"I should've let you bleed."
Magnolia didn't flinch at Beckett's words. She knelt by the glowing firelight that cracked across the stone wall of the Callahan war tent, her hands still red, the shift residue thick beneath her fingernails. Beckett lay stretched on the cot, his side wrapped in gauze soaked pink. His golden eyes were wild, flickering between anger and disbelief.
"Then next time, bleed quieter," she replied, her tone ice-covered steel.
He laughed bitterly and winced. "That mouth of yours is going to get us both killed."
Savannah entered then, dragging the flap aside with force. Her face was pale but determined. Behind her, Rhett stood like a living stormcloud. The rest of the pack had gathered outside the tent, their murmurs loud enough to split silence. Rumor spread like wildfire, that the girl with no bloodline, no training, had turned fully and lived. Worse, she had saved a warrior.
