After the pack meeting, wolves had departed and continued their lives within Kershov’s kingdom. The ivory warrior had a pretty good idea of what most of them were doing: training. Whether it was marking the scent line, hunting a nervous rabbit, or maneuvering through the many natural obstacle courses threaded throughout Abendrot, each of his subalterns did something worthwhile to keep themselves busy. Not a single of his subjects ever took a break from their diligent exercises; even when they rested, they were prepared, their half-lidded eyes ready to spring open at the slightest hint of a threat. This was not a pack of peace. Abendrot currently faced no outside threats, no promise of war, yet for all anyone could tell the military was constantly mobilized. Some probably avoided Abendrot as a potential home simply because the thought of this industrious preparedness seemed exhausting. Ah, well. Kershov saw this as no great loss. He didn’t desire recruits who couldn’t keep up with his gang’s regiment.

The white King had meant to speak with Ivev—the pallid and bitter healer—after the pack meeting, but one glance at her morose expression had very nearly filled the otherwise coolly controlled male with rage. He found that his throat was rather incapable of producing anything but a harsh snarl, and he sent her away. Perhaps, once Ker had calmed down a little, he would seek his newest problem member out . . . but what was that? Alert ears perked atop Kershov’s imperial crown. A low, evanescent howl had briefly flowed through the atmosphere. A female waiting for an audience with the Alpha.

Kershov did not keep the wolfess waiting for long. His tall stilts carried him effortlessly over the earth, giant paws thudding with surprising quietness over fallen leaves and plush moss. Eventually his obsidian eyes held the form of Kalypso in view—that odd she-wolf who had crashed the pack meeting with hopes of playing the puppet Queen. Ker had to admit that he admired the guts of this lady; she had been brash, but she accepted his warning like a good little pack wolf, wisely bowing rather than pushing back against his authority. The alabaster gangster often listened to the advice of his wolves; however, first and foremost he was Alpha, the Leader, and he never appreciated his power being challenged by anyone.

“I see you’re back for another visit, Madame Kalypso,” Kershov murmured as he stepped closer. His gaze carefully searched her face, wondering what could have made her turn around. “I suppose the tension of that gathering failed to scare you off?”