She looks like something being born.

That was the strange—yet somehow perfect—thought that flickered unbidden into the tundra dog’s less-than-poetic mind. Vladya had never been present to watch as new life entered the world; birth was a sacred, private thing among wolves, but there was usually a chance in everyone’s lifetime to at least hear those first few gasps for air, smell the newness of those scents that were not there before. Not him. At one point Vlad supposed he must have had a family, a mother who probably cared enough to nose him toward her for warmth during chilly spring nights . . . he couldn’t remember. A heinous wave of violence had sliced each memory—good or black—from the folds of his brain so that Vladya’s known life began with Kershov finding him near dead in the snow. But still. With her endearingly bleary eyes and tentative breaths, so gentle she might have been tasting the air for the first time, Kobato seemed as if her soul had touched earth at last.

It was awkward as hell, but Vladya couldn’t help himself as he watched Ko stretch with the kind of fascination one gives to a butterfly peeling the glory of its wings from a chrysalis. Her slender legs looked so fragile . . . yet these were the same shapely stilts that had crossed the river border without a single hesitant second of fear. Again the sight of her leaning hollowly against a tree outside of Abendrot played across Vlad’s awareness—the horrifying split-second tremor of thinking she was dead. He closed his pyrite eyes against the recent memory. When he opened them again, Kobato was still there. Breathing. And smiling at him.

“What—do I look like shit?” the embarrassed question tripped out as reflex, more abrasive than the polar prince intended. Inwardly, he cursed himself. Fucking dumbass! Pull it together! “Sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Whatever . . .” Staccato stuttering. Gods, he was humiliated. As he stammered out a slur of useless words, the faint expression eventually faded from the girl’s dusky face, as if she were too weary to keep it in place for long. Good. Vladya didn’t want her to force anything, didn’t want her to think that she needed to expend any of that precious energy. He’d bite her throat again before he allowed her to pull that selfless shit any time soon.

Grunting at the sore pops that crackled through his joints, Vladya stumbled into sitting position a respectful two tail-lengths away from Kobato. His ice-white pelt hung listlessly over a piteously weak frame; ribs and hips pressed against scarred flesh that felt paper-thin. He felt like a damn gargoyle hunched over a princess. Why the fuck had she crossed the wall that night? What the hell did she see in him? A pre-storm breeze ruffled the silken strands of Kobato’s summer pelt like wind in a sea of lush grass, mixing her mouthwatering perfume with a crisp breath of coming rain. He’d hoped that those interlacing branches above would shield them from the elements, but maybe their young green limbs wouldn’t be enough. Maybe he’d made a fucking retarded decision in dragging her into Abendrot in the first place. Poor Kobato. She had a half-brained imbecile as her guardian.

“Hey, kid . . . I just wanted to let you know that—the hell are you doing?” Somehow Ko had exhumed a resilient strand of energy from the depths of her tired heart. She was attempting to stand. Vladya choked on air because she looked so impossibly dear—so fucking adorable and gorgeous he wanted to puke and sob at the same time. Oh, fuck no. This precious creature was too great for him to handle. The outlaw couldn’t know what had shattered Kobato so completely that she returned to him a shivering husk of herself, yet even a cur as dumb as himself understood the gravity of this girl’s hidden strength. Sure, she looked like a colt discovering its legs, but still, but still, but still. Vlad was standing right beside her before his stunned brain even had time to comprehend the best course of action. All he had to offer was the hard plane of his shoulder for her to lean on. That’s all she required. Her smile—genuine, gentle—did not appear forced or feeble. It glistened like a necklace of diamonds. It poured warmth into a pit in Vladya’s stomach that had not felt full for a very, very long time.

Kobato asked him “where.” Guilt surged unwelcome into the tundra-stalker’s heart, ugly as it clashed with the sweet happiness trying to bloom. Oh, right. Abendrot was dangerous. A hated prisoner had unwittingly brought an innocent directly into the territory, because that had seemed like a such a wonderful idea. Nice going, thoughtless bastard. He steeled himself to explain to her, to ask if she was ready to flee back to safety—

A change in wind clawed a new cologne into Vladya’s senses: the same signature that drenched the borders and every square foot of land for miles, abruptly fresh and powerful despite the increasingly harsh tempest gales rolling into the kingdom.

Vladya’s voice snagged in his throat.

Kershov was coming.