The Moon’s Grove was no longer silent.

The sacred clearing that had held its breath during the ritual now pulsed with noise—whispers, growls, heavy boots crunching over roots as wolves argued in hushed tones. The golden glow that had erupted from Bella still shimmered faintly in the air, drifting like dust caught in sunlight. It clung to the trees, to the stone altar, to her skin.

Bella stood trembling, her hands pressed against her thighs to stop them from shaking. Her heart raced, her ...