The howl kept rolling through the dark long after the last echo of it should have faded, low and constant, and Caierre felt something answer it from inside his own chest—not his voice, not any sound at all, but a resonance, deep and unwelcome, humming in the same place the crimson kept flaring from."Caierre?" Alvar's voice cut through, urgent. "What's happening—"The crimson surged brighter this time, stronger than any flare before it, burning steady instead of flickering, and Caierre felt his knees buckle beneath a weight that had nothing to do with exhaustion. He went down hard onto the cold ground, gasping, one hand braced against packed earth while the whole camp blurred at the edges of his vision.A voice arrived, low and cold, unmistakably not his own.*Little heir.*Caierre's breath caught. It wasn't Fenrir's voice—nothing about it carried the warmth or grief that had marked every word the guardian had ever spoken to him. This was colder, patient in the way the creature beneat
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