A killer was on the loose, whispered in warnings. But the word “killer” felt too small for what moved after sundown. No one could agree on what he was, as his methods changed constantly.

Those who knew her said she carried herself with quiet care, and deliberate restraint. Every gesture measured, every word chosen, moving through life, she was a whisper.

Sara Ivy knew there was a werewolf deep down, stalking her like a shadow, searching for a way out. The only survival meant fighting like hell to suppress it.

Life rarely asks permission before it changes us...Sara Ivy had come a long way. The shyness that once defined her, had been worn down by necessity, replaced by resolve.

As promised, after the death of Cuetlachtli, Uti went through records to help Sara find her maker...names, elements, lineage traced through twisted, wild roots, from the spreading of werewolf blood.