When the pack summoned her, it was not with politeness.
Two enforcers in half-shift form—taller than most men, muscle-bound, claws just sheathed—stood outside her cottage by morning, eyeing the spell-etched door like it might bite.
"Wren Myles," the taller one growled. "Alpha Cassian summons you."
Cassian Nightborne. The boy made of moonlight and venom. The one who ruled the forest like a prince without a crown. Eighteen. Heir to the Redfangs.
Her stomach twisted.
Wren wiped her hands on a stained apron and stepped out, black skirts trailing behind her like smoke. She didn't bother locking the door; no one in their right mind would enter a witch's house uninvited.
"Did Cassian say why?" she asked, head tilted like a curious crow.
The shorter enforcer shrugged. "Said it's urgent. Said the moon would explain."
Cryptic, typical of him.
Still, she followed.
The Redfang Hall was nestled deep within Elderpine Forest, a fortress of stone and wood older than even the oldest witches. Ivy clawed up its walls, and red flags bearing a silver wolf flew high.
Cassian stood waiting on the stone steps, flanked by the pack elders. His golden eyes met hers—and for one heartbeat, the air thickened, like honey before the boil.
Wren stumbled, breath catching.
So did he.
"Shit," he whispered. "No. No, no, no—this can't be right."
The connection hit her then like lightning to a tree.
The mate bond.