(Calla's POV)Grey war-room slowly emptied out, air heavy with the kind of silence that comes before the storm. Knox was off with his list of names, already giving soft orders down the hall.Freya left soon after, her reddish braid bouncing with each step as she continued to gather supplies for the journey.Even the guards in the beyond wandered back to their stations until the beyond hall fell silent once more.The table still littered with maps and pins, tiny mementos of foe routes and rescue points. The necessity of strategy, of lists and directives and the whirlwind of planning, was over.Between Rowan and me now remained only a humming, strained silence, filled with all that we had not said.I stood where I had stopped, fingertips brush the surface of the oak table. Parchment and metal scent filled the air, mixed with the lingering pine-and-smoke odor that seemed to accompany him wherever he went.For the first time since Asher was taken, there was no mission in my hands. There w
(Calla's POV)We came down the mountain like a tempest over the cliff's edge. The trees, snow, thin air, none of it hindered any of us. My boots struck the path with brutal, even beat, the ache in my legs masked by the one, burning concept of my son. Asher's name pounded in the rhythm of the heartbeat with each beat, prayer and war cry the same idea.The edges of the pack emerged from the morning mist, weathered old wooden fences that used to keep out and now let in.I was already punching up numbers I hadn't dialed in decades on my phone before we made it to them. My fingers shook but my voice as tough as steel when my cousin answered the third ring."Calla?" Kira's voice was sleep-thick but sharp, sleep-heavy but cutting instantly. "Years. What is it?"I swallowed the bolus of fear back in my throat, metallic and tasting bad. "Asher's been taken."A sharp inhale on the other end of the line, then sound of motion, Kira sitting up, likely already logged on to her computer. "Gods, Call
(Rowan's POV)The climb up the mountain appeared endless. The wind hurt my face, its pine and snow smell serving no purpose in dampening the fire raging inside me.Each step on the rock-sprinkled trail clomped with the force of the explosion of storms within my chest. By my side moved Calla with icy determination that was more frightening than mine.Her eyes set, jaw thrust forward; she was a queen about to go to war.Asher. My boy. My son who still had his arms around my neck in the dead of night, slept in Calla's arms when storms rattled the windows.To picture his tiny hands reaching out for us, only to be pulled back, made my stomach tighten up so tight I was going to puke. I had been mad before, mad at betrayal, at deceit, at my own failure,but this was different. This was visceral.Freya led the way, black ropes braided into her hair streaming down her back. She walked as if the mountain belonged to her, muttering something to herself that I couldn't understand.She looked back
(Rowan’s POV)I have seen blood on battlefields. I have seen wolves tear each other apart. But nothing has ever felt like the rage running through my veins right now.Asher is gone.That small, warm body that had just started to trust me, that had started to laugh when I picked him up—gone. Snatched from under our roof. From under my protection.I should have been faster. I should have sensed it. Some part of me still believes I could have stopped it if I’d been paying closer attention, if I’d not been distracted by Calla’s tears, by my own guilt.Now it’s too late for regret. All that’s left is the hunt.⸻The east wing was a storm of movement—guards fanning out, Knox barking orders, scents being tracked through every corridor. Calla stood in the center of it, her silver hair wild, her hands clenched so tightly the knuckles blanched white. She looked like a goddess of war, barely restrained.Her eyes found mine, blazing. “It’s them,” she said. “It has to be them.”I didn’t need to as
(Calla’s POV)The knock on the guest wing door sounded too sharp and fast to be that if a servant’s. It was deliberate, like the sound of a whip on a horse.I had been braiding Asher’s hair for training, my hands moving seamlessly but , my mind somewhere between exhaustion and the strange warmth that had begun to bloom every time Rowan smiled at our son.“Asher, go to the courtyard,” I murmured. “Practice your footwork for a bit.”He frowned at me but obeyed, bounding down the stairs with his practice sword tucked under his arm. Only after the echo of his boots faded did I cross to the door.When I opened it, Lena stood framed by the hallway light, all sleek black leather and perfectly arranged hair, her perfume curling in behind her like smoke. The last time I’d seen her she’d been a figure on the far edge of a council session. Now she was in my space, eyes glittering.“Calla,” she said, tasting my name like a challenge.I kept my hand on the doorframe. “Lena.”Her gaze slid over me
(Rowan’s POV)I didn’t even feel my nails cut into my palms until the copper sting reached my nose. Elira’s voice was still ringing in my skull—“bastard child”—and something in me snapped cleanly down the middle. For years, she’d been the one standing at my shoulder in every council meeting, the woman my father had trusted more than his own kin. And now she was spitting on a boy she didn’t even know, on the woman who had once been my bride.“Say that again,” I rasped. It didn’t sound like my voice. It was lower, rougher, as if a growl were living beneath my tongue.Elira’s eyes widened a fraction. “Rowan—”“No.” I took a step forward. My shadow fell over her, and for the first time I saw her flinch. “You will never speak of that boy like that again. Do you understand?”She opened her mouth, but I kept going, the words coming faster than I could think. “You call yourself a guardian of this pack, yet you dare to slander a child. You talk about poison? Look at yourself.”Her lips thinned