The high quarter was heavy with the thick, suffocating warmth of cedar logs snapping in the grand stone hearth. Crimson light flickered across the high timbered ceiling, casting long, wavering shadows that stretched toward the vast four-poster bed. Outside, the northern wind slammed violently against the leaded glass windows, but inside, the air held a strange, agonizing stillness. Alpha Torin stood near the edge of the hearth, his massive, bare-chested frame motionless as an iron pillar. His shirt remained discarded from his sleepless night, the dark, jagged battle scars across his ribs catching the deep amber firelight. His golden eyes were narrowed into tight, lethal slits, fixed unblinkingly on the small, buried form under the mountain furs. Beside the mattress, kneeling on a low velvet footstool, was Dr. Alan. The Midnight Pack’s senior physician moved with quiet, excruciating deliberation. His dark leather apothecary bag sat open on the floorboards, releasing a sharp, medi
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