It had been a solid week since Kershov had interacted with the piece of living filth known as “Draven.” The Ice King had been too preoccupied with other things—his mate’s pregnancy, the intrusion of a cougar pair, a snowflake he’d seen on a leaf—to bother with working on Scarlet’s little project. That wasn’t to say that Ker had forgotten about the pathetic cur, of course; the ivory warrior remained keenly aware of Draven’s physical state, checking up on him from the forest’s cover and monitoring signs of his prisoner’s continuing existence. Stool scattered here and there told the Alpha that somehow the fool had managed to feed himself. Small tattered remnants of charcoal fur betrayed the bastard’s limited movements within the territory. The sour smell of fetid blood had slowly faded from Draven’s unwelcome scent, telling Kershov that perhaps the mongrel was beginning to heal, but the process must have been slow and painful. After all, the cold Czar had discreetly ordered his subjects that none were to touch Draven except himself and their Queen. Halina, obviously, had access to her would-be-murderer if she wished, but as far as Kershov knew the valiant wolfess had turned her energy to other things. That new beau of hers, for one . . .

He’d have to meet the lucky lady soon. Moon knew how Halina deserved someone to hold. Gracious, but Kershov had become sentimental! Where was all this ridiculous warmth coming from?

Large paws made for padding effortlessly over snowdrifts carried Kershov closer to Draven’s designated cell. Yes, he’d held himself back from communicating with the scumbag directly . . . but that changed today. They were long overdue for a “chat.”

“Draven.” the Pharaoh’s voice barked into the early morning frost. The woods were grey and quiet, muffled by a pall of cool fog. It would snow soon. That might be pretty, against the backdrop of Draven’s miserable blood stains. Kershov scented the air again, this time detecting the tang of crushed herbs. Either one of his own soldiers had been dabbling in poultices, or Draven had discovered a way to heal himself under the radar. Hmm. He would have to watch that. Soon his searching eye found the slumped dark form he’d been looking for, and the handsome half of his ravage muzzle curled in a vicious grin. “There you are, dog. Been lonely?”