The battle on the mountainside was already dying when Arthur tore the last hybrid’s throat out.
Snow churned red beneath his paws. His wolf panted, hot breath turning to mist, the copper taste of hybrid blood burned vile and wrong on his tongue. Around him, his pack finished the work, two wolves dragging a limp, inhuman body downhill, another shaking gore from his coat. A vampire crouched over another corpse, expression grim, fangs still bared.
It was over.
Too fast. Too easy.
Arthur shifted back, sucking in air that felt like knives in his lungs. Dominic stalked toward him, already human again, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Leonid wiped his blade on the hem of a fallen hybrid’s shirt, smiling faintly as though the whole thing had been a mildly entertaining warm-up. Rory shifted last, huge russet wolf melting back into a tall, rangy man with wind-reddened cheeks and a fearsome expression.
“That was…pathetic,” Leonid announced, nudging a hybrid corpse with the toe of his boot as though disappointed it didn’t twitch, “Three? Four? Not even worth shifting for.”
“Five,” Dom corrected sharply, “and shut up.”
Arthur’s pulse kicked harder. Three, no, five hybrids? That was nothing. A scouting party at best. A distraction at worst. His gut twisted, the same instinct that had driven him to drag Dani off the battlefield clawing up his spine.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Rory said quietly, gaze sweeping the ridge as Kiara pulled clothes for them out of a tiny bag.“Hybrids aren’t subtle. They overwhelm. They consume. Since when do they send…crumbs?”
Arthur wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing drying blood. “Unless they didn’t come for us.”
Dom’s head snapped up as he accepted a pile of clothes, tugging on the pants. “Meaning?”
“Meaning they weren’t trying to break our line.” Arthur scanned the tree line, the steep drop toward town. “They wanted us up here. All the alphas. All the strongest wolves. They wanted the town unguarded.”
A beat of silence fell, short, sharp, full of dread.
Then, from the trees, Theodore Hawthorne emerged at a run, snow spraying behind him. His face was chalk white.
“You need to see this,” he said, voice breathless. “Now.”
***
They ran.
Arthur tore downhill, faster than he’d ever moved. Chase and the rest of the Nordan fell in behind him. Dominic sprinted at his side, swearing under his breath. Leonid kept pace with infuriating ease, looking almost delighted at the chaos. Rory moved like a ghost through the trees, silent and deadly.
The smell hit them before they reached town.
Or rather, its absence.
There was no hint of witchcraft.
Arthur’s stomach dropped.
“Dani,” he choked, raw.
They broke out of the trees.
The outskirts of Skymist were too quiet. A warehouse door hung crooked. A trail of boot prints marred the fresh dusting of snow, multiple boots, too many moving in too many directions. A smear of soot marked a ward that had shattered violently.
They reached the Nordan compound gate at a dead sprint. It was open.
A guard slumped unconscious against the wall, pulse faint but steady. No wounds. No scent of a hybrid on him.
Dominic knelt beside him, cursing softly. “They’re not dead. Just…taken down.”
Arthur shoved past him into the compound.
The corridors were a wreck. Blankets thrown aside. A mug shattered on the floor. A single candle burned unattended, its flame guttering.
