Lucien’s pov.

I watched Dante lead her away, her small frame stiff with confusion and fear. She kept glancing back at the wolf, her eyes wide, demanding answers I had no intention of giving her. Not yet.

When she finally disappeared from sight, I turned back to the creature before me.

The wolf—half-dead minutes ago—now stood steadier, its chest rising and falling in measured rhythm. Its eyes, once drowned in that sick crimson haze, had cleared to the natural golden hue of our kind.

It ...