Chapter 45

Weston

Nox paced the edges of my mind, claws rattling against my sanity. He snarled in my skull, hungry for action, thirsting for the chase. He wanted blood, or at least the scent of Alex’s fear on his muzzle. I clenched my jaw, trying to hold him back, but the tension coiled in my muscles like a spring ready to snap.

Then I saw the brunette in Lazarus’s report.

Gwen Campbell. A fake name. A fake identity. A fake life. But the woman behind it was real. Alex. My Alex.

I stared at the photo until my vision blurred. Magic might have altered her features—softened her cheekbones, changed her eyes’ color—but it couldn’t change the way she looked at the world. Even through that image, I saw her quiet strength—the same woman who’d weathered every storm and still found ways to smile. The same woman who carried our Primordia