Kershov’s long talons shredded through the young tree’s tender bark with the sound of leather being torn from the seams. Slivers of ripe green flesh curled up from between the arctic monster’s pallid toes; sap bled out from ragged wounds and stuck, glistening, to toughened pads; the tree creaked and groaned under the massive Alpha’s weight, shuddering wonderfully under his assault, its slender trunk leaning with the slightest give that made Ker feel as if he could uproot an entire forest. A savage smile pulled at his lips—and it was a fearsome expression indeed, fitting the two clashing halves of his muzzle together in a picture of demonic emotion. The past enemy that had disfigured the right side of Kershov’s face, ripping away the upper curtain of his maw to portray twin rows of gleaming teeth, had not intended to leave his victim a more terrifying creature as a result—yet the frigid Pharaoh wore this mutilation as if it were his proudest badge. Each raking claw through each unfortunate tree only served to exorcise the rage that had built up over the Saw Tooth wolves’ temporary stay within his borders. Shred—that was for the bumbling mistake of that stupid fae. Rip—that was for her smarmy mate, overcome with pathetic feeling when Kershov stated his price.

His shoulders tensed as he prepared for the final strike through his current target’s bark. After this session—so fantastic, the way it purged those nasty lingering tastes of anger—Ker could stand back and admire the new markings on the border. Abendrot’s own “keep out” signs. They looked like prison bars, preventing any weak-of-heart fools from traipsing accidentally into the wrong pack.

A harsh, surprisingly wet crunch met Kershov’s ears as he finished marking this last tree. Perfect. Not quite as satisfying as breaking bones, but it would have to do. Now he could seek out his magnificent Beta, the well-named Enigma, and ascertain what her thoughts were over this whole Saw Tooth business . . .

The pale enchantress’s perfume was not hard to find; Enigma made roaming the territory a habit, always keeping an eye on Abendrot’s elusive members. He discovered her most recent trail, a mouthwatering thread weaving its way toward another end of the borders. Of course. Now the grin that curved Kershov’s kissers held an almost playful quality. It was something of a running joke between himself and Enigma that the Beta always seemed to greet newcomers before the King himself. She was terrifyingly efficient. Pools of bottomless black discovered her lithe, ivory frame entertaining a storm-dark dragon after a few moments of traveling through the territory’s winding hallways. Kershov’s banner began to wag a slow, relaxed beat, pleased to have her acting diligent as usual . . .

But the metronome motion ceased the moment Kershov noticed the venomous stare of the stranger.

Silently, gliding in on giant snowshoe paws, Kershov took his place next to Enigma, standing beside her as if they were equals on this playing field. Their alabaster pelts did not touch, yet the monstrous Emperor posed close enough to his General that if anything happened he could join her in less than a heartbeat. She was clearly unafraid of this shadowy renegade; the brilliance of her mismatched eyes revealed as much, going as far as to promise violence if the dark dog didn’t obey each and every order she lashed out. Kershov did not feel fear either—that particular emotion had been carved out of him years in the past, leaving behind a barren infrastructure of purest ice. He did however, experience caution . . . and something about the outlaw, either the feverish light in his poison-toned stare or the uneasy energy of his body, told Kershov that this male was other.

His tail flicked against Enigma’s smooth flank—a casual gesture to an onlooker, but speaking volumes of information to the intelligent Beta. Kershov trusted her as his second and wanted her on her toes should this stranger prove reckless. “You heard my General. Submit, state your title, and give your purpose.”