The moment Qin Mo shifted his hold, tucking Lin Wan into a secure, protective bridal carry against his chest, the atmosphere of the forest changed.
The eerie silence of the Whispering Woods was obliterated by a heavy, rhythmic thrumming, a sound like the beating of massive war drums, but faster, more visceral.
It was the sound of air being displaced by something colossal. The smaller branches of the ancient, twisted oaks above them began to snap and splinter under the sheer force of the downdraft.
Qin Mo froze, his entire body coiling like a spring. His pupils narrowed into vertical, obsidian slits, and a faint, shimmering pattern of silver scales began to ripple across his jawline.
His first instinct was the one that had kept him alive as a King in the treacherous beast city, even long before he became the king: to vanish. He wanted to merge into the shadows, to find a crevasse where his snake form could strike from the dark.
