In order to save the world from eternal night, Red must find a way to unlock the dormant power of the Sun Goddess running through her veins without killing herself and everyone she loves.
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I awoke to a mouthful of silver fur, streaked with mud, blood, and soot. That explains the foul taste of ashes, I thought blearily, spitting out wiry guard hairs as I pushed myself upright, squinting against the orange glare of a new day. Unlike the hellish landscape of my dream, the sun had to strain to be seen in this sky. The charred skeleton of the woods was smothered by a thick blanket of smoke, made worse by the wafting residue of a campfire to my right. Rana was still fast asleep beside the coals, an arm slung over Eddy, the Kirin foal who'd become my steadfast companion shortly after I escaped from the Blood Moon Pack. The Witch of the East was nowhere to be seen, but I wasn't surprised by her absence, given the mangled state of her cottage. She'd almost killed us on the mistaken belief that we were going to steal her recipe for apple crumble pudding; perhaps it was better if she some time apart from the group to process her loss.
The Wraith's slow, even breathing hitched, announcing his sleepy return to consciousness. I stepped carefully over his tail and turned to face the lounging wolf, my frown deepening as I tallied his scabbing wounds. For a split second, I was transported back to the Queen Weaver's den, watching the gleaming threads of her web shred his flesh to ribbons as he struggled to break free. Blood bloomed like poppies in his fur, the same beautiful shade as his eyes, and I'd screamed at the thought of losing him.
"You came back for me," I murmured, brushing a chunk of soot from his snout. "That was foolish."
The Wraith let out a derisive snort, climbing to his feet and shaking out his coat. Ash rained down, tickling my nose as he shrank within the centre of that dusty cloud, bones crumpling and compacting, muscles shrinking and shaping themselves to a brand new skeleton. Soon it was a man who towered over me instead of a wolf, with broad shoulders that belied the lean strength rippling through his torso.
Sebastian looked just as beautiful as the day he'd first transformed before my eyes, with his angular symmetry and faintly luminescent, silver-freckled skin. His hair — rumpled and curling at the ends from sleep — was white as a blanket of fresh snow, but the strands that fell into his eyes were blue as a fork of lightning. I suspected it had been stained by the blood of the Bone Snatcher he'd rescued me from, when our paths had first converged in the Wylds. That day felt like months ago now, not mere days, but the memory of our encounter was still crisp as hoarfrost in my mind. I couldn't decide if I felt apologetic or savagely delighted by the permanence of that mark, for it testified to the strength of our hold on one another; claimed him as my protector, in a way.
"I couldn't leave your body there to rot," Sebastian said gravely.
I blinked, retreating from the archaic turn of my thoughts. I was not a lycan, despite what I'd been led to believe over the years; despite my soul-bond with Hunter, which I'd cast off like the shackles they were. I could only guess at Nya's intentions when she'd bound our souls together, but I felt confident that they were nefarious. Hunter was the son of Rogan, the Blood Moon Alpha. That couldn't have been a coincidence.
