The forest was quieter now, the violence of the rogue camp fading behind them with each careful step. Dawn was breaking through the canopy in shafts of pale gold, painting the world in soft watercolor hues that felt almost obscene after the brutality of the night.
Aaron kept pace beside Mystic and Helen, close enough to catch them if they stumbled but far enough to give them space. Every protective instinct screamed at him to carry his mate, to sweep her into his arms and run until they reached safety, but he forced himself to hold back. She needed to walk this path on her own terms, needed to feel her own strength returning with each step.
Even if those steps were agonizingly slow.
Helen was struggling, her breathing labored and uneven. Mystic supported most of her mother's weight, her
