Lysander's POV
Pace. Stop. Turn around. Pace again.
Lysander had been doing this for four days. Four days of walking the same path through his camp until the ground was worn bare. Four days of feeling Lily through the bond like she was drowning and he was standing on the shore doing nothing.
The bond was screaming.
Not metaphorical. Actually screaming. Her fear was bleeding through the silver connection in waves. Every time she panicked, he panicked. Every time she despaired, something inside him shattered a little more.
He should be there. Should have kicked down every door in Shadowridge and dragged her out. Should have—
"Lysander."
He stopped pacing.
Zara stood at the entrance to his tent with maps in her hands and blood on her boots. She had been inside Shadowridge. Had gotten intelligence from the wolves still loyal to her inside pack territory.
"Tell me she is okay," Lysander said.
Zara's silence was answer enough.
