ANMELDENThe 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 cold came with the darkness, seeping up from the frozen ground and pressing down from the star-scattered sky. Natasha’s breath misted in silver plumes before her face, each exhale a small surrender to the temperature that gnawed at her extremities. The threadbare blanket thrown over her shoulders did nothing, less than nothing, trapping dampness without warmth, clinging to her sweat-soaked tunic like a second skin of ice. Her fingers had gone numb hours ago, the ropes cutting off circulation until her hands felt like dead things attached to the ends of her arms, and the wound in her shoulder had settled into a deep, throbbing ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.They had bound her to a tree at the edge of the clearing. A massive pine with bark rough as sharkskin dug into her spine through the blanket and torn leather armor. The rope around her chest looped under her arms and around the trunk, tight enough that she could not slump, could not rest, could do nothing but sit r
The tide of rogues crashed against them like a living wave, and Natasha lost all sense of time.Her sword became an extension of her arm, slicing through fur and flesh, each strike precise despite the fire tearing through her shoulder. The world narrowed to the rhythm of combat, thrust, slash, parry, pivot, her body moving on instinct honed by years of brutal training.Beside her, Damien fought like a demon summoned from old myths, half shifted and savage. His claws carved through enemy after enemy, ripping through throats and bellies with primal efficiency. His roars shook the ravine floor, vibrating through her bones, and the bond between them screamed with the intensity of his fury and focus.But the reinforcements kept coming.They poured from hidden tunnels burrowed beneath the frozen ground, from behind makeshift barricades of fallen timber and stacked stone, from every shadow clinging to the ravine walls. Cole had been preparing this ambush for weeks, perhaps months, and it sho
The war room emptied like a tide receding, leaving behind only the low crackle of dying candles and the weight of what came next.Damien stood at the head of the table, his bloodied shirt still clinging to his chest, his hands splayed over the map as if he could crush the eastern territory beneath his palms. The healer had come and gone, pressing fresh salves into Natasha's shoulder, but Damien hadn't moved. He hadn't stopped staring at the deadlands."Every available warrior," he said, voice cutting through the silence. "Double the eastern patrols. Triple the scouts. I want Cole's location found by nightfall."Natasha rose from the chair, testing the pull of her stitches. The pain was a dull, distant thing now, manageable. The bond hummed with Damien's urgency, his barely leashed fury, and she let it fuel her."I'm leading the tracking party."Damien's head snapped up. "Your shoulder—""Is still attached to my body."She stepped into his space, close enough to feel the heat radiating
The war room doors slammed open with enough force to send a crack spiderwebbing through the ancient oak.Damien strode through like a storm front, his shirt still torn and bloodied from the ravine, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the strategy table. The candles in their iron sconces flickered wildly, casting his shadow across the map of pack territories in jagged, dancing shapes.Natasha followed close behind, her wounded shoulder throbbing with every heartbeat.Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage Seraphine had pressed against it during the ride back, and her vision swam at the edges, but she refused to sit.Not now.Not while Damien's fury crackled through the bond like lightning seeking ground."He knew."Damien's voice was low, controlled, and infinitely more dangerous than a shout."He knew it was a trap, and he sent them anyway. Sacrificed his own Beta to probe our defenses."Marcus and Gideon slipped through the doors behind them, the Beta's face still
Dusk bled across the ravine like a wound. The sky was the color of bruised plums, and the shadows between the pines stretched long and thin as skeletal fingers.From their vantage point on the ridge, Damien and Natasha watched the supply wagons creak along the narrow pass below. Three wooden carts loaded with grain sacks and medical supplies rolled steadily forward, their canvas covers flapping lazily in the evening wind.The guards were doing their job well.Too well for comfort, actually.Ten warriors spread across three wagons, their postures relaxed, their attention fixed on the road ahead rather than the tree lines. To a scout, they looked exactly like what they were meant to be.An easy target."Any moment now," Damien murmured.Natasha didn't answer.Her eyes were fixed on the eastern tree line, where the underbrush had begun to shiver with movement. At first it was subtle. A fern bending. A branch swaying against the wind.Then the shapes emerged.Cole's scouts.Three of them
The first course was served in silence, thick cuts of venison swimming in a rich gravy, accompanied by root vegetables roasted until their skins crackled.Natasha ate with measured precision, acutely aware of every set of eyes tracking her movements.Across the table, Bjorn had already drained his
The quarters assigned to Shadow Fang's delegation were modest by Southern standards, stone walls, fur coverings, and a single hearth struggling against the persistent chill that seeped through every crack.Natasha stood before the polished bronze mirror, splashing cold water on her face and watchin
Natasha took her seat with measured grace, acutely aware of every set of eyes tracking her movement. The chair felt harder than before, or perhaps her body had simply tightened against the inevitable pressure.Ragnar did not waste time with pleasantries."The mountain pass," he said, his deep voice
The guards deposited them in a modest sitting room adjacent to their sleeping quarters, then stationed themselves outside the door.Natasha paced to the window, confirming what she already suspected.Iron bars beneath the decorative lattice."Prisoners with comfortable cells," Marcus muttered, drop







