The pre-dawn hours found me in the sacred grove at the heart of the Sanctuary, surrounded by ancient trees whose silver-barked trunks seemed to pulse with sympathetic magic. Dante sat cross-legged beside me, one hand resting on my knee while the other maintained a protective ward around our small circle. Stella slept peacefully in a nest of blankets between us, her tiny fingers occasionally sparking with silver light as she dreamed.
"Are you sure about this?" Dante asked for the dozenth time, his voice barely above a whisper.
I closed my eyes and extended my supernatural senses, feeling for the threads of connection that my Moonfire magic insisted existed between all supernatural beings. They were there—faint as spider silk but undeniably real—stretching across miles to touch every werew
