The mate bond woke Arvella before dawn.
Not with alarm — with proximity. The golden thread between her and Lucas had been stretching across the distance since she left Silver Fang, a constant low hum of connection that carried emotion and reassurance and the particular ache of two people whose souls were braided together being forced apart by geography. But now the hum was changing. Growing louder. Warmer. The harmonic equivalent of footsteps getting closer, of a door about to open, of the moment between seeing someone you love and being in their arms.
He was coming to meet them.
Arvella stood. The camp was stirring — the fae moving with their fluid, silent grace, the geometric markings dim in the pre-dawn darkness, the gold eyes catching the last of the starlight. Seraphina was already
