"No, you're not," Declan growled, his tone brooking no argument. He scooped her up effortlessly, his strong arms cradling her, his spear abandoned on the ground. The griffin stood watching, its unblinking eyes following them, but Declan paid it no mind now. "We're going home. Now."
Saoirse wanted to protest, to insist she could walk, but exhaustion draped over her like a heavy blanket. She leaned against his chest, hearing his rapid heartbeat, feeling his worry pulse through their bond. The griffin melted back into the shadows as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving the forest in eerie silence.
The journey back to camp blurred into a hazy dream for Saoirse. The cold wind stung her skin, but Declan's body was warm, an anchor amidst the fog clouding her mind. When they reached the camp, night preparations were underway-fires lit, guards patrolling. Declan shouted for Aisling before they even neared the main tent.
"Get the healer!" he commanded, his voice ringing through the evening air. "Now!"
Aisling emerged from the shadows, her eyes widening at the sight of Saoirse in Declan's arms. "What happened?" she demanded, but she didn't wait for an answer, sprinting off to fetch help.
Declan carried Saoirse into their tent, laying her gently on the pile of furs. His face was etched with worry as he knelt beside her, wiping the blood from her nose with his sleeve. "You'll be alright," he said, more to himself than to her. "The healer will know what's wrong."
Saoirse tried to smile, but it felt weak on her lips. "Just a nosebleed," she mumbled, though her voice
wavered. "Maybe I was too stubborn out there..."
Declan didn't laugh. His eyes, usually so steadfast, flickered with a rare uncertainty. "That griffin... it knew something," he said quietly. "And I'm not taking chances with you."
The healer arrived, an old woman with gnarled hands and keen eyes, carrying a sack of herbs and clean cloths. She examined Saoirse swiftly, listening to her breathing, checking her pulse, asking questions Saoirse answered in a sluggish voice. Declan stood close, his fists clenched, tension radiating from him.
"She's exhausted," the healer said at last, her voice calm but firm. "And something's draining her strength. Give her rest, water, and this brew." She handed Declan a pouch of dried leaves. "Steep these and make her drink it. I'll check on her again tomorrow."
Declan nodded, but his gaze never left Saoirse. When the healer departed, he sat beside her, taking her hand in a tight grip. "You heard her," he said. "Rest. No hunting, no running around, until you're better."
Saoirse sighed, frustration mingling with fatigue. "I hate feeling weak," she admitted, her voice small.
"You're not weak," Declan countered, his tone soft but certain. He lay beside her, pulling her into his arms. "You're just... human, or some part of it. And I'll take care of you."
Saoirse nestled against him, his warmth seeping into her chilled bones. Her eyes drifted shut, her mind lingering on the griffin and its cryptic warning. Dusk has fallen, it had said. But what did it mean? And why had her body suddenly betrayed her?
At her side, Declan held his worry in silence, their bond thrumming with unspoken emotions. Night enveloped Lugh's Claw, and for now, the answers to those questions remained hidden in the shadows-like the griffin, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself again.