Despite loving her wolf form, Diana thought she could live without it forever if it meant she and Caleb would not have to face Ragnar’s wrath; after all, keeping her wolf form meant that she could possibly lose the gray she dearly loved. As before, she would be the dutiful mate and sit on the sidelines, relaxed and quiet, giving the illusion that she didn’t worry about Caleb’s strength. But as soon as the grays gathered for the evening spectacle, her heart sank. Crickets sounded their raucous tunes, frogs riveted from near the stream, and a breeze stirred pine needles with a whooshing sound. Cold and crisp, the smell of an expected snow touched the air. She wished the whisper of frost would harden Ragnar’s joints and make him unable to dodge Caleb’s lunges. That Ragnar’s teeth would fall out from disrepair. That his eyes and hearing were not so keen and he would make fatal mistakes, giving Caleb the advantage. But he was not an old wolf, only in his mid-thirties, and he wa