Moons ago, the bustling activity and explosive drama suffusing the atmosphere of his pack would have had Kershov teetering dangerously on the brink. Without Scarlet Nights to seduce his sanity, every twitch of energy flitting against his nervous system had felt like a razor, each whisper a scream, and the Ice King had been driven toward desperate measures to keep his wolves safe from himself. It was as if someone had sliced away his skin and left him raw. It was like having his cranium smashed with his brains exposed to the elements. Looking back at that sickening streak of madness, Kershov shuddered and wondered how it had ever been possible. He was a machine, renowned for his self-mastery and calculating edge—and yet something as simple as his mate’s absence had been enough to shatter the bars that kept his inner monster imprisoned.

Sometimes, Ker still felt that voracious beast attempting to break free.

But now he’d rebuilt the infrastructure of ice that made him “safe” . . . and the tundra dragon had zero intentions of letting it fail.

As he stalked Abendrot’s inner halls, snout hovering over the earth in search of fresh prey trails, a plaintive howl echoed over the canopy. Immediately the Czar paused his hunt, long strides launching him toward the source of the call. Eventually his path intersected that of Halina: a fearsome she-wolf who’d installed herself as one of the army’s most valuable soldiers. Pleased to sense her near—and realizing she was also on her way to greet the newcomer—the ivory warrior picked up his pace. Such a gracious hostess. Hopefully she hasn’t scared the poor thing off . . .

Claws scraped against hard-packed dirt when Kershov skidded roughly to a halt just inside the border, entering the scene like a sudden gust of blizzard wind. His immaculate alabaster hackles lay smooth and relaxed, despite the intense and slightly hungry glitter that lit his singular onyx optic. A brush of his tail across her shoulders let Halina know that Ker appreciated her initiative; the frost-breathing Pharaoh never coddled his subjects, and those tiny, brief glances or breaths of contact spoke worlds of approval and respect. When the massive winter demon spoke, his words were cool. Businesslike. True, he never expected to see a kalak near his kingdom when Cold Summers almost exclusively catered to the exotic breed, but he wouldn’t turn a potential recruit away without seeing what potential he offered. “Well then? The lady gave you an order.”