At first, the ivory warrior thought it best to remain silent and simply listen to the two femmes chatting. They knew he was there—it wasn’t as if Kershov had tried to hide—but sometimes the roll of the Alpha is simply to stand and monitor, to act as a protective presence while his wolves conversed among themselves. Ker understood that the most important, intimate traits of an individual often revealed themselves through observation rather than interaction; after all, even he behaved differently depending on whom he spoke to. Who knew what sort of intriguing facets would divulge themselves if Kershov merely allowed them to trickle forth? Prepared to act as a casual audience, the monstrous winter brute dipped his upper body into a long, lavish stretch, popping each one of his vertebrae before lowering his hips to the ground and laying sphinx-like in the undergrowth. His ears turned toward the duo timbre of the two talking females. Their voices lilted pleasantly, no hints of acid promises sizzling in either of their words . . .

A soft chuckle rolled dryly from Kershov’s throat. When had the last time been when all the she-wolves in his pack got along?

It had been years in the past, yet Ker still vividly recalled the once seething tensions between some of Abendrot’s former femme fatales—namely the triangle of viciousness centered on a lass named Aviias. The headstrong girl had won the hatred of Enigma and Mamba in record time. Other infamous damsels had rocked the pack’s stability, of course . . . but Kershov let those names slip from his oil-slick mind like icy rainwater sliding off the glossy surface of a leaf until he was focused on the innocent dialogue of Aerten and Winn Dixie once more. Even their short exchange regarding the Saw Tooth blunder failed to stir the Alpha, thanks to the caution and almost formal politeness in both of their tones. Such well-behaved creatures! Kershov wanted to trot them in front of the Saw Tooth family and their prissy Queen Moth and snarl HERE are some of my warriors—not quite as barbaric as you assumed, hm?

After Aerten made a civil inquiry as to the state of Winn’s paw, the pallid knight thought he might as well interject. He could always fade back into silence after he shared the latest update. “Moth is indeed within our borders,” the frigid Czar rumbled. “She accompanied the mate of that idiot fae and is now presumably still waiting with the family and their litter.” He practically spat the word as if it tasted foul. Disgusting bundle of infants . . . without Abendrot blood, they were hardly worth his time. “But don’t worry. I have plans for that family, and I think they’ll work out in Abendrot’s favor.”