KIERAN'S POV
The Hunting Festival without Sera was like a feast with no food.
Everything was technically perfect—the banners strung high across the courtyard, the scent of roasted game drifting from the long tables, the rhythmic beat of drums marking the start of the evening’s competitions—but something essential was missing.
Her.
I stood beneath the carved archway of Nightfang’s main grounds, mechanically accepting greetings, clasping hands as guests approached, and nodding at praise that barely registered.
“Alpha Blackwood, the hunting grounds this year are remarkably well organized.”
“Nightfang always sets the standard,” another chimed in.
Another Alpha clapped me on the shoulder. “Strong turnout this year. It’s good to see stability.”
I smiled when required. I spoke when expected. I even laughed once or twice.
But Ashar was restless beneath my skin, his focus far from the festival grounds.
