Chapter 16. Wolf Dreams

Aria was burning. It was the only constant in her life now—a slow, internal combustion that started deep in her bones and leached outward, raising her skin temperature until her clothes felt like kindling. The pain wasn't sharp; it was a deep, pervasive ache, like the tectonic plates of her soul were grinding against one another.

This pervasive fever drove her into a sleep that was no solace. It was a descent into a landscape dictated by the volatile, rejected mate bond and the awakening Flameborn power.

She wasn't in the cramped, mildew-ridden attic anymore.

Aria stood on a plain of obsidian glass, sharp as frozen tears, that stretched to a horizon of bruised purple and silver. There was no sound save for the whispering heat radiating from her own skin. Above, the moon—the source of all wolf magic—was not the familiar, benevolent sphere of Crescent Ridge lore. It was fractured, a great, blinding white shard embedded in the sky, weeping liquid silver.