Adeline's POV:

The sacred grove smelled of wet earth and ozone.

I knelt shirtless in the center of the standing stones, my back exposed to the night air as the pack shaman—an ancient woman with milky eyes—dragged her obsidian blade across my shoulder blades. The pain was sharp and clean, unlike the dull agony that had lived in my bones since bonding with Elora.

"Again," I ground out.

The shaman hummed and made another precise cut. Hot blood trickled down my spine, following the intricate markings she'd been carving for hours. Each symbol represented a different anchor point for Elora's power—lightning, storm winds, the earth's pulse.

Aiden stood guard at...