There was a different energy moving within Abendrot lately. Kershov’s aggressive speech had inspired a fraction of the effect he had hoped for, but it was still better than nothing—at this point, anything was better than the somber, purposeless fatigue that had plagued the army for longer than the Alpha should ever allow. Every tingle of focus that rippled among the ranks, every word exchanged with even a subtle glimmer of excitement, the increase in border patrols and the forward-thinking dialogue, all of these were things Ker took pride in as he surveyed his military. His single obsidian eye gleamed with approval whenever he caught one of his subjects finishing their duties unasked; whispers of plans to build their pack found his waiting ears, ideas exchanged idly between interested fighters. This is much better, the Ice King thought to himself. Satisfaction swelled in his chest and fought for space with his rekindled pride. All roars start with an intake of breath. We are breathing. We are waking up.

And the territory’s shaded forest wasn’t the only thing that benefited from Abendrot’s increasing activity. Slowly, carefully, Kershov felt his sanity returning to him, as if his mind were a lake of fractured ice and the jagged pieces were crystallizing back together. He required more time to completely rebuild the infrastructure that had once effectively caged his reckless beast . . . but surely the glacial gladiator would arise whole from his spell of bitter madness soon. Scarlet Nights had returned to his life—and with her, the necessary outlet for violence that kept his secret monster sated and silent.

A frantic skittering noise drew Kershov’s attention from his inner musings to the space of woods surrounding him. The arctic Czar’s stunning white pelt would have blended seamlessly in snow; he paced over the earth like a ghost, glowing and otherworldly, returned to the physical glory his private struggles had tried to strip him of. Despite his visual obviousness, Ker made no effort to better conceal himself. His ears pointed toward the source of the desperate thrashing, gait confident, lonely lantern alight with fearsome joy. Before the massive moonlit beast pushed his way to the sound’s source, he already knew what he would find. A devilish grin tugged at the handsome half of his muzzle as he used one forepaw to push aside a mass of tangled undergrowth.

“Hello, there.” His frosted voice purred down at the trapped rabbit. The poor thing had fallen into a pit that Kershov had dug on a whim, its broken body all at once ensnared and poked by a knotted mass of sharp sticks and thorny vines. This had been one of many experiments Ker had attempted to distract himself with. He had never expected it to work, and probably it never would so effectively again. But no matter. Now the Pharaoh had dinner . . .

It’s bones crunched deliciously between his teeth.

Not bothering to preserve his appearance, Kershov continued traveling inward with his bloody prize dangling from his jaws, its sticky scarlet life dribbling luridly down his throat. It didn’t take long for him to cross over a scent-trail left by Azula: the mother of young Corde and Felan. Interested, the white phantom followed it, bemused to find that the wolfess had trotted to Abendrot’s center as well. About to meet up with her family? Bored, perhaps?the

Apparently Azula was none of those things: the multi-hued femme was currently conversing with none other than the famous hummingbird-catcher, Dawn of December. Both females appeared plenty companionable. How lovely. Kershov remembered with a dry chuckle how volatile the pack had been in years past.

“Azula, December. How wonderful to run into both of you at the same time. I take it you’re both doing well?” Kershov stalked up to the pair and then dropped his fresh kill at his paws. His tongue swooped out to take a leisurely stroll over his scarred muzzle before teeth flashed in an amiable smile. “Not plotting a siege without me, are you?”