Kershov’s eyes were knives that could dissect without drawing blood, mentally slicing wolves open to spill their secrets like heaps of guts on the ground, every nuance and minor gesture studied coldly and with chilling accuracy. He kept his ruined maw closed in favor of allowing Scarlet to speak; his chin continued to rest on the crown of blood that adorned her forehead while he listened to her address the pack. Her confidence was inspiring. Few would have believed the Demonican Queen had first entered this territory as a mere puppet—now Scarlet Nights delivered pleasantries and adorable verbal barbs with the relish of an experienced Regal. That left Kershov to observe his wolves—their wolves—with those bottomless, inscrutable portals of shade . . . just in case any were foolish enough to directly oppose his decree of Scarlet’s co-Alpha status.

His pale lids slipped down to half mast, a deceiving show of languid relaxation. Ker’s razor-edged vigilance never wavered as first Grey Wind, then Aerten, then more warriors took their turns greeting the Alphess and pledging their loyalty. Some of Abendrot’s fighters refrained from speaking their allegiance aloud, whether from uncertainty or a simple desire to be personally spoken to directly Kershov did not care. So long as none of his subjects outright denied Scarlet Nights’ right to rule the pack, the polar poltergeist would allow them their silent thoughts. He busied himself with cleaning the stains of gore from his co-Monarch’s pelt that the rain had failed to wash away. Had the couple been alone, Kershov would have showered the crimson-washed vampiress with rough strokes that would have left her breathless with pain and pleasure, teeth pressing with the rough promise of sex against her battle-torn flesh even as he lapped dirt from those precious wounds; however, in full view of the army, the massive arctic dragon curbed that frigid lust as best he could. His tongue slipped across her thick fur with the detached precision of a practiced surgeon.

Eventually, Ker cleansed every inch of Scarlet Nights that he could reach during the short exchanges she had with Abendrot’s finest. Not a single word escaped the fearsome dragga’s awareness. They seem to accept her. Wonderful. We won’t have to schedule any attitude readjustments any time soon, at least. When he spoke again, the moonlight monster didn’t miss a beat. His winter-breeze voice drifted with flawless calm and mastery through the gathering place, punctuated by the last fading rumbles of deep-throated thunder churning over the horizon. The storm had passed. Rain glittered in everyone’s fur and turned soldiers into beasts of metal and glass. “Since we’re all here—and because you have welcomed your Alphess with such admirably open hearts—I think it best to announce a shift in the ranks.”

The flood that had swallowed part of Abendrot’s border with the voraciousness of an abyss had brought out the best of the army. Kershov had not interfered—but that did not mean he was not aware of his subalterns’ actions the entire time. On the contrary, the massive snow-white nightmare had watched with relentless interest as his wolves banned together and accomplished what seemed an impossible task. Their bravery made something in the Czar’s chest roar with pride. He had noted all their efforts, planning to reward them when the time was right. That time was now. This was something Kershov had idly discussed with Scarlet Nights before he ever entertained the idea of sharing the throne with her; the sneaky minx had lured thoughts from his mind with the easiness of a snake charmer calling a cobra and the King found he actually enjoyed talking to her. Surely she would approve of this updated hierarchy—if not, then the tundra-stalker greatly looked forward to their first argument as a “couple.” Blue blood simmering with the delicious possibility of what lovely tangles that situation could lead to, Kershov continued, voice smooth and sharply cut as ice.

“Autumn Leaf, you have run for Abendrot with strength and loyalty. I award you the rank of Zeta—Captain of the Army and second to Marx.” Kershov saw the gash marring Autumns tense shoulder; nevertheless, he trusted whoever had given the mark—most likely Marx—to have effectively dealt with whatever trespass the reddish male had made. Autumn had waited long enough for his rank. “Ruhani, your competence during the flash flood is to be noticed, as is your continuing loyalty to the pack. You shall be called Head Assassin of Abendrot, the Epsilon—a rank you shall share with Aerten.” Here thousand-league pools speared toward cool-headed Aerten, to gauge her reaction. Compared to Ru, Aerten was a relatively new member of Abendrot, but Kershov could not ignore her dedication or tenacity. When she’d joined, he had admitted that he’s seen greatness in her; she had not once proven him wrong. Ruhani, like Autumn, had waited too long to claim her place in the rankings. It felt right finally moving her upward. “The next rank goes to Skeletor. Skeletor, you are now Lead Spy, Abendrot’s Delta.” Kershov had dearly wanted to give Winn Dixie that rank as well . . . the sassy silver femme had astonished him with her hard work during the flood and other deeds. Unfortunately, Winn’s face was not in the crowd. Ker did not have time to wait for her.

A heavy pause hung in the storm-cooled air. He had one last rank to give, one that might shock a few. No matter—if he wanted Abendrot to appear as unstoppable as possible, the more ranked wolves the better.

“Grey Wind.” He turned his royal skull toward the steel-colored brute, tones utterly without emotion. “I never give ranks without reason. I sense promise in you; therefore, I promote you to Zeta, a Captain alongside Autumn Leaf. Together you will act as Marx’s second-in-command.”

His Decree complete, Kershov gazed at all his warriors in turn. If they disagreed with his wisdom, it had always been the King’s policy to let them fight it out amongst themselves. Those that didn’t truly deserve their status would lose it in the end at the hand of more . . . ambitious demons. The only rank that didn’t sit quite well with him was Marx’s. For moons the merciless Emperor had planned to one day name Marx is second Beta . . . but he needed Marx where he was, specifically overseeing the army portion of the military. And Enigma needed no one to help her do her job.