A few hours later.

The mountain burned that night.

Flames licked the black sky like the fingers of gods drunk on vengeance. The cursed valley—once whispered of in lullabies to scare pups into obedience—was now a war zone. Smoke choked the stars, and the scent of blood thickened the air until even the ravens fled.

I felt the wolfsbane leave my veins like a curse unraveling. My body convulsed, bones cracking, skin splitting as my wolf roared free. The agony was pure—but so was the ...