Dawn filtered through the narrow window of Lyra's chamber, casting pale light across the simple bed where she had spent five days recovering from death's edge. Her body no longer burned with poison, and the wounds that had marked her skin had faded to pink scars. The ache in her muscles had dulled to a manageable discomfort. She was healing faster than any normal wolf should after such an ordeal, and that fact alone unsettled her.
'This is tedious,' Wyn complained for the umpteenth time. 'I have rested enough. My bones are solid. My power is ready. Why do you keep us tied to this mattress?'
Lyra did not answer her wolf. She still struggled to accept this new voice inside her, this presence that had emerged after near-death. A presence that seemed far too eager to meet the men who had spent years tormenting her.
