JAYNAYAH

The storm tried to swallow the moon.

Rain struck the windows in silver sheets, and thunder rolled over the pack lands hard enough to shake the glass. But beyond the storm, through the blur of water and night, the boundary burned silver-violet between the trees.

It did not flicker.

It waited.

Another pain tightened low in my belly, deeper than the first, wrapping around my spine until I could not breathe through it.

Mace’s hand closed around mine.

Not too tight.

Never too tight.

“Jaynayah,” he said, voice rough from sleep and fear. “Tell me what you need.”

The pain crested, held, then slowly released me.

I sagged forward...