KAEL'S POV
The moment the air cracked, I knew something had gone wrong. Not battle-wrong, not strategy-wrong.
Something older. Deeper. The kind of wrong that changes bloodlines.
Ayla stood in the clearing, her hair whipping in the wind, silver light pouring off her like molten metal. Rylan had stopped moving—his hand half-raised, his eyes gleaming with that unnatural violet. Between them, power writhed, two threads of scentbond magic tearing the night apart.
I felt it through the link—her scent, wild honey and stormfire—flaring, fracturing, reforming.
My wolf went mad.
"Ayla!" I shouted.
She didn't hear me. Or maybe she did, but someone else was listening through her.
The ground shook. Trees bent backward. The scent of ozone and blood filled my lungs. I moved—lightning-fast—but the moment I reached her, the world itself pushed back. A shockwave threw me several feet, slamming me against a pine trunk hard enough to split bark. Pain flared down my spine, but I forced myself up.
