KAEL'S POV
The thing that stepped from the Shadowveil wore her skin.
The crown on my head pulsed like a wound as I staggered back, staring, heart hammering. Every line of her face, every curve of her mouth, every inch of her body—it was Ayla. My Ayla. But wrong.
Her eyes burned silver, not with the warmth I knew, but with cold fire, pitiless, endless. Her smile curled sharp as a blade, like she'd never known tenderness. The air around her thickened, poisonous, the stench of ash and iron rolling off her in waves.
Behind me, I heard Cassia curse under her breath. Wolves whimpered. Some dropped to their knees, ears pressed flat, their bodies bowing before her against their will.
My wolf howled inside me, claws scraping at my chest. She smells like her. She is her. No—she is not. She is wrong. She is death in her shape.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
