Alexia.

Alpha Zane's POV

Freya.

She was back.

She was alive.

She was safe.

The last part I swore to myself on the lives of all the werewolves in Adivaine. Living and dead.

Something dark and icy was wedged deep in my lungs when I pictured the memory of her that night for the millionth time.

The blood that spread through her eyes like veins, the purple and black that marred her porcelain skin, blood seeping from parts where deep angry gashes marked her body: more terrible was the one on her shoulder, the dried lumps of blood in her fingers, the sand and glass matted in her silver hair.

Had she not screamed as loud as she did, had I been even a minute late, Freya would have been gone. Her life wasted, her light snuffed out, just like that.

She would have been dead.

My vision tunnelled as my claws grew into my clenched fists, drawing blood.

There was no point in reassuring myself that she was back and she was alive, that would not work.

I knew that I would only have peace if everyone