The cry of the challenger could not have come at a worse moment. Well, maybe that was false—there were surely other vastly more unpleasant circumstances possible in life—yet Kershov still snarled viciously at the sound, rearing up on his hind legs to rake his curved talons down the nearest unlucky tree. “God DAMN IT ALL.” Bark splintered and split beneath his paws, peeling off the tree in tender curls as his claws bit into the softer wood underneath; a poor substitute for wolf flesh, but it would have to do until Ker actually confronted the pretentious little prick (emphasis on little) who dared try and claim his territory. The Ice King could always seek out his new chew toy, but he’d left Vladya trapped in a prison cell in the center of Abendrot, deep down in some rocky hole that Ker quite frankly didn’t feel like crawling into at the moment. That would require work, and the frost-breathing demon clearly needed to conserve his strength so that he could crush whatever pitiful cretin surely waited on his doorstep. Tearing someone’s throat from someone’s body could prove somewhat taxing on even the strongest of vargs—and Kershov didn’t just want to eat out his foe’s neck. He wanted to smear him like an insect into the mud and piss on the powder of his bones.

“Idiot,” Kershov hissed. Another more colorful string of expletives scorched like frostbite from his maw as he shoved off the tree and stalked toward the border, hackles spiked. Ker had been so close to consolidating the Military’s newest faction. So close! And this wretched excuse for a wolf DARED to stand in his way?! The cold Czar hadn’t even seen the audacious runt and already he hated him with a wintery passion. Unleashing a seismic growl, Kershov lashed out once more, jaws clamping down and tearing a single slender limb from a nearby bush. The snow demon didn’t bother to stop and enjoy his prize; he gnashed it between his hard pearly teeth until it snapped and fluttered to the leaf-littered earth, crushed beneath his paws. The challenger must have been new to this land—that was the only thing that would explain such a suicidal attack on Kershov’s honor—the only—

Enmeshed in his own rage, Kershov nearly overlooked the delicate lacework of scents wreathed around this side of the forest. Not slowing his pace, the frigid Pharaoh sniffed at the wind. Two Abendrot soldiers were on the move: Darien Valentine and Night Blood. Hmm . . . Kershov had not spoken to the dark vixen in some time, and had seen even less of the enigmatic Darien after that fateful pack meeting. Kershov rarely felt uneasy, but something about the mysterious male inspired a cool sting of caution to prod his mind. He did not trust Valentine. He’d mainly allowed the odd brute to stay in the hopes of Valentine’s fatal charms perhaps ending the life of any annoyances Abendrot ever had to endure. Suddenly, a wicked grin crept up the handsome half of Kershov’s ravaged maw. Maybe he’d let Darien deal with the challenger . . .

Pushing himself past thick undergrowth, Ker ghosted out of the forest and into the more open area of the border, where Blood and Valentine were confronting a pale newcomer. The alabaster Alpha’s perked ears caught the term healer on the wind. He tipped his head, intrigued.

“Good work, you two. I am sure that if this stranger had any ill intentions, the sheer force of your number would have cowed him. Two against one—so unfair.” Kershov greeted Darien Valentine and Night Blood with businesslike nods, conveying in that simple gesture how much he truly appreciated their attention to the borders. The words he spoke were teasing, perhaps a bit sardonic, but ultimately Ker would never complain about his warriors watching Abendrot’s boundaries.

Tall white stilts carried Kershov until he stood directly across from the blue-eyed recruit. “I’m sure you have already stated your title to my subjects, but I would like to know your name. Repeat it and submit.”