"Believe it or don't. If it turns out to be false, it's no loss to you either way, Miss Ashveil."
After Sable left, I curled into the corner of the bed, my body burning with fever, my lower abdomen seized with stabbing pain. No one came. My wolf lay somewhere deep inside me, too weak to even whimper, just a faint tremor of warmth that kept guttering like a candle in wind.
Looking back now, meeting Caelan Blackthorn was the single greatest regret of my life.
Through the haze of unconsciousness, I caught a blurred glimpse of moonfire flares drifting past the window, their silver and violet light bleeding through the dark.
Only then did I let out a breath and smile.
Long ago, my father and I had made a pact: whenever moonfire flares were lit, it meant I was in danger, and someone would come to take me away.
At some point, Caelan appeared. He sat at the edge of my bed for a long time. I could smell him before I saw him, that charred oak and bitter iron, and something in my chest flinched away from it.
When he saw me open my eyes, he touched my forehead. "The fever's broken. Come on, sit up and have some porridge."