Moira's POV

The ancient grove feels wrong. Every step deeper into the twisted oaks sends ice through my veins, and my wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin.

"He's here," Lucas breathes beside me, his hand finding mine.

I squeeze his fingers, needing the anchor. The scent trail leads us through moonlight that seems too pale, too cold. Logan's scent—but not Logan's scent. Something else wraps around it like smoke.

My heart hammers ...