And not just any wolf.
A ripple of power moved through the pines, and I landed hard, claws slicing into frost-crusted earth. A shadow detached from the tree line: massive, fur white as moonlit, eyes molten gold.
The Lykos King, Varun. My ally.
He didn’t shift when I approached, but I didn’t expect him to in this cold. If I had thick fur in this weather, I’d keep it too.
“You are much further north than I am used to seeing,” I greeted.
He barked back a rumbling laugh, his voice echoing in my head.As are you. Luckily I have fur thick enough to follow. You do not, lizard boy.
I grinned at the old insult between us.
Ronan,he said, inclining his head with seriousness,you look half frozen.
“I feel half frozen,” I admitted, folding my wings close, “but I can’t stop. A drakling was taken. I have to?—”
We know.
His expression softened barely, but enough.We caughtthe scent of your quarry half a day ago. The rogue draken flew north. Fast. Too fast for any wolf to track in this weather. I have been running all day to try and catch you.
My heart dropped.
“Is the drakling?—?”
No blood. No body,he said.That means she’s likely alive, possibly well.
I exhaled shakily: relief, sharp and painful.
“There is nothing well about this cold,” I muttered.
Varun chuckled.You drakens are southern creatures.
“The vampyre packs?” I asked. “Any sign of them?”
He shook his head.The last stragglers approached our territory three nights past—starved, rambling, half-feral. We put them down. I haven’t found any since the last few went charging toward your island. Perhaps they are all gone.
I swallowed.
Good? More like horrible. Yet necessary.
Veskor’s fault.
We can alert the mountain men,he continued, offering suggestions.If your rogue draken keeps north, their passes are the only route. They’ll see him. They could try to stop or delay.
I grimaced. “After everything that happened between us? They might kill him on sight.”
Perhaps. But they won’t kill the child,he said firmly.Their king is a fair man. He won’t abandon a little one to die in the snow for the crimes of her protectors.
The wind howled down the ridge. I hugged my wings around me more tightly, fighting the sting in my eyes. The mountain men were once a proud race. I’d even found the name of their kingdom in our archives: Hoveria. But during the Demon War, their king went mad and Benedict tookover their fortress with the surviving drakens. Their people fled with no leader, forming into little pockets of scavengers who hid in the mountains for the next few generations.
Only after the Demon War ended did they reclaim their castle in stone.
Much like Lyoness.
“We don’t deserve their help,” I muttered.
And the girl doesn’t deserve to suffer,he countered.So we help. For her sake. Our alliances don’t end just because the War did.
