FAZER LOGINThe echo of that distant answer hung in the mountains long after the wind swallowed it. Damien stood at the gate, Natasha's fingers laced through his, and felt the decision settle in his chest like a blade sliding home. He would not stand behind stone walls while his wolves walked toward something even he couldn't name."You're going after them." Natasha's voice was quiet. Not a question. She had always read him faster than any enemy.He didn't insult her by denying it. He turned to face her fully, cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing the frost-kissed edge of her cheek. Her skin was cold from the wind. Her eyes were not. Green fire, banked but burning, the same look she'd given him before the northern campaign, the look that said she understood, and would not forgive him if he failed to come home."I can't send them into what I haven't seen," he said. "Not this. Not something that doesn't bleed.""Then see it." Her free hand pressed flat against her chest, over the place where the bond
Damien woke before dawn, the bond stirring with an unease that had nothing to do with Natasha's warmth against his side. She slept deeply, one hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly, and he allowed himself a single moment, memorizing the soft part of her lips, the slow rise of her breathing, before he slipped from the furs and dressed in the dark.The command tent waited, cold and torchlit. He had sent runners in the night, and by the time he spread the map across the table, five of his best scouts stood before him: Caleb at their head, scarred and steady; Eli, young still, but sharper than most wolves twice his age; three others who had tracked through the northern passes when the war was at its worst."The Southron scout's testimony," Damien began, without preamble, "is either madness or the most important intelligence we've ever received. A caravan destroyed. Bodies torn apart. And the thing that did it, wounded, by his account, struck by a dozen blades, left no bloo
The command tent flap fell closed behind the last elder, and Damien stood alone in the flickering torchlight. The map still sprawled across the table, southern edges marked with fresh ink where Caleb had traced the scout's path. But Damien's thoughts had already turned inward, reaching through the bond that connected him to the woman waiting in their chambers.He found Natasha by the hearth in their room, her hand resting on the swell of her belly, green eyes distant with worry she couldn't quite hide. The firelight caught the brown strands of her hair, painted gold across her strong shoulders. She looked up when he entered, and something in her expression softened."You felt it," she said quietly. "The fear."Damien crossed the room without a word. He pulled her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other spreading wide across her lower back. Natasha's breath shuddered out against his collarbone, her fingers curling into his shirt."I don't know what's coming
The command tent smelled of woodsmoke and tension. Caleb pushed through the flap with his team behind him, and every elder's head turned toward the entrance. Damien stood at the table's head, hands flat on the worn wood, his crystal blue eyes sharp with something Caleb recognized immediately, the look of a wolf waiting for news he already knew would be bad.The captured scout knelt between two guards, wrists bound with leather cord, his head bowed. He looked worse in the torchlight than he had in the snow, thinner, older, the kind of worn that came from weeks of running on empty. Southron tattoos curled up his forearms, crescent and spear marks that marked him as clan-born and clan-proud."Report," Damien said without preamble.Caleb stepped forward and told him. The hollow camp. The three dead. The blood-soaked snow and the claw marks too wide for wolf, too deep for bear. The sound that had carried across the ice like a bell struck in hell.When he finished, the tent had gone quiet.
Caleb chose his team the way he chose everything, by what wouldn't get them killed. Sera for her eyes, which could read snow like scripture. Bram for his shoulders, his patience, and the twenty winters he'd survived the border fights. And Dace, a runner so quiet that wolves twice his age forgot he was in the room until he spoke.He left Eli behind. The boy had earned his keep setting the caltrops, but green wolves made noise in the dark, and the southern approaches were no place for noise.They slipped through the palisade's southern gate an hour past midnight, while the sentries changed and the wind swallowed the groan of the hinges. The snowfall had stopped, but the cold had teeth. It bit through Caleb's furs as he took point, his old scar aching the way it always did before bad weather, or bad news.The captured scout's back trail was three days old, half-erased by wind, but Caleb had followed worse. The Southron wolf had come up through the pine breaks along the ridgeline, moving
Damien sent a runner for Caleb within the hour, a young wolf named Eli who moved like he was still discovering his own feet. The boy's nervous energy grated against Damien's patience, but he swallowed it, Eli had set the caltrops that might save them tonight, and that counted for more than grace.The command tent flickered with lantern light, shadows dancing across the map table where the northern territories sprawled in ink and memory. Natasha sat on a folded blanket near the brazier, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, the other turning a dagger over and over in idle repetition. She hadn't slept. He could feel the exhaustion through the bond, bright and stubborn as a coal that refused to die.Rest, he sent across the link, gentle but insistent. I can handle Caleb.And miss the first real intelligence we've had in weeks? Her green eyes cut toward him, sharp with amusement. You couldn't make me.The flap rustled, and Caleb ducked inside, bringing the cold with him. He was a le
"You're twenty-two and still unmated."The words followed Natasha across the training grounds like an unwanted shadow.She ignored them.With a sharp twist, she caught her brother's wrist and used his momentum against him. Kael hit the dirt hard enough to shake the ground beneath them.A chorus of w
Natasha stood frozen for a long moment after Damien’s silhouette disappeared through the velvet curtain. The cold night air clung to her skin, but the heat radiating from her chest—from the bond she refused to name—made her feel feverish. Her wolf, a restless presence she’d always kept tightly leas
Damien’s wolf had been clawing at his ribs for hours, a relentless, snarling pressure that made every polite smile a lie. The moment he’d walked into the ballroom and caught Natasha’s scent—wildflowers and steel—the beast inside him had lunged against its chains. Mate. The word was a drumbeat in hi
The ballroom no longer felt like a celebration.It felt like observation.Natasha moved through it with controlled precision, each step measured, each expression carefully restrained. The emerald gown made her feel exposed in ways armor never had, not because it was revealing, but because it was des







