LOGINThe fire had burned low by the time Cole approached Natasha again.Three days she'd been his captive, and still she hadn't broken.Not really.Oh, she'd screamed when the lieutenant's knife had carved thin lines across her ribs, and she'd gasped when they'd wrenched her wounded shoulder during the march. But her eyes, those green eyes that reminded him painfully of forest canopies in spring, remained hard and calculating.She was playing him.He knew it.And somehow, that made her more fascinating."You're watching her again."The lieutenant's ruined voice scraped against his ears like gravel. She moved to stand beside him, her thin frame casting a sharp shadow in the firelight."She's nothing special. Just another bitch who needs to learn her place."Cole didn't bother looking at his lieutenant."If she were nothing special, Damien would have surrendered by now."The lieutenant's hand twitched toward her knife, a nervous habit she'd developed since Natasha's arrival."He hasn't surre
The council chamber doors slammed open with enough force to rattle the ancient stone walls.Every eye turned toward Damien.Marcus and Gideon rose from their seats. Seraphine's hands froze mid-gesture over a sprawling map. The elder advisors drew back in their chairs like wolves sensing an approaching storm.He didn't care."How long?" His voice came out rough, scraped raw from hours of pacing and planning and failing to think past the burning in his chest. "How long are we going to sit here discussing strategy while she's...""Damien."Seraphine's voice cut through his rage like cool water on an open flame.She remained seated, her pale eyes steady despite the tension radiating from every line of his body."Sit down. Please.""I don't want to sit down." He gripped the edge of the heavy oak table, his knuckles white, his claws threatening to break through human skin. "I want to know why we haven't mobilized. Why we haven't torn apart every inch of forest between here and Cole's camp.
The fever broke sometime before dawn, leaving Natasha shivering and weak against the frozen ground. She lay still, forcing her breathing to remain shallow and uneven, letting her body slump against the ropes that bound her wrists. Every few minutes, she let a soft whimper escape her lips, just enough to sell the performance without appearing theatrical.Across the clearing, the lieutenant watched.Natasha could feel those predatory eyes on her, tracking every twitch and tremor with the focus of a wolf scenting blood. The thin-faced woman had taken position near the fire hours ago, her ruined voice occasionally breaking the silence with sharp commands to the other rogues, but her attention never strayed far from Natasha’s bound form. There was something hungry in that gaze, not the dark fascination Cole wore like a second skin, but something sharper. More dangerous.Jealousy.The realization settled into Natasha’s bones along with the cold. The lieutenant was not just watching her beca
The fire had burned low by the time footsteps approached Natasha’s position again. She had been drifting in and out of fevered consciousness, her body locked in a war it was slowly losing, when the crunch of frozen leaves brought her snapping back to awareness. Two figures emerged from the darkness, Cole with his storm cloud eyes and predator’s grace, and a woman Natasha had not seen before.She was older, with gnarled hands stained dark from years of working with herbs and salves. A healer, or something close to it. The leather satchel slung across her bony shoulder smelled of bitter roots and something chemical that made Natasha’s stomach lurch with instinctive dread.“She’s burning up,” the healer said, her voice flat and disinterested, as if discussing livestock. “The wound’s gone septic. Another day, maybe two, and she won’t be good for anything except the crows.”Cole stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on Natasha with that unsettling intensity she was beginning to recognize.
The lieutenant's gaze didn't waver.She sat apart from the fire now, positioned on a fallen log that gave her a clear line of sight to Natasha's bound form. Her ruined voice was silent, but her eyes spoke volumes.She knew something had shifted.Could sense it the way predators sensed fear. Instinctively. Viscerally. With a certainty that bypassed logic entirely.Natasha kept her breathing shallow and even, fighting against the fever that threatened to drag her under.The cold was a blessing now, a counterpoint to the fire burning through her blood, and she focused on the bite of frost against her exposed skin to anchor herself in the present.Her shoulder had gone beyond pain into something else entirely. A deep, sick pulsing that seemed to echo through her entire body, making her bones ache and her teeth throb.The infection was spreading.She could feel it creeping toward her heart with each labored beat.But she couldn't let it show.Not with the lieutenant watching.Not with Cole
The fever crept through her like a slow tide, imperceptible at first, then impossible to ignore.Natasha felt it building in the hollow of her shoulder where the wound festered, a deep, sick heat that radiated outward in pulsing waves, at odds with the bitter cold that numbed her extremities. Sweat slicked her palms and the back of her neck despite the freezing air, and her thoughts kept slipping sideways, sliding into fog before she could drag them back into focus.The infection was worse than she'd estimated.Much worse.She kept her breathing even, her eyes half-lidded. The scarred man was still watching. He never stopped watching. Any sign of weakness would bring the lieutenant back with her sharp nails and sharper questions.But the fever was making her sloppy, slowing her reactions, and she couldn't afford sloppy. Not now. Not with the knot on her left wrist finally beginning to yield, the rope fibers scraping wetly against the raw meat of her hand.A wave of dizziness washed th
The women’s circle gathered in a chamber Natasha had not yet seen, tucked behind the great hall and lit by a low fire that cast dancing shadows across tapestries of past Lunas. The room smelled of dried lavender and something sharper beneath—ambition, perhaps, or old resentments. Natasha stepped ins
Natasha’s second morning as Luna of Shadow Fang began not in the training yard but in the council chamber, a stone-walled room heavy with the scent of old parchment and wolf musk. Damien had sent for her before dawn, his messenger’s knock brisk and impersonal. She’d dressed quickly in fitted trouse
Dawn broke cool and grey over the Shadow Fang territory, and as Natasha made her way to the training yard—a promise made the night before hanging between them—she felt the bond already tugging with hungry anticipation. The training yard was empty save for the packed dirt still cool from the night.
Damien’s arms loosened, his hands sliding down her back with a reluctance that made the bond ache. He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another to her temple, and when he drew back, his eyes were heavy with something she couldn’t name.“I should let you rest,” he murmured. His voice was gravel wrapp







