thousand times. Eirene followed close behind, breath puffing in the chill, her mind buzzing with everything she'd seen-everything she'd become. The forest changed as they traveled. The air grew t

into tall, armored figures. Male and female. They carried curved blades on their backs and bore matching crescent scars on their collarbones. "Alpha Demetrius," the woman said, bowing slightly. "You returned earlier than expected," the man added, eyes flicking to Eirene. Demetrius nodded once. "She awakened. I'm invoking Rite of Ascent." Both guards stiffened. "Now?" "Tonight." Eirene frowned. "What's the Rite of Ascent?" The female guard glanced at her sharply. "You brought her unbound." "She wasn't ready," Demetrius said, a warning in his voice. "I'm still not," Eirene muttered. But the gates opened anyway, and they stepped into Lycaria's embrace. Inside, the city was alive with movement. Wolves trotted beside humans. Some people shimmered with half-shifted forms-clawed hands, glowing eyes, elongated canines. Children ran barefoot over the roots of glowing trees. Elders with braided hair whispered prayers in a language Eirene couldn't understand. And everywhere, she felt it: recognition. Heads turned. Voices fell quiet. Eyes-hundreds of them-followed her. "The Luna-Born..." someone whispered. "She's real?" "She's here." Demetrius moved close to her side, his body tense. Protective. "I don't like being gawked at," Eirene muttered. "You'll get used to it." "Will I?" He didn't answer. They passed beneath an archway shaped like a crescent moon. Inside, the hall smelled of smoke, earth, and something metallic-blood. A circle of elders waited there. Six men and women in cloaks of ash and silver, with moon-shaped pendants on their chests. In the center stood a dais carved from obsidian. Upon it lay a silver dagger and a bowl of clear water. Demetrius stepped forward. "Elders. I present Eirene, daughter of Callista, bloodline of Lykaios. She has awakened. I invoke the Rite of Ascent." The oldest elder-an impossibly wrinkled man with snow-white eyes-rose slowly. "She bears the mark?" "Yes." Eirene swallowed hard as Demetrius guided her onto the dais. "What do I have to do?" she whispered. "Bleed," he said simply. Oh. Of course. She reached for the dagger, but Demetrius stopped her. "I'll do it." Her eyes met his. "Is this part of the weird fated bond thing?" she asked nervously. "No. This is tradition." "Okay. Just don't stab too hard." He took her hand, gently pressing her palm over the dagger. The blade was cold. One swift motion-just a