My fists clenched until my nails nearly pierced my palms, lips tightening into a pale line.
Draven stood nearby… but said nothing. He only frowned faintly before lowering his head again to fasten the last strap on Myrielle’s boot—tender, precise, protective.
I stood behind them, silently begging the moons for the moment to end.
A sudden, violent neigh split the air.
A massive stallion broke free—wild, frenzied, lunatic with moon-energy—charging straight toward the crowd. Its hooves shook the ground like rolling thunder.
“Move!” someone shouted.
Chaos erupted instantly.
My breath hitched—the beast was barreling toward us. Toward me, Draven and Myrielle.
For a heartbeat, Draven’s gaze locked on mine.
Hesitation. Conflict. A flicker of something—fear? Or guilt?
Then he moved. He shoved me aside—hard.
Pain ripped through my shoulder as I hit the ground, my half-healed wounds tearing open along the wolf-marked scars.
Through blurred vision, I saw him lunge—not toward me—but toward Myrielle. He wrapped her in his arms, shielding her as they rolled across the grass.
The stallion thundered past them, its hooves missing by inches.
Screams spread across the field as panic swallowed everything.