Chapter 8

• Myra POV
• I’d been up since before dawn, because sleeping next to a tent full of angry wolves wasn’t exactly peaceful.
• Ronan’s temper had spread through camp like smoke after a burn. Everyone could feel it. The Silverstrike guards pretended to patrol, but they were really watching the Nightfang tents, waiting for any excuse to start a fight.
• I wrapped my cloak tighter and followed the scent of fresh coffee toward the Alpha tent. Ronan was there, shirt half-buttoned, pacing like a caged animal. His eyes were bloodshot, and I didn’t have to ask why.
• “You look great,” I said dryly. “Very ‘about to start a war before breakfast.’”
• He gave me a look that could’ve peeled bark. “What do you want, Myra?”
• “To stop you from doing something stupid.” I walked right past him and poured myself a cup. “You’re planning to kill him, aren’t you?”
• He didn’t answer. Which, of course, meant yes.
• “Thought so,” I muttered. “You’re going to start a blood feud in front of half the clans. Brilliant idea.”
• He slammed his fist against the table. “He killed my father, Myra!”
• “And your father sold wolves to vampires!” I snapped back before I could stop myself. The words hit the air sharp and ugly, and for a second I thought he’d throw something.
• Ronan froze. His jaw tightened, then unclenched. He turned away, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent years trying to fix what that bastard broke?”
• I stepped closer, softer now. “I know. But this—this bond—it’s not something you can fix, Ronan. It just is.”
• “She’s my sister.”
• “I’m aware,” I said. “She’s also his mate. The moon doesn’t ask permission.”
• He stared at the tent flap like he could burn a hole through it. “She’ll hate him forever.”
• “Maybe. Maybe not.” I crossed my arms. “You can’t protect her from something that’s inside her now. You try to sever it, you’ll kill her. You know what that looks like.”
• His gaze flicked to me—sharp, pained. “Don’t.”
• “You brought it up,” I said quietly. “Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten what it did to me.”
• The silence between us went heavy. We didn’t talk about that night—the one where he’d found me on the floor gasping, every nerve on fire because my mate was in another woman’s bed. He’d carried me out himself, whispering that he’d kill the man if I told him to. I hadn’t. I’d just learned to live with the pain.
• Finally, Ronan said, “He’s not like your mate, Myra. He’s worse.”
• “Maybe.” I gave a little shrug. “But maybe not. You saw him last night. He didn’t move when you threatened him. He didn’t bare his teeth. You think the Darius I’ve heard about could’ve stood still if he wanted to hurt her?”
• That made him stop pacing. He didn’t look at me, but I saw the fight leave his shoulders, just a little.
• “She’s safer near him than she is near you right now,” I said. “You’re too angry. You’ll scare her.”
• Ronan’s laugh was low, rough. “You really think I’d hurt her?”
• “No,” I said. “But you’d say something you can’t take back.”
• He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re good at telling people what they don’t want to hear.”
• “Someone has to be.” I smiled a little, even if it didn’t reach my eyes. “Look, I’m not saying you need to bow to the Goddess and throw them a mating ceremony. I’m saying you need to breathe. Let it settle. Maybe it won’t be what you think.”
• Ronan sighed, finally sitting down. “You believe that?”
• “I believe bonds are complicated. And that fighting one never ends well.” I looked out the tent flap. The horizon was just starting to glow. “You can’t stop what’s already in her blood. You can only make it worse if you try.”
• He was quiet for a long time. Then, quietly, “You sound like an Elder.”
• “Bite your tongue.”
• That actually earned me the smallest laugh. I took that as a win.
• Then, from somewhere near the eastern edge of camp, a scream ripped through the dawn.
• Ronan was on his feet before the echo faded. “What the hell—”
• Another scream followed it, higher, panicked. Shouts. Metal on metal.
• My stomach dropped. “Rogues.”
• We ran out of the tent. The air reeked of blood and smoke already. Wolves were shifting in flashes of bone and fur, chaos exploding across the field where the last of the bonfires still burned.
• “Where’s Nysa?” I shouted over the noise.
• Ronan’s eyes were wide, scanning the chaos. “She was with the Luna girls—by the southern line!”
• Another scream, closer this time.
• My instincts took over. “Then that’s where we’re going.”
• He grabbed his sword; I drew the dagger I kept strapped under my coat. We ran, smoke curling thick through the trees, the ground already slick with blood.
• “Ronan!” someone yelled behind us. “The rogues—there’s dozens!”
• He didn’t stop. “Find my sister!” he roared back.