The Wraith’s Binding

The birthing room was a crucible of blood and moonlight, the air thick with the coppery scent of Delilah’s labor and the faint, acrid burn of rogue magic. Zelda cradled the pup—her pup, though not of this life—his tiny body warm against her chest, his green eyes flickering with an ancient intelligence that made her Wraith-heart stutter. The rogue mark on his chest had faded under her touch, but its echo lingered, a pulse of Morgana’s witchcraft and Selena’s divine machinations. Delilah lay slumped against the bed, her blonde hair matted with sweat, her sobs raw and broken. Thorne stood over her, his claws poised, ready to...