Kaelen didn't scream, but the force of the connection sent him to his knees, cracking the marble floor of the War Room.
Around him, his generals froze. The scent in the room changed instantly—the ozone of an approaching storm mixed with the metallic tang of raw power. Kaelen's eyes, usually a cold, calculating grey, had bled into a terrifying, luminous gold.
"Lord Kaelen?" General Hax stepped forward, his own wolf whining low in his chest. "What is happening?"
Kaelen couldn't breathe. For thirty years, his "Receiver"—the psychic organ every Alpha was born with—had been a dead weight. A hollow ache. Now, it was screaming.
He didn't see the War Room anymore. He saw a flickering vision of a rusted ceiling, smelled the scent of rain and old grease, and felt the frantic, panicked pulse of a girl who was definitely not a wolf.
"The frequency," Kaelen choked out, clawing at his chest as if he could tear the sensation out. "It's... live."
"The Luna?" Hax breathed, his face pale. "But the seers said the signal was lost centuries ago. Where is she?"
Kaelen stood up, his bones popping as his wolf fought to break skin. The bond was jagged. It wasn't the smooth, divine grace the legends spoke of. It was a jagged wire, sparking and raw. It hurt. It was glorious.
"She's in the Silence," Kaelen growled, his voice dropping an octave as his canines lengthened. "And she's terrified."
He didn't wait for his guard. He smashed through the reinforced glass window, shifting mid-air into a beast the color of a starless night, hitting the ground running. He didn't need a map. He could feel her heartbeat like a compass in his brain.