ZAIN
I skidded to a stop at the base of the ravine, claws digging into moss-slick stone. The river roared below, but even that sound couldn't drown out the storm inside my head. I threw back my head and howled, long and guttural, letting it all out—rage, desire, confusion. The trees trembled. Birds scattered.
And still, the pull toward her remained.
My mate. My enemy. My undoing.
A rustle to the side caught my ear.
Gerald stepped out of the shadows, already in wolf form, his eyes gleaming in the dark. He shifted mid-step, landing hard on two feet as he straightened.
"You alright?" he asked gruffly.
"No."
"Figured."
He waited. Didn't press. That's why I trusted him more than most.
"She's Hawthorne's blood," I said finally. "Did you know that?"
His eyes flickered. "Cian told me."
"And no one thought to mention that before?"
"You were already spiraling, Zain. We didn't want to send you over the edge."
"I'm there now," I growled. "Right over it."
