It began with a whisper.
The wind shifted against the cliffs that bordered the Moon Pack estate dry, sharp, and laced with heat. Our sentries didn't notice it at first. But the animals did. The ravens abandoned their perches. The wolves refused to howl.
And then the trees began to bleed.
I stood at the northern edge of the estate, watching red sap drip from the bark of the elder trees those that had stood since the time of the first packs. The color of the sap was wrong. It gleamed like blood, thick and metallic, pulsing as if alive.
Lucas arrived beside me, sword strapped across his back, breath misting in the unnatural heat.
"She's close," he said.
I didn't reply. I could feel her, too.
Ashara wasn't riding with an army. She was the army.
She had no need for brute strength. Her power was ancient, rooted in both the Rift and the Crown. She didn't conquer by force. She infected.
And I feared she had already begun.
