Feral on the Ice
She wore a tailored suit of charcoal silk, her hair a shock of white-blonde, and her eyes a piercing, lupine blue.
She wasn't alone. Two men stood behind her—shifters of immense size, their scent of salt and pine filling the room.
"The Feral Six," the woman said, her voice like velvet over gravel. She didn't bow, but she didn't growl either. She inclined her head with the practiced grace of a diplomat. "I am Sif of the Northern Clowder. I speak for the United Alphas of the Old World."
Kael stepped forward, his Alpha aura flaring in a warning. "You’re a long way from home, Sif."
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