Chapter 109

Dante’s Point of View:

I didn’t remember saddling the horse.

Didn’t remember barking the order to my guards or shifting into my Lycan form long enough to tear through the cold mist of the Western border.

All I remember is running—a blur of pine, wind, and rage.

Because hope, real hope, is a brutal thing.

It seizes your lungs like fire and whispers lies even as it dares you to believe.

It’s her. It