Lenore had left their mother in the late hours of the night, slipping off to search for safety within a pack. She had done so at Caedmon’s urging - otherwise, she wouldn’t have left at all. She desperately wanted to know her mother, to be a happy family. She was her mother’s daughter in every physical way, so much so that nothing hinted at which man was Lenore’s father; the Amaya prince who had sired Gedeon, Briar and Mara or the Sabertooth prince who had fathered Calliope, Ophelia and Caedmon. As a result, she often felt alienated and like she didn’t belong. Caedmon always protected Lenore, though. She was grateful for him.
The howl from Nightingale gave Lenore chills, but she journeyed toward the noise anyway. She could go. Queen Amalthea . . . wasn’t she from Sabertooth? She may know Adonis, who was possibly Lenore’s father, then. But wasn’t there a ruling king? Why was a female calling?
She glided through the borders, past dens both old and new. The young teen came upon the meeting where two wolves dwelled, each looking different, with bloodlines and such.


“In the night, the stormy night.”