The Silver Crown
He shifts mid-run, the dire wolf ripping free of his skin with a roar that rattles the windows.
The wolf is huge. Bigger than anything natural. Silver-black fur bristling, eyes steel-blue and glowing.
He hits the corridor and takes one look at the bodies.
Then his gaze snaps to the bedroom.
To Seralyth.
To me standing between her and the door like a damn fortress.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.
His wolf moves toward the other end of the hall, cutting off their retreat.
Elowen appears a second later—already in motion, already deadly precise. He shifts without drama, a pale predator tearing free like a blade unsheathed. Snow leopard, silver-grey fur, ice-blue eyes. Beautiful and vicious