“One . . . two . . . three.”

Kershov placed his forepaws strategically upon the young oak’s side, tipped his claws into the grooves of the bark, and tore downward with all his might. An invigorating explosion of fresh musk bled from the wood—bathing the merciless white Alpha in a cloud of bliss. He chuckled at the sap staining his kingly toes. In a week or so, these marks would heal into the iconic KEEP OUT warnings plastered all across Abenrot’s wall. Kershov preferred cleaner, more permanent methods of marking his territory; corpses were terribly effective, but they eventually rotted away into nothing—besides, cadavers were more of a Malignant tradition. Better to tag his kingdom forever by creating neat little fences of scars. So far they’d done a fair job of keeping most ignorant fools from galloping into Abendrot. The frost-born Pharaoh admired his handiwork and stalked to the next unlucky woodland victim; he imagined slicing into an enemy’s flesh . . .

An alto song thrummed richly in the atmosphere, drawing Kershov’s attention from the young sapling he was shredding to the border, about half a mile away. A sliver of excitement neighboring on joy warmed the glacial continent of his heart. That howl had held the request of recruitment . . . there was new blood waiting by Abendrot’s fence! With a satisfied growl, Ker ripped his fore-talons away from the tree’s tortured bark and lowered his upper body elegantly to the ground, massive snowshoe paws hitting dirt with the softest sound of impact. The alabaster gangster was the living definition of “iron fist in a velvet glove.” Even the deep claw marks he’d just carved into the sapling portrayed Ker’s perfect control, sweeping down its splintered sides in graceful, efficient, violent arcs.

Hopefully this mysterious woman wouldn’t force the imperial soldier to practice those arcs on her.

Upon first glance, Kershov knew that—should she prove to fit well amidst the ranks—this particular female was truly a prime recruit. Her entire body seethed with potential; Ker could practically taste it as he extricated himself from the forest’s shadow and stepped out before her, twigs and leaves parting to unveil his colossal arctic structure. He said nothing at first, only appraising her with cold black eyes. Light shimmered off the bird’s immaculate russet pelt like flames: the antithesis to his snowy fur. A grin tipped the handsome corner of Kershov’s maw, the one side of his muzzle that had not been shorn away to reveal glittering teeth in a permanent snarl. The Alpha mirrored the femme’s posture and sat regally in front of her, forepaws just touching the invisible line between Abendrot and no-wolf’s-land.

“Greetings, stranger. State your name and why you wish to join the Abendrot army.” Kershov silently took in the details of her face, her body language, the energy radiating from every hair on her coat. There was a rage in this one, chilled and very dangerous. Ker toyed with the frivolous idea that the redness in her fur wasn’t just from genetics . . . “Where do you hail from, Madame?”