Chapter 22

• Zeva’s POV
• The moon was thin that night, a silver sickle hanging low in the sky, barely illuminating the snow-dusted paths of the Northern pack territory. My boots crunched against the frozen earth as I returned from a late training session, muscles screaming in protest, my wolf coiled like a spring beneath my skin. The shadows of the trees stretched long, jagged, and I felt them whisper around me, alive.
• I had gone too long thinking myself safe inside the packhouse, that my nightly routines and careful steps kept me away from danger. But the moment I passed the broken remnants of the old training grounds, I knew something was wrong. A rustle of leather, a whisper of movement, a shadow shifting where there should be none.