Zarek.
It had been almost two months since I last saw Valtira.
Two months that felt like a slow erosion of my mind, as though something vital had been scraped away from me piece by piece. Whatever little control I still possessed felt fragile now, thin as ice stretched over deep water. If it shattered, I knew exactly whose voice I would finally listen to.
Zachariah’s.
Attack Draven.
Zane snarled at the thought alone. My wolf paced inside me, restless, furious, pushing against my ribs like he wanted to tear his way out.
He blamed me for everything—for losing her, for hesitating, for choosing restraint. Yet he refused to tell me why his rage burned so violently, as though he knew something I did not.
Goddess knows I would not care about the aftermath if I set foot in Draven’s pack, a
