Marina woke to wrongness.

Not sound or scent something deeper. A disturbance in the shadows themselves, like ripples across still water. Her hybrid magic screamed warnings she couldn't articulate, couldn't name, could only feel crawling beneath her skin.

Silvain still slept beside her, one arm draped across her waist possessively even in unconsciousness. Through their bond, she felt his contentment, his peace. The mating ceremony had settled something fundamental in him, and had finally convinced his wolf that she was truly his.

Which made what she had to do next even harder.

Marina slipped from the bed with practiced stealth, pulling on clothes in the pre-dawn darkness. Her hybrid senses...