Kershov arrived within earshot of the gathering just as Channing soft, pained voice reached out to ask whether or not the stipulations of the trade would be upheld. From his hiding place many yards away, hidden by distance and the welcoming embrace of forest shadows, the King of Abendrot grinned. She sounded so damn hurt by the whole situation—pathetic. If this trade upset Channing, the only one she could blame was herself, and the foolish negligence of her pack. Channing should have felt ecstatic for the realm of possibilities Ker was opening for her son! The child would grow strong in a pack that valued resilience, determination, and loyalty above all else. No useless, worthless lessons would poison his mind or weaken his heart. He’d transform into a magnificent, dignified killer. Of that the white Monarch would make absolutely certain.

Only after Kershov’s alert auditories had caught Enigma reassuring the pup did the massive Regal shrug off his protective cape of shade and stalk his way to the meeting. His paws fell in quiet, measured steps on the rich soil carpeting the forest floor, betraying none of the nearly hungry desire he had to meet Abendrot’s newest recruit. His Queen—dearest, dangerous Scarlet Nights—had already sashayed to greet the family, making his own entrance far less urgent. Already an enormous weight Ker had never before perceived seemed to ease off his broad shoulders; it was an advantage, this equal sharing of power, one that increased his pack’s efficiency exponentially while alleviating Kershov’s royal burden. He had to suppress another grin from slicing up his rugged features. How he wished he could have witnessed Channing and Henadin’s reaction to a second Alpha wolf running through these woods. Alone, the pallid frost-breathing Pharaoh had been a terrifying force: now he was a part of an invincible team.

At last, his striking robes of alabaster flowed beside the diligent statues of his soldiers. Kershov took his rightful position next to Scarlet, ivory mixing with blood where he pressed his side possessively into her ribcage. Merciless intelligence blazed like light off of ice in the depths of those infamous onyx eyes. He did not—could not—pity the grieving family as their profoundly aching gazes followed the form of their son across the invisible wall. Henadin and Channing were of no concern to the heartless dragon; he cared only about the welfare of their spawn, his subaltern now, and therefore a precious pawn. Property of Abendrot. For now and for always. “You asked about the rules of our agreement?” Kershov asked the question abruptly, chilled voice stark and pointed as icicles as he faced the parents. He saw no need to waste time on pleasantries. Like hell Kershov would halt in the middle of a training session to squander valuable seconds. “If he is unable to immediately greet you when you arrive, you are allowed to wait outside the border until he comes.” Perhaps cruelly, the bone-colored Czar did not extend the option of letting them request an escort into the pack to see their pup sooner. Channing and Henadin were Saw Tooth, after all—Abendrot was a kingdom just as fortified in its boundaries and restrictions as their home was. As he ground out the next part of his answer, Kershov failed to restrain every shred of razor-edged annoyance from his lyrics. “I’m not planning on brainwashing your pup, so provided that he is not overly stupid I would assume he’ll remember you are his parents.” Now, for the first time, Ker truly glanced at the promised child.

Henadin and Channing did not insult Abendrot by bringing a mere runt. Roheryn was a hale, bright young lad with inquisitive brown eyes and a lean frame. Perfect material. “As for an escort, Roheryn will be accompanied any time he leaves Abendrot borders. I order this to ensure the safety of a young pack member.” Here Kershov leveled his black stare back at the parents. He doubted Roheryn would attempt escape; he was more worried about Saw Tooth swooping in to reclaim the pup that rightfully belonged to Abendrot, or some other enemy pack harming the boy and thus throwing this already strained alliance past the breaking point.

“If those were the only queries you had, Madame Channing . . . ?” Kershov finished his speech with a liquid growl and a cutting glare that showed without any chance of mistake how dearly he wanted the parents to leave. Then his tail lashed—a final declaration. “Come, Roheryn. We have much to tell you of your new home.”