As the merciless tundra monster stalked ever closer to the pack of his former gorgeous, traitorous lover, Kershov wondered how many of the fools that called his pack evil had ever actually stepped foot near the border of Malignant Felicity. Even from a mile away, when the dark kingdom’s scent was less of a heavy presence and more of an alluringly fatal whisper on the chilled autumn wind, Malignant reeked of every sin under the sun. Temptation and punishment. Sex and blood. Torture. Pleasure. Death. Each breath that slipped like luscious silk down into Kershov’s lungs wove an enchanting complexity of wickedness through his veins. He shivered delightedly beneath his immaculate ivory robes. Obsidian pools narrowed into twin portals of hungry concentration. Malignant smelled of her . . . but would Abendrot’s Alpha have the pleasure of seeing Queens again?

After Queens had broken the news of her pregnancy, Ker found it difficult to hate the conniving Empress. She had manipulated him flawlessly, playing on the arctic dragon’s surprisingly deep well of lust for her own personal agenda. Queens had stolen his seed and added new lives to her own kingdom while also assuring Malignant’s safety from whatever Abendrot might plan in the future—although unbeknownst to Queens, this security had nothing to do with Kershov’s children. He had not curbed the searching eyes of his spies merely because half his blood wandered the halls of another pack. No dreams of war had died simply to save whatever little urchins he had accidentally sired. The cunning tyrant—every bit as vicious and manipulative as the Maple Damsel herself—had no room for such warm, familial feelings. Queens had ensured her pack’s protection through her own ingenious measures; it was her intelligence, not the fruit of her sin-laden womb, that sent waves of respect through Ker’s chest and prevented him from harming Malignant.

Pesky pups he could erase from existence with a swipe of his paw. A diamond of intellect stayed the hand that would otherwise destroy.

When Kershov reached the invisible wall of Malignant Felicity at last, the moon above showered curtains of glittering light over an intensely shaded forest, casting the land beyond into mystery while illuminating the cold-hearted Czar like a living phantom. His black eyes penetrated the undergrowth before him. Keen wolf eyesight allowed him to distinguish shapes and the furtive movement of small nocturnal creatures, but nothing else. Other than the sardonic, starving smile forever etched in scars across the right half of his muzzle, Ker’s face remained expressionless. “Come, my children,” he purred softly into the silence. “Father wants a word with you . . .”