As the stranger’s battered form began to stir, Kershov took a step back—but not from fear or surprise. No: the arctic Alpha wanted to have plenty of room to tear this audacious bastard to shreds if he thought he was going to escape. As if either Ker or Halina would just let the moron get up and leave. Ears flattened and muzzle tightened into a furious grimace at the rank smell of blood seeping from the unknown cur’s fur, the stench of the brute’s outside scent. Funny how the once coldly poised King reacted so adversely to a wolf that wasn’t “his.” Before his madness, Kershov would have regarded this fool with frigid contempt; now everything about the dog made his insides writhe with hatred, a violent desire to destroy this disgusting creature that dared harm someone Ker had claimed as property. “Filthy,” the alabaster gangster hissed.

Halina’s bantering words earned her a dark chuckle from the Pharaoh, though he did not take his lone black eye from the prisoner at the she-wolf’s feet. “He should be glad it wasn’t more serious,” Kershov rumbled. His hackles were spiked so high that he felt as if electricity ran over his ivory pelt. What would he do to this inmate, anyway? Part of him wanted Halina to decide the best punishment; after all, she’d been the one wrongly hurt—and she’d dragged her trophy all the way here. She deserved to hold power over the coward’s fate. Of course, as Ruler, Kershov had some right to justice as well . . . maybe he’d give Halina free reign, and if there was anything left, the secret beast would play. Saliva began to pool in Kershov’s jaws at that thought. Yes. Even if the urchin were dead, Ker would find a way to amuse himself. There was always that fur project he was slaving over. The frost-born phantom hadn’t found any good candidates yet, but surely no one would miss this useless sack of—

The stranger spoke at last—and the sound of his voice was like rusted nails screeching down a chalkboard to the King’s frayed nerves. The absolute GALL of this heathen! Change of plans: Halina may do as she wished after her Commander had torn out the brute’s tongue and fed it back to him. Before Kershov could ask what exactly was so funny, the dog continued to speak. Somewhere in the jagged corners of his fracturing mind, a piece of Kershov’s cool tundra cunning speared its way to the surface. He was wise enough to listen closely to what their prisoner was saying . . . what he might reveal, even by accident . . . and his efforts were hideously rewarded. This scum didn’t attempt to hide his true motive. There were no secrets. And what Halina had bravely assumed as no more than a scratch was clearly something much more perilous.

Kershov ripped his horrified glare from the brute when Halina cried out—but despite the small amount of distance he’d placed between himself and the stranger, the mongrel still managed to lash out and sink his poisonous little fangs into the Alpha’s foreleg. On reflex Ker unleashed a guttural snarl and bashed at his enemy’s skull with his other massive forepaw, knocking the bastard’s head away while pulling his bitten limb out of danger. A reddish stain marred the pristine whiteness of Kershov’s fur . . . yet with a hitch of sickness the moonlit monster realized that it was not only from blood. If there was this much coating the King’s skin, how much more of this chemical must already be swimming rampant through Halina’s precious veins?

“Halina, answer me quickly. How do you really feel?” Kershov did not know much about poisons; enemy packs always came at each other with teeth and claws, choosing to peel of flesh rather than subvert one another with tricky venoms. Such a method of assassination was considered so cowardly that even wolves with no moral code whatsoever refused to resort to it. If Halina’s tail had been bitten completely off, the Czar would have been better able to deal with it. Not this. Not this danger. The brave warrioress could not afford to mince her words or hide her pain with courage in front of her desperately worried King. “Quickly. I need to know what to say if . . .” If you’re suddenly in so much pain you can’t speak. If you faint at my paws. I have to know what to tell someone else. He didn’t say it aloud; however, Ker’s normally expressionless face clearly wore the barely contained urgency slamming in his heart. Abendrot no longer housed any experienced healers. That faction had slowly degenerated over time, and the insanity plaguing the glacial outlaw prevented him from seeking more in case they saw the state of his mind. He would need to seek help elsewhere. Fast.