Kershov studied the pallid pall creeping across the sky as if he could read it like a map. The brightness of the moon above was swallowed by his trademark onyx irises, those pitiless pits so deep no flicker of warmth or mercy could ever escape. He had just finished greeting the sun-pelted stranger and now sought his Queen; Scarlet had visited briefly, only to dash off and meet yet another newcomer. On the one paw, Ker reveled in the new freedom a co-Ruler had given him . . . but on the other, he felt an odd pang of possessiveness, an angry twinge when his blood-painted Empress had slithered back into the forest. Why hadn’t she stayed with him, to greet the one called Sun as an Alpha pair? Surely that picture would have been impressive: Snow and Blood united together. While he mused, Kershov suddenly came to a startling and unsettling conclusion. There could be only one explanation for the stirring of this uncharacteristic emotion—he’d become attached to Scarlet Nights. Truly, actually attached. An uneasy growl thrummed deep within the arctic dragon’s chest as he accepted the truth, the shimmering veil of silver in the sky abruptly seeming to weigh down on him, its gossamer weight pressing against the naked, reaching branches of Abendrot. He had long ceased thinking of Scarlet as the Puppet Queen . . . but now he was beginning to think of her as his.

When the polar poltergeist finally threaded his way through the wintery darkness of the wood, the rumble in this throat died upon seeing Scarlet Nights’ confident form blocking the immediate entrance of a ghostly fae. Secure in his own right, Kershov did not instantly creep out to add his own frost-laced voice to the air; instead, he settled his ivory body into a thick tangle of undergrowth, expertise and complete familiarity with his own territory helping to conceal a royal robe that would otherwise gleam in the darkness—much like the stranger waiting on the opposite side of the border. Speaking of the stranger . . . Kershov took his time studying her from afar, noting the absolutely foreign composition of her skeleton and the furtive intelligence in her gaze—and what an alien gaze that was, mismatched lanterns burning into the night. The unknown girl would make quite the pretty trinket, if Abendrot were into collecting wolves based on nothing more than pretty appearances. As it happened, his was a military pack; if the exotic wolfess wanted entrance, she needed to prove herself worthy.

Kershov listened to Scarlet’s terse orders with a satisfied smirk curving the un-shredded half of his muzzle. My, but the lovely lady was quick to take charge! One would never have guessed that Scarlet Nights’ rule had begun mere moons ago; she exuded the power of a long-reigning Czarina without even trying. When the silver-built femme did not reply quickly enough, the massive alabaster gangster slide silently from his hiding place and strode closer, until he was standing mere inches from his co-Alpha’s sleek side. Scarlet didn’t need anyone to reiterate her words, so all Ker did was lift his kingly banner and stare gravely at the tall, dainty stranger and tilt his head, as if silently telling her do what she says.